by Maureen Ash
CHAPTER 4
Maidstone was a large village comprised of just over fifty households mainly held in fee from the Archbishopric of Canterbury, and its environs spread along both banks of the Medway River amid gently sloping hills covered with fields of grain. These fields were dotted with buildings used for threshing and storing grain after it was harvested and as shelters for the oxen that pulled the farmers’ ploughs.
The village was most densely populated on the eastern side and greatly relied on the river to sustain its various industries. There were, as Leofwine had said, four water mills in the area, and also two eeleries as well as a number of beekeepers, tanners, and various other tradesmen, such as carpenters and blacksmiths. A weekly market was held once a week on the main thoroughfare where surplus garden produce, household utensils and other miscellaneous items were sold.
As they rode through the gate in the palisade which surrounded the central portion of the village, memories assailed Estrid. The lands her father had held as a thegn of King Harold had been in this part of Kent and, in her youth, she had often come to Maidstone with him and her older brother to attend the shiremotes on nearby Penenden heath, or the more frequent folkmotes at
Mote Place alongside Bearsted village. These assemblies to hear complaints and administer justice or to discuss events affecting the kingdom were held in the open air under the direction of the king’s officials, and were usually followed by an evening of feasting and drinking. Estrid’s heart ached when she recalled how she and her dead husband, Leif, had laughed and sang on those occasions, and had then withdrawn into the woods to hold each other in close embrace. She felt her eyes moisten and shook her head to clear them. She must not let fond recollections of over twenty years ago dim her perception of the village and its inhabitants as they were now. The people on the main street gave her and her companions enquiring glances as they passed, prompting Estrid, with a glance at the leather byrnies covered with metal plates that both men wore and the battle-axes at their belts, to ask Leofwine how she was to explain being escorted to her destination by two of the king’s soldiers.
“The people who live here will wonder at this circumstance; it is not often that an Englishwoman is so favoured.”
“It is easily explained,” Leofwine replied. “As you know, the king is always on the move about the kingdom, and is often in different parts of Kent with his retinue of knights and men-at-arms, in which Ugg and I are usually included. All the villagers are aware that I am related to the miller you will be staying with from the time when my parents visited them; once they learn you are also my kinswoman through your marriage to my cousin, they will deem it only natural I should escort you here.”
“It would seem you have been infected with Norman slyness, Leofwine,” Estrid retorted tartly, but she had to privately agree that his reasoning made sense.
After exiting Maidstone, they continued on for a couple of miles on the same road, passing orchards and more fields of grain, to Bearsted where Godser, and his wife Tilde, lived in a cot alongside their mill, which was on a tidal pool drawn from a tributary of the Medway. The mill was very close to Holy Cross church, which Estrid had attended on a couple of occasions in the past. She remembered it well—not so large as the church in Maidstone, constructed of stone, with deeply set windows down the length of the nave and a tower that could be used as a lookout in case an attack by invaders was threatened.
Godser’s mill was, as Leofwine had told her, a small one, set with a horizontal turning wheel, the speed of which was regulated by a sluice gate which controlled the flow of water. It was not operating at the moment, the wheel set above the tailrace motionless. The walls of the mill were of wood set on a stone base and topped with a roof of thatch, the height of the edifice not more than fifteen feet in total. Beside it was a storage shed for grain.
Near the banks of the river was a vegetable plot, beyond which stretched two large fields of grain, one of wheat and the other of rye, the plants tall and healthy and ripening well in the summer sun. Alongside the vegetable plot was a coop containing a few chickens and, at the farther end, a half-dozen osier skeps about which bees were droning. Closer to the wooden stockade that encircled the miller’s house were a stable and a couple of small sheds. There was also a large clay oven for baking bread and a sheltered fire pit, now lit, over which a huge cauldron hung on a tripod, its contents gently steaming.
The miller and his wife gave Estrid and Judith a warm welcome. They were both in their late fifties, grey of hair and possessing faces slightly wrinkled by time. Godser was tall, his shoulders well muscled from operating the mechanism that regulated the turning of the mill wheel, attired in the belted smock and leggings common to most of his station, and had a genial air about him. Tilde seemed tiny beside his height, but she held herself erect with a seemingly defiant air, as though if she stood up as straight as she could it would increase her stature.
After Leofwine had introduced the pair, Estrid spoke plainly. “I am pleased to meet you both, but I wish it were under different circumstances. The task I have been set by the king is not one I anticipate with any pleasure—and Leofwine has told me that you feel the same—but I hope we can set aside our reservations and perform it to the best of our abilities and, if the Lord is willing, aid in bringing a murderer to justice.”
Both the miller and his wife agreed wholeheartedly. “We will do all we can to help, Frea Estrid,” Godser assured her and Tilde nodded her agreement with him.
The air cleared and all in good understanding, Estrid and Judith stepped into the miller’s home. It was a large thatched cot of one floor, with an unlit hearth in the center, an eating area with a table and benches to one side and sleeping cubicles on the other. In one corner was another table, much smaller than the one used for eating, at which was set a chair with a laddered back, such as Estrid used in her workshop. Beside it was a wicker basket heaped high with coloured wools and above, hanging on the wall, was a tapestry depicting a hunting scene. The tapestry was finely worked; in the centre was a fallen deer with an arrow in its neck surrounded by figures of huntsmen and their dogs, the whole enclosed with a border of oak leaves. Estrid glanced over at Judith, who was also regarding the wall hanging with admiration. Leofwine had not exaggerated when he said the miller’s wife was a skilled embroiderer. Privately Estrid thought she may not have to look far beyond the mill in her search for an assistant in her workshop—the miller’s wife might be a very suitable candidate.
A meal had been laid in preparation of their coming. Eels stewed in their own juices, a small wheel of cheese, wooden platters heaped high with brined herrings and a large bowl of oaten pottage were on the table, along with a small basket containing loaves of freshly baked bread. As they all sat down to eat, and Ugg tucked into the food with alacrity, Estrid said she hoped their arrival would not disturb Godser’s routine with his mill.
“Not at all,” he said. “At this time of year, when grain stocks are becoming depleted before harvest, I only grind once a week. ‘Tis different just after reaping, for its much busier then but, for now, apart from that one day, I have only to tend the vegetables and the bees, and to keep the oven going for Tilde to bake the bread she sells to customers in the neighbourhood. ”
Estrid thanked him for his hospitality and then asked where the three other mills in the Maidstone area were located.
“There’s a neighbour further up the Len from us that has another small one, like mine. He grinds for the people who live in Eyhorne, while my customers are all from Bearsted. The other two are run by Siward,” he said, pronouncing the name of Alfreda’s father as though he had a sour taste in his mouth, “and are much larger, on streams diverted from the Loose River. He also has a large grain store in which he keeps the surplus grain he buys up at harvest time and sells throughout the year to bakers in the village, and any others, such as carpenters, coopers and the like, who hold no land to grow their own.”
“He must be a wealthy man,” Estrid opined.
“He is, but always wants more,” Tilde said, her voice crisp. “We make a decent living here, as does our neighbour upstream, milling folk’s grain and baking a few loaves of bread every day, and it’s enough for us. It puts a roof over our heads and food on the table, and that is all we ask from the good Lord, but Siward is greedy, and has even been known to give short weight in the milled grain he sells so as to swell his coffers.”
“Now, Tilde,” Godser admonished, “you have no proof of that.”
“There’s plenty of proof if you compare the number of loaves his measures of grain make and the two or three more that our customers, and those of our neighbour, glean from portions that are supposed to weigh the same,” she replied tartly.
Godser shook his head. “The animosity between us and Siward is an old story,” he said to Estrid. “When Tilde was young, Siward wanted to marry her, but she chose me instead. That started the strife and then, when we weren’t blessed with children and the wife he had taken bore him two sons, the arrogant bastard sneered at Tilde and said her barrenness was the price she had paid for choosing a husband that lacked any juice in his balls.”
Godser took a deep and angry breath before he continued. “I challenged him one day in the village for pissing on my manhood and gave him a good thrashing. He’s never forgiven me for that, nor I him for what he said.”
The acrimony between the two families now explained, Estrid went on to ask about Alfreda. “Leofwine told me she was well-liked, but were there any among her friends who were envious of her marriage to the Norman knight?”
The couple looked at each other, and then admitted they were not sure. “Although we do know quite a few of the people in the village, we are not on sufficiently intimate terms with any of them to engage in speculation about Alfreda’s death,” Tilde said, “so as a means of gathering more information, I took the liberty of going into Maidstone yesterday after Leofwine’s visit and calling on a woman named Kendra to see if she would consent to my bringing you to visit her.
“She is a haughty woman,” Tilde continued, “married to a carpenter whose skill has made his efforts very profitable, and is overly conscious that her father held the post of reeve for the village until his death a few years after the Normans came. Such is her pride that she even has a maidservant—the daughter of one of the men her husband employs—to take care of the household. It is not as if there were much for her to do with only herself, her husband and daughter to clean and cook for, but she thinks she is better than the rest of the women in the village and that such work is beneath her. She is also somewhat of a gossip and, as such, makes it her business to be very well informed about the private details of nearly every family in the village, so I thought it might be possible, during our visit to her home, to lead her into a discussion of Alfreda’s murder and invite her opinion as to who might have reason to want her dead.”
Tilde paused for a moment and then added, “It might also be helpful to speak to Kendra’s daughter, Maud, if she is there. She was a close friend of Alfreda, and so is certain to have been with her on the day of the wedding. She may have seen or heard something that is important.”
“And how did you get Kendra to agree to my visit?” Estrid asked.
Tilde gave a satisfied smile. “It was easy,” she said. “When I called on her, I told her your name and, as I expected, she remembered your father and the high rank he held before his death, and so was most eager to be introduced to you. After that, I became suitably humble and told her that you were seeking skilled sempstresses here in the village to carry out commissions for your workshop in Rochester and that, since I am not as well acquainted as she is with those women in Maidstone who might be suitable for your consideration, had come to her for help.”
Here Tilde gave a wry laugh. “She swallowed my double-hooked bait with untimely haste. The thought of the admiration she would reap from having a thegn’s daughter visit her home, along with the heady power of perhaps bringing good fortune to a woman of her choosing, was too much for her prideful nature to resist. Although I feel guilty, just as you do, about our deception, her condescension is insulting and so practising subterfuge on her does not prick my conscience as much as it would with some of the other women in the village. I said we would call on her tomorrow morning.”
CHAPTER 5
After the meal was over, Ugg left the miller’s home to take a message to fitzHaimo, who was staying at fitzRanulf’s fortified manor house in Ashford, informing him that Estrid had arrived in Bearsted in compliance with the king’s instruction. After Alfreda’s death, the knight had remained at the manor house, which was about twenty miles from Maidstone, for the purposes of overseeing Estrid’s investigation and forwarding any reports she might make to the king, who was now at Dover. After Ugg had carried out his errand, he would return to Godser’s mill where he and Leofwine would remain until Estrid’s mission was completed.
After Ugg left, Godser’s nephew, Wig, who was his helper—and in the absence of Godser having any sons, would also one day be his heir—arrived, and went out with his uncle to assist with chores. Leofwine went with them, leaving Estrid and Judith with Tilde to refine the details of their plan for gathering information from Kendra.
“What exactly did you tell Kendra about the reason for my need to hire sempstresses?” Estrid asked the miller’s wife.
“I said your workshop was very busy and that, in the coming months, your schedule was so heavy that it would be difficult to complete all of the orders you have on hand unless you increased the number of your assistants. I added that you had searched throughout Rochester for talented embroiderers and been unable to find anyone suitable and so had decided to come to Maidstone to see if there were any women here who were able, and willing, to fill your requirements. I also told her that, since you and Godser are distantly related to each other through your marriage to Leofwine’s late cousin, you were staying with us while you did so.”
“That was well done,” Estrid told her. “You have explained it in such a manner that she should have no reason to doubt my purpose for coming here.”
She sat back for a moment and then pointed to the tapestry on the wall. “Is that your work?”
When the miller’s wife nodded, Estrid gave her a smile. “Then I can assure you, Tilde, that if I do employ anyone, and you wish to undertake the work, you will be my first choice. The stitches in that tapestry are very fine, and the arrangement is as handsome as any I could do myself. Can you also do orphrey work?”
Tilde blushed at the compliment and then nodded an affirmative to the question. “But I have not done any with gold thread for many years since I was a young girl and helped my aunt, who taught me how to do it, to complete a maniple for the priest of our church. I still use the pattern with ordinary wool, though, on some of the pieces I make for our home.”
She pulled a small tapestry from her work basket and there, on the edge of a scene depicting a handsome stallion, was a partially finished edge of leaves and acorns encased in dainty swirls of yellow stitched in the complex pattern that comprised orphrey.
Estrid examined the tapestry and showed it to Judith, whose eyes lit up with appreciation. “This is impressive, Tilde,” Estrid informed her, “and after I have done my best to complete the king’s enquiry into Alfreda’s unfortunate death, I would very much like to discuss with you an arrangement whereby, if you agree, we may both profit from your talent.”
The miller’s wife again flushed with gratification and said she would be most pleased to do so. Estrid then returned to the subject of Alfreda. “When is her funeral to be?” she asked.
“The day after tomorrow,” Tilde replied.
Estrid considered the statement. “We will see what we can learn when we visit Kendra in the morning and also from her daughter if she is present. After that, I think we will, under guise of paying our respects to the poor girl whose life was taken from her so precipitately, attend the funeral procession. That will give me a chance to see the at
titude of her father and any other relatives or friends who are there, and gauge whether or not there is one among them who is less grief-stricken than he, or she, should be.”
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Ugg returned that evening, his mission accomplished, and then they all sat down to a late meal of fresh trout caught in the Len River, along with cheese and some more of Tilde’s delicious bread. After engaging in some idle conversation about times past, they all bedded down for the night, Leofwine and Ugg outside in the shelter of the mill, and Estrid and Judith in spare sleeping cubicles in the miller’s house. Tilde was up very early the next morning to bake bread while Godser, along with his nephew, started up the mill.
After all had broken their fast, Estrid and Judith got themselves ready to go into the village, donning light summer cloaks over their kirtles. Tilde did the same and then said, with a laugh, “Kendra has already spread news of your presence here. Every one of the women who came to buy my bread this morning asked about you, and there were a couple of older ones who still remember your father and spoke of him with great respect.”
“That is pleasing to hear,” Estrid said with a smile. “Let us hope their recollection of my long lost status as the daughter of a thegn will weigh in my favour if any should discover I am here on behalf of a Norman king.”
Even though the distance was not far, they decided to indulge themselves in the luxury of riding rather than walking to go into Maidstone village, mounting the horses provided by the king’s authority in Rochester, Tilde riding pillion behind Judith. A short while later, after entering the village, Tilde guided them to come to a halt in front of one of the houses on the main thoroughfare. Both it and the neighbouring buildings were of two stories, all built of wattle and daub, and with neatly thatched roofs, but the one to which Tilde directed them had the added distinction of intricately carved wooden shutters over the casements, with the same pattern repeated in the lintel over the door, setting the house distinctively apart from its neighbours and giving testament to the carpentry skills of Kendra’s husband. The sounds of hammering and sawing came from behind the house where, Tilde told them, the carpenter’s workshop was situated.