[Norman Conquest 01] Wolves in Armour (18 page)

As he strode over to intercept the younger teacher Alan noted that he was thin, of middling height with lank dark hair almost to his shoulders and had a face dominated by a large nose. His tunic and breeches had once been of reasonable quality but were now thread-bare, but he proudly wore the traditional seax long-knife of the freeman at his belt.

“Excuse me!” called Alan in Latin. “Are you Osmund the scribe?”

“I suppose that is as good a description as any- that or
láréow
, or teacher. Yes, I’m Osmund,” came the reply in the same language, in a surprisingly deep and firm voice. Osmund studied the tall, well dressed but not ostentatious noble striding towards him, sword and scabbard swinging slightly from his baldric as he hurried. “What service may I be to my lord?”

“I’m Alan of Thorrington and I have need of an honest and skilled scribe. Lady Anne of Wivenhoe has recommended you to me as being
prættig
and
ánfeald
, a man both astute and honest. May we talk?”

Osmund hesitated as Alan reached him and stood a pace away. “Certainly, my lord. Perhaps if we off to the refectory where they are about to serve the evening meal we can sit and talk at our leisure.”

With a flash of insight Alan realised that the free meal that Osmund received as part of his teaching stipend was probably all that was keeping body and soul together. Having extensive experience himself with the poor fare and small meals provided at a priory he reached forward and clapped Osmund on the shoulder and exclaimed, “We can do better than that. I’m staying at ‘The Three Hounds’ and they have a good board. Come and eat with me.”

They walked through the darkened streets of the town, Osmund with the confidence of a man with an empty purse and the knowledge he had nothing worth stealing, Alan with the watchfulness that a warrior shows in any circumstances, automatically examining each dark alley as they passed.

‘The Three Hounds’ was a high-class inn, catering for merchants, guildsmen and the well-to-do. The Commons was warm and dimly lit by rush torches attached to the walls and posts by sconces. The room was slightly smoky, with the smoke from the fire in the central hearth drifting through the air before slowly finding its way out of the small hole left in the roof. There was a quiet buzz of conversation as the dozen or so customers conversed in quiet tones over the small tables scattered around the room. Alan’s escort of four warriors looked quite out of place, playing dice together in a corner. Alan chose an unoccupied table a little distance from the fire and relaxed as he sat down, using one foot to drag a spare stool opposite him and then putting both booted feet up as he leaned back. Osmund sat carefully upright on his own chair. The inn-keeper, a big fat middle-aged man with a bald head, hurried across, wiping his hands clean on his apron as he did so.

“What can I get you, Masters?” he asked in a gravelly tone.

“Two quart pitchers of your best ale. What food do you have tonight?” demanded Alan.

“Pottage, of course, flavoured with nice fat bacon. We also have a good leek soup. Leverpostej- Danish pork-liver paste on dark rye bread with pickled beet, onions and cucumber. Goat stew with onions and herbs. Very nice! Pork rissoles with sage, shallots and parsley. Buttered vegetables and roast gourd. The oven is still lit, so we can whip up a nice steak and kidney pie or chicken pie. For dessert an apple pie, fresh fruit or cheeses. We have some fine Gorgonzola, Camembert, Emmenthal and an unusual very hard but piquant cheese that we get from a local cheese-maker- he ages it for several years,” replied the inn-keeper.

Alan paused for a moment. “Leek soup, Leverpostej with wortes and with a dash of dark vinegar. Then the goat stew with gourd. While we’re eating those, cook a steak and kidney pie for two, which we’ll have with the buttered vegetables. Apple pie and a cheese platter. Plenty of fresh bread. Keep the ale coming.”

After a nod the inn-keeper walked off towards the kitchen, shouting to the serving-wench behind the counter to bring the ale. The good-looking blonde-haired lass turned to the firkin behind her and adroitly drew two quart pitchers before walking with swaying hips across the tavern to the table and placing the pitchers before the two diners.

“Much better than eating at the refectory, don’t you think?’ asked Alan as he saw Osmund carefully studying the well-filled low-cut front of the serving-wench’s dress. Osmund grunted a reply.

Soup and bread arrived promptly and for the next hour the two men worked their way through the various courses as they arrived. As they ate Alan sounded Osmund out, firstly as to his abilities as a clerk. Osmund said that he was skilled in scribing in Latin and English and was reasonably capable in Norman French. He expressed a capability to read, but not write, Attic Greek, and to be able to make himself understood in verbal Celtic, French, Flemish, Danish and Norse. Given that Norse, English and Danish had a close relationship and most people who could speak one language could make himself understood in another if using simple words, this was perhaps not quite as great a list of achievements as it may at first have appeared.

Alan had one of his guards fetch parchment, ink and quill from his room, and Osmund showed that he was capable of taking verbatim dictation at reasonable speed, despite his consumption of ale. He also showed that he was able to quickly and accurately figure sums.

“That’s only the rough draft, of course,” said Osmund referring to his transcription. “Usually I’d re-write it properly later.”

Alan had not noticed any appreciable problems with style and form and was quite happy to accept Osmund’s ‘rough draft’ as the final copy. He asked Osmund about his past.

“Well, my father was a priest. It’s not unusual for priests in England to be married, of course. He and my mother taught me my basic letters and when I was nine I was sent to the abbey school at Cambridge. I learned there under a number of teachers. You’ll be familiar with Cambridge’s reputation for scholarship? I was an oblate and then a novice. Err… I proved somewhat precocious and asked too many difficult questions and the abbot decided I should not become a monk. I was seventeen then. I was fortunate that the abbot here in Colchester, who is a friend of my father’s, offered me a position as a teacher and I’ve been here for the last three years, apart from a year when I travelled with an entertaining troupe to France, Normandy, Flanders, Denmark, Norway and Scandinavia. I sing,” he added.

Given the similarity of their backgrounds Alan felt a strong fellow-feeling towards Osmund and also felt that he was honest and to be trusted. “As I mentioned, I’m looking for a clerk to record the details of the Hundred court and my Manor court and to keep my books of account. I have a steward who I suspect of cheating me and who needs close supervision. The pay would be two shillings a week and your board in my Hall. Would you be interested in the position?” asked Alan as he ate a hunk of fresh buttered bread with Gorgonzola cheese.

Osmund nearly dropped his pitcher of ale. Two shillings a week was as much as a huscarle earned, far more than the few pence he received for teaching, which barely paid for the cost of the vermin-infested garret that he called home. Osmund stammered his thanks and acceptance. Alan tossed a leather purse on the table, landing with a heavy thud. “Usually pay is monthly in arrears, but you may have some debts you need to clear before you leave, so here is two weeks pay in advance. When can you start?”

Osmund assured Alan that he would present himself at Thorrington in four days time. Given the late hour and Osmund’s consumption of a large quantity of ale, Alan suggested that Osmund sleep by the fire in the Commons with his own troops. Just then the serving wench bustled up to clear the table and with a direct look at Alan asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?” The lass had grown prettier with each passing pitcher of ale and Alan was tempted, but after a moment declined. After all, on the morrow he would be back at home with Edyth.

Next morning was market day. After breaking his fast with bread and cheese, Alan went to the armourer’s workshop, having one of his escort lead the two horses that were to form the payment. Alan chatted with Gimm, one of the armourer’s young apprentices, while he was being fitted into his armour and Gimm’s master was outside inspecting the horses. Apparently business was slow and the apprentices had been told that one of them was to be put off, but not which one of the three. Gimm was close to completing his apprenticeship and, thinking how convenient it would be to have an armourer in his fort, Alan made another job offer that was quickly accepted. Alan told Gimm to travel to Thorrington with Osmund and to draw up a list of the tools, equipment and supplies he’d need. Just then the Master Armourer reappeared and expressed himself happy with the horses.

The hauberk required a few minor alterations and with a wink at Gimm Alan arranged to return after mid-day to collect the armour. Then to the market, where Alan tracked down the cheese-maker that supplied ‘The Three Hounds’ and ordered two dozen rounds of various cheeses to be collected by a cart from Thorrington in a few days, with payment to be two for one weight for weight with wheat flour. Next he went to the wine merchant to buy half a dozen firkins of Bordeaux, with payment to be by sacks of flour and barrels of salted fish.

It was mid-day when Alan walked up the hill to the priory, accompanied by the warrior who had previously led the horses. Osmund had told Alan that the librarian was Brother Leanian, an elderly monk who apparently guarded the tomes in his care as closely as if they were virgins. Deliberately arriving half an hour before the service for the noon hour of Sext, which was followed by the main meal of the day, Alan had a quick look around the library before he approached its master. The librarian had been observing him since arrival, the priest noting the simple but rich clothing and air of authority of the noble. “Brother Leanian,” said Alan in Latin, “You have quite an impressive collection! Not as extensive as Rouen where I studied, or the University of Paris where I visited a few times, but nevertheless still quite good. Now tell me do you have….”

Half an hour later Alan walked out with a carefully wrapped parcel containing three books. He declined the offer of his warrior, who had been waiting outside, to carry the books and they took the short walk to the armourer’s workshop. This fitting showed that the hauberk was now a perfect fit, and after slipping Gimm a silver penny they walked back to ‘The Three Hounds’. This time Alan let his escort carry the forty-pound weight of the rolled up hauberk, now wrapped in oiled cloth.

Alan was keen to be back at Thorrington by dark, so after a quick meal and settling up with the innkeeper they were on their way out of the East Gate, paid their toll to cross the wooden bridge over river Colne and trotted their way back home.

They arrived at Thorrington at dusk, dismounting stiffly outside the Hall and let the two grooms take the horses away to be rubbed down and fed. Alan stretched his sore legs and stamped his feet as he walked into the dimly lit Hall. He saw Anne sitting on her chair on one side of the fire with her leg supported by a foot-stool, with a pile of parchments and two candles on the bench before her. Edyth was sitting on the other side of the fire. Alan was carrying two parcels. One he placed on a side-table, and then he approached Edyth with the other. She rose and greeted him with a long kiss, before taking her parcel with a squeal of delight. Moments later she had it unwrapped and was holding a long length of deep red velvet cloth against herself, swirling this way and that, before hurrying off to the bedchamber to look at herself in the polished metal mirror.

Alan called for a pint of ale to wash the road dust from his throat, then a jug of wine and food, before sitting next to Anne at the table. After a glance at the parcel on the side-table Anne asked, “And how was your journey to Colchester?”

“Well enough, thank you. I transacted the business I needed to do and met Osmund. I’m grateful for your introduction. He seems an excellent and honest man and just what I need. He’ll be joining us here in a few days, together with a young armourer who was looking for work. The two outlaws are still in the sheriff’s gaol. Robert fitzWymarc is away and his deputy wasn’t prepared to make a decision in his absence. And how was your time?”

Anne switched to speaking Latin, certain that nobody in the Hall but herself and Alan would be able to understand what she said, “I think I’ve found what your steward is up to, or at least some of it,” with a tap on the pile of parchment. “The financial records are very sketchy. The steward says that is because he can’t read or write and the records are only written when Brother Godwine happens to be available. There are months with no records at all and the rest is all very patchy. Some specifics are that you own a mill here and others elsewhere. I own a mill myself, so I have some experience. You send your own grain there to be ground, of course. The number of sacks of flour you receive back is too low. I expect that he also takes a portion of your one-tenth charge for the others in your lands to grind their grain in your mill.”

“That means that the miller must be in on it too!” exclaimed Alan, also in Latin.

“Not necessarily. They won’t keep written records and wouldn’t know what happens to the sacks after they’re loaded on the wagon. Also, the number of pigs you receive as pannage for the right of your geburs to feed their swine in the forest and eat the acorns does not tally with the number of pigs the tax rolls show that they have. The payment for estovers for gathering wood don’t equal the number of cartloads of firewood you receive. I don’t know anything about salt-pans, but I expect that the barrels of salt you receive both from the salt-pans in your own demesne and the others up on the north coast of the Hundred are lower than they should be. Salt is a very expensive item. The barrels of fish you actually receive from your fishermen is less than the rent they are due to pay. You’d expect a few inconsistencies and errors, but this appears to be embezzlement pretty well ‘across the board’.”