[Norman Conquest 02] Winter of Discontent (13 page)

Anne was sitting at the rear of the boat facing forwards, wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat that Alan had insisted she don to protect her fair skin from the spring sun, and trailing her hand in the water. For much of the distance the river was lined with willows now in full leaf, and in places the woodland came down to the water’s edge. Anne exclaimed from time to time as she sa
w deer, and once a fox with a long
red tail, coming to the water to drink, causing Alan who was sitting opposite her and facing backwards towards the boatman
,
to have to turn and look. Swans and ducks swam at the water’s edge or could be seen resting on the riverbank. On the occasional mudflat, or in the several swamps caused by low-lying la
nd, wading birds could be seen.

They paused in the early afternoon for the mid-day meal at Putney, after a journey of five miles, leaving the punt to partake of the fare at a local tavern, washed down with ale in Alan’s case and
apple
juice for Anne. The return journey took much less time with the boatman mainly steering and allowing the current to carry them along. They arrived back at
the
Queenhithe steps just after five in the afternoon and
,
as Alan handed Anne out of the punt
,
it swayed alarmingly as they stepped out. He then he pressed into the boatman’s hand the agreed fee of three pennies. Anne gave Alan a kiss and thanked him for a wonderful day.

They walked past the Bishop’s
p
alace,
incongruously
nestled between the two fish markets, where fortunately the fishmongers had
already
cleaned up for the day, and then up Bread Street
to
call in at a bakery as Anne was tempted by the sight of cream-cakes on
display, along Chepe Street and out of Newgate to walk the short distance to their home at
Holebourn
Bridge.

Anne had arranged for Bjorn, the captain of the trading cog
Zeelandt
, to dine with them that evening as he was due to sail the following day and she was anxious to hear from him how h
is
first voyage
of the season
to
Bordeaux
had proceeded. The old Viking was always a font of wonderful stories once his mind and tongue were lubricated with several quarts of ale.

Bjorn was a big bear of a man. Hairy, aged but still immensely strong, and as Alan could attest still very swift with an axe. His weather-beaten face was dominated by a large red nose and the bluest eyes Alan had ever seen, surrounded by wrinkles caused by years of staring into the sun. He was sitting waiting for them in the Hall, with the maid Synne sitting on his lap and seemingly enjoying his attentions despite the fact that the Viking was old enough to be her father. He released the woman with a sigh of regret
,
but received a look tha
t promised an interesting night
before Synne walked out of the room with a swing of her bottom.

Alan raised an eyebrow to Anne before he greeted their guest. “God Hael! I hope we find you well
,
Bjorn,” said Alan formally.

Bjorn rose from his seat, embraced Alan in a bear-hug and patted his back, and then turned to Anne. With more gentleness he also embraced her and then gave a kiss, a pat on the bottom and, after a step back
wards
, a pat on the belly. “Growing fat!” he commented with a smile. “Due late summer? I thought so!” he gave her another kiss, Anne giggling as the whiskers of his large
red
beard and moustache tickled. Bjorn clearly had a relaxed attitude of dealing with his employer, treating her like a favourite niece.

“Just a moment,” said Alan, as he quickly went to his office and returned with an earthenware quart crock and three small cups. As they sat down he bid Bjorn to down the small portion of ale remaining in his quart pot, and poured into a small cup which he set before Bjorn. He filled it and then poured a thimble-full into his own cup and the same into that of
Anne. “From Finland. Aqua Vitae- ‘The Water of Life’,
” he explained as he took a careful sip and winced. Just then Osmund wandered in and took a seat at the table.

“Thor’s balls! I haven’t had that for years! Drikke!” exclaimed Bjorn taking a deep pull that drained half of the cup at once. His face immediately turned red. Anne took a sip from her cup, blinked as tears appeared in her eyes and gave a small cough. “Good stuff!” continued Bjorn, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Alan hoped he wasn’t going to drink the whole jug, as even with Bjorn’s capacity it would put him in
to
an
alcoholic
coma and he was due to sail next day. Bjorn filled his cup back to the brim, offered the jug to Alan and Anne, both of whom shook their heads, and to Alan’s surprise
he
then put the stopper back into the crock and placed it firmly on the table out of his own reach. Clearly he had drunk Aqua Vitae previously and respected the fierce spirit.

“How went the journey to Aquitaine?” asked Anne.

“Well enough,” replied Bjorn. “
It was a
little stormy on the way there, and the return took longer than I’d like. We were stuck in Lorient for over a week waiting for the wind so we could get around Finistere. Your Factor in Bordeaux is doing a good job. He’s importing spices and other luxury goods directly from the Moors. There are five-pound sacks of grains of paradise, saffron, ginger
and
cumin. There’s turmeric from further east for curries, together with black pepper, cinnamon and cassia. Nutmeg and mace. Damned expensive stuff. Costs nearly the same as gold, but that is the Factor’s worry not mine. I’m just transport. Not to worry! I store them ‘high and dry’.”

“Some of them are actually worth more than gold, particularly the saffron,” said Anne in a quiet voice.

“Do you know, we actually
ate
gold at a party last year,” commented Alan. “One of the dishes of food was gilded with gold leaf. How stupid can you be, to be that ostentatious just to impre
ss people with how rich you are?
It’s not as if it has any flavour.”

Bjorn shook his head in amasement at the antics of the nobles. “Just give me a good smoked pork hock to chew and a jug of the Aqua Vitae!” he replied.

“Any problems with pirates?” asked Anne.

Bjorn waved a dismissive hand. “No. After we sank that one last year using the big cross-bow and the fire-arrow,
when
they come out from Brest, Guernsey or Alderney
they
take one look at us, recognise who we are and take off like flying-fish.”

“Ballista and Wildfire,” corrected Alan automatically, and then asked
,
“Flying-fish?”
certain
that Bjorn was making a joke.

“Yes, there are fish that fly. Their fins are like little wings and when they’re being chased by bigger fish they jump out of the water and fly for… oh fifty paces or so.
You see them m
ainly in warmer waters. You can catch them
with
hand-
nets
, or they may fall onto the deck. Very sweet eating,” replied Bjorn. The lack of a
mischievous
twinkle in his eyes made Alan believe him, no matter how outlandish the story.

Just then the servants brought in dinner. It was the simple but tasty fare that they preferred at home. In this instance beef and kidney pie, herb pork sausages and rabbit stew, with mustard vegetables and fresh bread. They were aware that Bjorn hated eating fish, as a result of his upbringing in Norway where there w
ere few
other source
s
of
protein
. Des
s
ert was a variety of piquant cheeses with bread and fresh butter- Neufchatel, Roquefort, Gorgonzola, Cheshire and Romano, mainly imported from France or Italy- and dried or candied fruits and nuts. Bjorn reverted to ale after he had
finished
his
cup of
Aquae Vitae. Alan and Osmund drank a fine Bordeaux wine and Anne fruit cordial as she was making an effort to reduce her drinking due to her pregnancy.

“You promised last time to tell us about your journey to Vinland,” reminded Anne.

“Ah!” replied Bjorn. “That was a few years after the voyage down the Volga to Constantinople and back via the Levant, Greece, Italy and
Iberia
. I’d spent my gold by then
and was again a sailor with little in my purse
. It should’ve been enough to last me for life, but it’s surprising how a sailor can spend money,” he said with a smile. “That
voyage
was also with
Knut Sweinsson, three longboats this time.
I
t would have been in… oh about
’
32 or
’
33. I was twenty-five. We were promised that the voyage west w
ould see us rich. Fucking liars!
It was 250
miles west across open ocean to the Shetlands
, then 250
more north-west to the Faeroes
- both w
indswept desolate hell-holes. Why anybody would want to live in either place I know not
-
I thought Norway was bad enough. Then
400
miles north-west to Iceland. It was summer, so the weather was reasonable. Iceland is just a land of rocks and ice. Some grasslands in the south grazed by sheep.

“Greenland
-
a
nother
1,500
miles
west.
It has s
ome trees and vegetation. The local Norwegians farm cattle, hunt and trade seal and other furs and whale oil. There are native people there, broad flat faces and slanted eyes, who don’t cause any real problems.
They’re n
ice enough people.

“Then Vinland. Sail south-west
nearly
2,000
miles further
and you can’t miss it. It’s fucking huge, but you do need to go some distance south down the coast to find reasonably hospitable conditions.
There’s f
o
r
ests, grassland, lakes
and
wild animals. Deer, elk, seals, including one whose young has pure white fur. Lots of birds and fish. We had a good look around and couldn’t find signs of any minerals except coal. Nothing you couldn’t
find a lot damn closer to home!

“In the
recent
past the Vikings had two settlements for a very brief period of a year or two. It is difficult to set up colonies so far away and
when
the natives, the
skrælingar
, are very fierce. We spent the winter in Vinland and sailed back the next year, nearly starving and totally penniless. The natives in both Greenland and Vinland have nothing we want, and want nothing we have. They wear skins, have weapons of stone and bone and live in houses made of animal skins or pieces of wood. They have no money and no precious metals or jewels.
They don’t want any trade, even if they
had
something to trade. At least the natives in Greenland don’t fill you full of arrows or try to stick a spear in your guts every time they see you.

“ Knut died in Vinland at our camp, killed by the
skrælingar
, as were many of our men. If he hadn’t been, when he got back he would have gutted King Sveinn Knutsson like a fish for gulling him into undertaking the voyage by promising a rich land where you just had to bend over to pick up the gold pieces. Three ships and
210
men departed. One ship and
21
men returned, without a single silver penny to their name.”

Alan, Anne and Osmund spent the evening picking further details out of Bjorn’s capacious memory and enjoying the story.

*
*
  *
*

On Tuesday 6
th
May the King
’
s Council, the
Curia Regis
, the Norman
-
dominated successor to the Saxon
Witenagemot
, was convened in the Hall
at
Westminster Palace as the bells of the
adjacent
abbey rang for Terce. Archbishop Stigand of Canterbury blessed those attending and intoned several prayers in Latin. Chancellor
Regenbald
called the meeting to order and began to conduct the meeting on behalf of King William, who sat on the raised dais next to Regenbald with
Duchess Matilda
his wife at his sid
e.

The
royal couple
wore thick robes of red velvet together with
,
in William’s case
,
a small gold crown
-
and for Matilda a golden diadem. Alan was sure that they would spend an even more uncomfortable day than he, despite the padded cushions on which they sat. Already the room was warm and the atmosphere
was
rank
with the smell of many unwashed bodies. With the heat, lack of ventilation and relative darkness in the Hall, Alan expected that the soporific effect would soon have most
of those
assembled nodding off to sleep.
No agenda had been circulated or announced, but the front benches were packed with the king’s close associates
,
including
Roger de Montgomerie
,
Hugh de Grandmesnil, Geoffrey de Mandeville, Richard fitzGilbert, William de Warrene, Count Stephen, Robert Count of Eu, William Peverel and Hugh de Montford, the English earls Waltheof, Edwin and Morcar, the English archbishops Stigand and Ealdred- and not least the
king’s half-
brothers Bishop Odo of Bayeux, Robert Count of Mortain and his cousin William fitzOsbern.