Scarlet (40 page)

THE TURBULENT TIMES

OF WILLIAM SCATLOCKE

I
n our own time of shifting borders and changing allegiances, forced migration and displacement, religious suspicion and conflict—it is not too hard to imagine the plight of William Scatlocke who, owing to the political upheaval of the eleventh century, suddenly found himself a homeless refugee. One day a valued member of a close-knit society, ancient as the hills and rooted as the oak groves around him . . . and the next a wandering vagabond looking for a community and the protection of a strong leader. Then, as now, a traditional way of life could be shattered in a matter of days, broken so thoroughly that repair was not possible—only something utterly different.

For Will and his countrymen, the Norman devastation and destruction did not end when England’s hapless King Harold was cut down on the battlefield at Hastings in the autumn of 1066. That was only the beginning of what would become a generations-long cataclysm of change. Under William the Conqueror and his flame-haired son, William II (William the Red or “Rufus” as he was often called) the centuries’ old structures that supported life for the largely Saxon population of England were subjected to merciless assault. The intricate system binding lord and vassal in a tightly intertwined chain of mutual loyalty, support, and protection perfected by the Saxons was broken, throwing the well-ordered nation into turmoil. New rulers of the realm meant strange new laws in the land. One of the most hated was known as Forest Law—a set of highly questionable legal codes designed solely for the benefit of the crown-wearer and his cronies, and not at all confined to “forests” as we understand the word (areas of dense woodland), but could encompass large tracts of grassland, marsh, and moorland. Entire villages were razed and burned to the ground, sometimes because the settlement occupied land that the king, or members of his court, had identified as prime real estate for hunting. Other times destruction was inflicted as punishment for an infraction—such as rebellion or treason—by the local lord. In either case the newly seized land would be confiscated and declared a royal possession and special preserve belonging to the king, who delivered these often-vast estates to the management and protection of a “shire reeve,” or
sheriff
, his personal representative on the scene. Such a claim on what had previously been common land and livelihood for many—available for hunting, gathering, grazing, timber, and sundry uses—represented a seismic shift in the established social order.

All of a sudden, it was a serious crime to trespass on royal land, and the hapless victim caught within the royal forest precinct faced losing a hand or an eye at best, or if worse came to worst, death by hanging.

So, here come the Normans, falling upon the land like wolves on a peaceful sheepfold. Through no fault of his own, Will—and countless others like him—are driven from their homes by the overbearing overlords who displaced their masters and seized their masters’ lands, leaving the common folk—the farmers, the craftsmen, the peasants—to their own slender devices. And if nowadays it is not uncommon to learn that the man driving your taxi was actually a heart surgeon in his own country, or that the woman who cleans the office building was a university lecturer before she was driven out of the land of her birth . . . then neither was it uncommon in Will Scarlet’s day to meet drifters, beggars, thieves, and outlaws who had previously been the bedrock of traditional communities now laid waste by the invaders. And in spite of the rigours of Forest Law, many sought a greenwood refuge in the desperate hope of finding food and shelter in the wilderness.

And if there wasn’t trouble enough on the secular front, the spiritual realm was suffering its own clash of cultures. Although church affairs were the purview of an educated elite and the aristocracy, trouble at the top of the social ladder affected those clinging to the lower rungs, and did so severely. We who live in “Christian” countries that have become largely post-Christian may have some difficulty appreciating the depth of passion aroused by the changes introduced to the English church by the Normans. We have only to look at the present turmoil resulting from conflict between religious powers in certain parts of the world to appreciate just how violent these struggles can become. The devastation and bloodshed is clearly visible to one and all, and hardly needs mentioning to anyone within range of CNN or Al Jazeera. Yet, it is worth pointing out that in the medieval world, when disease and death were constant, grim companions and the grave an all-too-likely prognosis for everything from toothache to plague, the church with its promise of eternal salvation was the solitary hope and ultimate sanctuary for those who lived beneath its sheltering wings: virtually every man, woman, and child alive in the land.

Thus, when even relatively minor changes—such as replacing the user-friendly English-speaking Saxon cleric with his more imperious Norman counterpart—could wreak spiritual and temporal havoc for the locals, what of the great challenges of the day such as which of two competing popes to support? This particular predicament did occur during William II’s reign, and the waves of that disturbance spread far and wide throughout Europe. Pope Clement in Rome and Pope Urban in France were battling for supremacy of the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, and excommunicating opposing parties right and left. Kings and princes, dukes and barons, cardinals and archbishops all chose sides and lined up beneath the banner their favourite candidate. The result of decisions taken by the high and mighty in the rarified air of courtly affairs proved disastrous to those on the ground as the contest descended into physical violence: houses were looted, shops set ablaze, streets erupted in riots between rival camps, and lives were lost.

But all was not black and stormy; here and there small, stray rays of light broke through. For although the church was dominated by the rich and powerful, men with aristocratic connections whose commitment to the core tenets of Christian belief and practice was not always in ready evidence, it too had its countercultural element to be found in people like Friar Tuck, humble servants of the faith who eschewed riches, lived on small donations, and helped pave the way for the later, wildly popular and much needed Franciscan movement.

Will Scatlocke was, then, a man of his time. Denied his traditional way of life, with little or nothing to lose, he threw in his lot with Bran and his tribe of outlaws, who championed the cause of right and justice for those powerless to protect themselves from the abuses of the rapacious invaders. In the final book of the King Raven Trilogy, Friar Tuck—the simple mendicant monk—will take centre stage as the increasingly heated conflict between Welsh and Norman interests reaches its white-hot conclusion.

It has been gratifying to hear from readers who are eager for the next book and who want to know when the next instalment will appear. Generally speaking, it does take far longer to write a book than to read one—always a problem—and at this point I must beg your further indulgence as the writing and publication of
Tuck
, the third volume in the trilogy, will be delayed on account of a serious illness. Thanks to restored health and strength, I am working away at the conclusion of the series, and thank you for your patience and understanding.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

S
TEPHEN R. LAWHEAD is an internationally-acclaimed author of mythic history and imaginative fiction. His novels include the King Raven Trilogy,
Patrick
, The Song of Albion Trilogy, the Dragon King Trilogy (YA), and The Pendragon Cycle series, among many others. Lawhead makes his home in Oxford, England, with his wife.