Stewart Binns - Anarchy

The King smiled at me.

‘He’s not easy to find. He lives at the ends of the earth – a desolate place called Ashgyll Force, in Northumbria. He was a good friend of my brother; I like to know where he is at all times, so that I can keep an eye on him.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

‘You can send him my greetings. He was very obliging to me in arranging my first marriage to his niece, Edith. And he helped draft my Coronation Charter.’

‘It would be an honour, sire.’

Hugh Bigod then told the King more detail about my mother and her work as a churchwright, which led to the usual complications about my ‘real’ mother, Adela, and her time fighting in the Great Crusade with my father. Yet again, I went through the contrived story that I had told so many times about Estrith and Adela and which of them was my birth mother. But as I did so, I could see Bishop Everard whispering in the King’s ear. The new bishop was an unknown quantity to me. He was an English-born Norman of modest birth from Wiltshire; he had the look of a weasel about him and made me feel uneasy. I was right to be concerned. The Bishop had not gone hunting but had stayed in the camp, drinking mead, and had clearly consumed a large quantity of it.

The King’s mood darkened as he spoke.

‘My Lord Bishop tells me that he was your mother’s confessor before her recent death.’

I glanced at Hugh Bigod, who looked worried.

‘Apparently, the estimable Estrith, Abbess of Fécamp, was your birth mother after all. Not only that, she was a woman of… let’s say… some spirit.’

‘Sire, forgive me, I am at a disadvantage here. But whatever was said by Estrith on her deathbed should be between her and her Maker.’

Hugh Bigod came to my defence.

‘I agree, sire – this is a private matter. The good woman, who saved many lives in the Holy Land, is not long in the ground.’

The King looked at Bishop Everard. Rather than relenting, the prelate just smirked.

‘It is not a private matter if it involves a threat to the King himself.’

I began to look around, to see if I could locate Eadmer and our horses. He had also sensed danger and now caught my eye. He nodded in the direction of the trees to the west.

The Bishop continued.

‘The title “Abbess of Fécamp” was given to her by the King’s shamed brother, Robert, as a contrivance. She had never even been to the nunnery. Is it not also true that you were conceived out of wedlock in the desert and that the story you’ve just told us about the woman Adela is a lie?’

I had little option but to now speak the truth.

‘My Lord King, my mother was a remarkable woman. She was ordained, but her passion was church architecture – and in order to pursue that, she hid behind her nun’s habit. I make no apologies for that. Yes, I was conceived in the desert, in extremis, when my parents faced almost certain death. But it was in a tender and loving tryst with my noble father, Sweyn of Bourne. I make no apologies for that either.’

The Bishop was now warming to his devilment.

‘Talking of your father, I have been making some inquiries. Is there not another family connection in Bourne? Your father was Sweyn of that village, but your mother, Estrith, was one of a pair of twins, the other being Gunnhild. Were they not Estrith and Gunnhild of Melfi?’

‘They were, my Lord.’

I managed to remain courteous, but I could feel a great swell of rage rising in me. I was tempted to draw my sword and bring a painful end to the Bishop’s tirade.

‘Were they not the daughters of Hereward of Bourne, the infamous outlaw – a man who had the temerity to challenge the King’s father, our mighty lord, William, Conqueror of the English?’

The King’s face blackened in fury. Hugh Bigod looked down at the ground in despair.

‘There is more, my Lord King. This man’s father fought with your brother against you at Tinchebrai. I am sure he is an infiltrator in your camp. There has been trouble in Norwich before – from the English masons, his friends. I would swear on the Bible that he was one of the conspirators.’

Hugh Bigod made one last attempt to defend me.

‘That’s nonsense! I recommended Harold–’

But the King raised his hand to stop the Earl in mid-sentence, and I saw him gesture to his constable on his right. I took my only chance and made a run for it. It was dusk and if I could make it to the trees, I had a chance. Chaos broke out behind me as men barked orders, swords were drawn from scabbards and horses were untethered. Eadmer was right in front of me and I followed him as he disappeared into the undergrowth.

Arrows imbedded themselves in trees all around us and I felt at least two cut through the air close to me. Our horses were only fifteen yards away. We covered the ground at breakneck speed before mounting in a single bound. But, as we did so, four mounted knights burst through the undergrowth and were soon on top of us, swords drawn.

Fortunately, my horse reared up in panic and stalled the Normans’ charge, which bought me a few vital seconds to raise my axe. I caught my nearest adversary with a heavy blow into his left shoulder. His mail coat absorbed some of the blow, but I could feel my blade sink into the soft flesh beneath, which immediately began to spew blood through the mangled rings of his armour.

He stared at me with a look of surprise – shocked that I had been able to strike him so quickly. But his expression immediately changed to one of horror as the pain I had inflicted, delayed for an instant, told him how badly he was hurt. He began to turn his head to stare at his wound. But before he could complete the action, he fell from his mount and landed in a tangled heap on the ground.

Eadmer had managed to put ten yards between himself and our opponents. While I tried to find a way to extricate myself from the three surviving knights, an arrow from Eadmer’s bow whistled past my horse’s ear and hit one of them square in the chest. At that range, even with the protection of good-quality mail, the arrow must have embedded itself deeply into the man’s body. He too hit the ground with a heavy thud.

One of the two remaining knights grabbed my reins, but a well-aimed blow from my axe took off his hand at the wrist, while Eadmer’s fearsome charge in our direction persuaded the stricken man’s comrade to lead his horse away rather than continue the skirmish.

We could hear more pursuers approaching at a gallop and so turned to make our escape. We knew Foxley Wood well and were easily able to outpace them.

Eadmer waited until we were out of immediate danger to state the obvious.

‘You should listen to me sometimes!’

‘I know. Perhaps next time…’

‘I knew it would get us into trouble; now we are fugitives in our own land.’

Two days later, we were moving north on the ancient road to York at Falkingham. I had never been beyond the Trent before and was amazed at the difference between my home in East Anglia and the north.

Apart from the major roads and burghs, where there was a semblance of normality, the countryside was devoid of life; villages were derelict and fields were overgrown, slowly returning to wilderness. I had heard about King William’s atrocities in the northern earldoms, and now here was the stark evidence before my eyes. Even on the main roads, people travelled warily and stories abounded of outlaws and brigands hiding in the wildwood beyond the reach of Norman law.

Thoughtfully, Eadmer waited a few days before raising the subject of what he had heard in Foxley Wood.

‘I always knew Abbess Estrith was a remarkable woman and that your family had had many adventures. But I would never have guessed any of what I heard–’

‘I find it hard to believe myself sometimes. At least there is now no need for secrecy any more.’