Chapter 47: The Wolves and the She-Wolf
Earl Gilbert of Suffolk-Noon, The Suffolk Coast, South of Ipswich, 29th February 1084
Smoke billowed up in plumes dotted across the horizon, not the gentle greyish white smoke, of fish huts usually found along this areas coast line, but the pitch-black smoke of burning thatch. The young Earl and his retinue had set out two days previously, riding south along the coast road following the signs of fire, before finally they had arrived here.
He directed his horse slowly past a group of his men who were sifting through the scorched ashes of what he presumed had been a fisherman’s hovel “Any joy Eric?”
What chance does anyone have amid such devastation
The young man turned his face up to his master, smudges of ash covering his cheeks “Nay my Lord, there is no telling if anyone survived or indeed how many have died.”
Heathens
Gilbert looked all about him, ruined hovels and fish hut still burning hours after they had been set alight, his heart ached and his stomach wrenched slightly ‘I did not think the Northmen would ever return to our shores.’
God grant these poor children of Christ entry into paradise and curse the pagans.
‘Do what you can my friend, I suspect little can be saved here. We shall leave within the hour.’ He steered his horse away from the smouldering pyre toward the small hamlets boundary, unwilling to look any longer on the hellish scene.
Another guard rode alongside him, one of his fathers’ men, stocky and thick set with a black beard speckled grey. He leaned over in his saddle, his voice low “We should send a rider my Lord to the King or too London surely? I have already sent scouts along the coast to find their ships.”
Heaven forbid these beasts still prowl the coast, Father I beseech thee send them home.
‘A worthy suggestion my friend, we shall if we can do both. Send your fastest riders to London so that they may warn the council and when we are safely home I shall provision a ship to take word north to the King, it will not be an easy journey in the winter time by road.’ Richard was far to the north though one could only hope he was still south of the Scottish border. May angels speed them on their way.
Queen Wynnflaed-Late morning, Westminster, London, 7th March 1084
Despite the chill Wynnflaed sat on a cedar chair underneath the makeshift veranda, melting snow and drops of sparkling water looking like a curtain of crystals before her. Baroness Mathilde with walking stick in hand, for she was aged much now sat to her left, the Dowager-Countess still struggling with her health sat to the right. The Queen and Gunhilda applauded as Prince Richard swept the Earl of Maines’ sons leg from under him, knocking the poor boy into a puddle, kicking his wooden sword from his hand as he fell.
Bravo my little King. She sensed Mathildes irritation at the sight of her bested grandson. Worry not Baroness it is just a game.
“They are both gift swordsmen are they not Baroness?” the question sounded amicable enough and she tried to appear generous with her praise. But the Baroness was clearly irritated.
“Get up boy, you are not beaten until you are dead!” such words spoken to a child seemed harsh but then Wynnflaed did not rebuke her, it was not her place.
If that is only lesson you have Baroness, I see why your son is as persistent as he is. The Queens head spun around as Gunhilda winced slightly, trying to adjust her position and Wynnflaed silently offered her the chance to speak. “I remember as a girl, when we lived with King Gwain, watching the King and the Earl play like this at just about the same age, but I confess Richard showed not nearly as much skill with a sword as Robert did.”
‘My son still is the better swordsman and the better commander’ Mathilde’s back straightened as pride filled her a little, taking a handful of years from her face though she tried to quell the Queens concern unusually ‘Fear not Highness, with my son and husband in Scotland at Richards side, he is well protected in the bosom of his family’ But they are not his family Baroness, I am and my children are, your basket of serpents only pretend to be so inclined. Wynnflaed smiled nodding slightly to the side as she fixed her eyes on the two boys, who were once more with their tutor’s instruction squaring up to one another, any solace Mathilde had given was however, quickly snatched away ‘though from what I hear there is little chance of Richard even seeing battle’
Alright Baroness, I will bite though I suspect I know most of it. “Exactly what have you heard my friend? Heaven knows I am poorly informed, Richard writes so rarely?’ It mattered little however, that the King did not write often for Wynnflaed had sent him north with near fifteen of her best spies planted throughout the army, though regrettably two had fallen been silent for the past few weeks and she suspected the weather had seen them off.
The Baroness made no attempt to hide her smile, the Queen turning her gaze back to the two young boys now trading blows once more ‘My son says Richard has no stomach for a fight, he says they have ridden all the way to Scotland for next to nothing and that one would think the King has no desire to see this rebellion quashed quickly.’
Well Baroness, you are partially right though it is a pity you are not the only one your son says those things too.
‘Shall I give you a brief lesson Lady Beaumont on my husband’s intent? You could if you wish pass it along to your son and his friends so that they perhaps may have a little more faith?’ she glared over her shoulder at the Baroness whose eyes were fixed dead ahead on the two young boys as they were being guided through their steps and swings. The Queen took her silence as consent to continue, dismissing the two servants nearby before she continued; one of them was after all Malcolm’s spy. ‘Richard has aided Malcolm purely and simply for England’s benefit not that of the Scottish King. If the rebel leader was a better option I am sure Richard would have supported him instead.’
‘Why on earth, then has the King marched at all? If either option is favourable surely it would have been best to just sit it out?’ For such a gifted courtier and one so long lived you really do not see things clearly at all do you. Wynnflaed smiled at the Baronesses puzzlement.
‘Because dear friend, the King firstly wishes to support the betrothal of Mary to the Kings nephew, the fall of the House of Dunkeld would spell Marys fall too. Second because our intervention sends a clear message across these islands. England and her King are the masters of it all and it is by my husbands will that lesser men can call themselves Sovereign Lords.’ Surely both were obvious reasons, though Wynnflaed was primarily focused on keeping Mary in the north, away from her children and out of the succession, safe in her solitary madness.
Before she could continue educating the Baroness, Wynnflaed was stopped by an unfamiliar sound; bells. Starting far off at first, she thought that she had imagined them but then the noise had grown closer, getting louder, ever louder as if there was a plague amongst the bell towers of London that set the bronzes ringing. The noise continued to spread until even the small bells before the palace gates were being rung, the watchmen striking them hard.
Fire Perhaps? A Tidal surge? Worse? Was Richard dead and no one had though to tell her?
The three ladies looked to one another, the Dowager-Countess despite her failing health already on her feet directing Prince Richard and Robert de Normandie inside the safety of the palace. The Baroness too, hoisted up by the Scottish spy posing as her man servant hobbled inward, Wynnflaed waited a moment for the young son of Commander Drogo, Balthere as he picked up the wooden staves that they had been using ‘Come on little knight, let us go see what the commotion is!’
Lord if you are listening, be merciful.
Queen Wynnflaed-Noon, Westminster, London 7th March 1084
Wynnflaed moved at pace down the corridor, quickly out striding Gunhilda and the boys, casting a glance over her shoulder “Take the children to the nursery Countess, see they stay where they are.” She gripped her heavy skirts at the knee hoisting them from the floor, so she could walk faster, flying around the nearest corner.
One of the kitchens herb gardens opened to her right and the Queen noticed on the opposite side the Bishop of Burton rushing at speed in the same direction, his mitre being carried by a poor brother monk who was struggling to keep the pace, the Bishop trying to do up his robe as he strode.
Foots-steps converged from the left corridor and she swapped a sharp glance with Asher, his deep frown lines showing he too was puzzled by the bizarre cacophony that now rang out throughout the palace. Servants and courtiers were all converging on the throne room and many jumped aside to allow her passage, the doors already thrown open and a mud-soaked rider was standing at the rooms centre.
She ignored the man for a moment, taking the steps to the dais in one move, sweeping her skirts round as she glided down into her seat, grace and power personified. Waiting a moment, she allowed the other courtiers and councillors to get into the chamber, racing for the best positions. With a gentle wave of her wrist, she indicated without need for words that despite their difference Bishop Rolland should, as Lord Chancellor join her on the dais. I am certain I will need you in the moments to come. She ignored the assembling court and looked hard at the besmirched rider “Speak? Where are you from and what news do you bring?”
Let it not be Richard, say he is not dead.
“Highness I have come on behalf of Earl Gilbert with grave tidings” out with it man, speak plain ‘We are beset my Queen, the Northmen have returned to England, they have burned six villages in my Lords lands and our scouts say they are making their way south, enough ships to carry near a thousand men.’
Thank you Lord. Praised be that Richard is safe.
She was not sure what to say but there was little need for the Chancellor was ahead of her for a change “You are certain of this? Northmen have not come this far west for near a decade and they certainly have not been seen a thousand strong for many a year”
Ever a pragmatist, welcome for a change.
‘I saw their ships with my own eyes Chancellor, I am certain of it. Thirteen ships, enough to carry a thousand warriors and they have given their sails to the north wind, it drives them south, they shall be at the mouth of the Thames in days.’ The poor man looked exhausted, he must have ridden near day and night by the look of him. ‘If the ringing of the bells tells me anything Lord Bishop, it is that the watch towers along the coast have seen the dragon prows themselves.’
Now we must act then and quickly if the bells do speak true.
Wynnflaed gestured for the man to withdraw ‘See he is fed and given a bed’ she looked about her council, many of those before her looked utterly puzzled for it had been near a generation passed since the Vikings had come to England, with Norway and Danmark in Christian hands it had been thought they would never return. Ingrid must be having difficulties. Asher, her go to advisor still, was buried in the press of bodies and the Chancellor was looking at his feet obviously lost in thought, she beckoned to the Earl of Surrey who by design or destiny had been pushed to the front. ‘My Lord of Surrey, I know you are no soldier, but I have need of you now since the Marshal is abroad’ the aging Earl nodded sternly, his beard stained by his interrupted breakfast. ‘Find out how many men we have in the city, I must know what forces we have to resist these invaders.’
The Chancellor spun on the spot, astonishment on his face ‘We must send to the King at once Highness, there is no time to delay, we must recall the army and defend London at all cost.’ She heard the panic in his voice, usually she would enjoy his distress but this morning she shared it, though she fought hard to hide the fact.
Be calm Chancellor, we must be united and steadfast in times of crisis.
She offered a very faint but reassuring smile and she saw on his face the brief flicker of regret at speaking in haste ‘It will be a week nearly two, of hard riding to reach the border, a week further perhaps longer to find the Kings army and then two more at the least for the army to march south. Even by sea we shall need time.’ She turned from the Chancellor as he in turn pivoted to the crowded room, obviously conceding defeat. She smiled at Earl William and crooked her head to the head of the palace guard to move closer ‘Close the landside gates, place eyes on every road in all directions, I want men on the walls before the day ends. My Lord of Surrey there is little time, fetch me a roll call of the garrison immediately’ the Queen crooked a finger to the Lord Chamberlain, the position currently filled by the Earl of Norfolk ‘Bring maps of the city, we must look to our defences’ he nodded without question and moved from the chamber. Wynnflaed rose to her feet, the Chancellor offering her a bow as she pushed her skirts aside ‘The news is not good my friends, but be about your business for calm is essential.’ She made a point of locking eyes with the councillors who had remained in London ‘Gentlemen, I think we had best meet again before dusk, now if you will excuse me my son’s need their mother.’
Queen Wynnflaed-Dusk, The Walls of London, South London 12th March 1084
Torch lights had begun to flicker into life across the sweeping fields before her, camp fires blazed in defiance of the gentle spring rain, raging flames that sought to keep the evening chill at bay. The sprawling shanty towns that usually spread before Londons walls were now gone, either fled to the country or else the residents had moved within the city proper. Wynnflaed stood proudly on the gatehouse, her hair teased by the wind, Prince Richard was trying desperately to peer over the walls ledge after having insisted he be allowed to come.
William, Earl of Surrey stood beside her looking down at the burning ruins of the shanty towns, scorched in fire that morning as the Northmen arrived. A shadow had descended over London.
I am not a religious woman Lord, but if you hear me then speed Richards return to us. I need him now.
She turned and glanced over the southern stretch of the Thames, blocked now by five ships stocked with pitch and joined together by chains and ropes designed to keep the dragon ships from entering the city via the river. “You are to be commended William, you have done a grand job with little in the way of time.”
I only wish we had enough men to ride out and chase them away
“I thank you Highness, but you know as well as I that the city will sleep safe tonight thanks only to you and your actions not my own.” He was a decent man, fair and just if a little somewhat cowardly and she smiled at his praise, though it would remain between the two of them that the Queen had played any part in the cities defence.
‘Well, we have both played a part maybe’ she gave her son Richard, still struggling to see over the wall, a boost ‘Nevertheless my friend, when the King returns you will be rewarded for your support I promise.’ He smiled at her, his brow creasing as he accepted her words. IF we are victorious, if those bloody messengers can track Richard down and bring him home.
He reached out and patted her hand gently ‘Fear not my Queen, you have done well so far and I will help were I can. But I am sure the King will send aid soon.’ I hope so my friend, really I do. I can keep this up forever. ‘Nonetheless there are five hundred men in the city itself, all is not lost. We have men to defend us.’
She went to answer but the little Prince spun on his bottom to face his mother, throwing his arms around her as she grabbed him tightly ‘You have me mama, I will get a good sharp sword and a shield from the armoury and I shall protect you from them.’ Herself and the Earl laughed at his bravery and she offered him a gentle kiss on the cheek. If only such innocence could last forever my darling. ‘They are not so scary these men, the stories say they are giants who breath fire, but they look like any body else to me.’ They may look like normal men my son, but inside their hearts they are nothing short of beasts, savage and brutual.
‘I think it does not bode well for Queen Ingrid’ William randomly had decided to voice the very thing that had been playing on Wynnflaed mind these past few days ‘These men must have come far from the east of Norway, that suggests they must have landed on the coast of Danmark or Norway at some point and they would not have done so quietly, yet the ambassador says nothing?’
‘I fear my friend the ambassador has not been entirely honest with us about the strength of Ingrids reign.’ Indeed he had been far honest, having read the mans letter she had uncovered a conspiracy against her former mistress that would have her toppled from the throne and a new dynasty installed. Civil war had not yet erupted but there were outbreaks of rebellion and resistance blooming across the land that promised only to worsen.
‘Perhaps mama, father should send Mary to Norway? Make her Queen of Norway like Margaret is in Navarra and then two of my sisters will have thrones that will flank England when I am King.’ She looked at him quizzically, in the one hand he clearly did not realise that Princess Mary would never be a Queen of anywhere, not so long as sense remained in the world. Curious that you say flanked, do you see what I hope for you my son? Are you wise enough yet to see how your sisters and brother will aid you in the future. Or is it just childish fantasy? I read to much into it perhaps.
