“I don’t agree about that!” objected Alan. “Tostig had Gamal, son of Orm, and Ulf, son of Dolfin, assassinated when they visited him under safe conduct. Hardly in keeping with a man of honour! And capable rulers usually don’t suffer rebellion by people claiming they are being oppressed and misruled!”
Herfast shrugged and changed the topic again. “Leaving that aside, the Grandmesnils are in London at the moment and are putting on a festivity at the Westminster Palace Hall tomorrow night. Adelize has particularly asked me to make sure you and Anne attend as she enjoyed Anne’s poetry evening so much.”
Alan nodded his acquiescence, although he would rather go rolling naked in a field of stinging nettles than attend a social soiree.
That evening when back at the house at Holebourn, Gareth sat opposite Alan and Anne, toying with a cup of wine. “So, I located the individuals and questioned them all most closely. It was a simple robbery with no political involvement. Given how closely they were questioned, I’m quite sure of that. The bodies will be found in a vacant allotment in Friday Street tomorrow and the word will be passed around that any further problems involving you or your servants will meet a similar vigorous response. The salutary lesson should be worth a dozen guards.” Alan and Anne both expressed their thanks and Gareth departed after declining to partake of the evening meal, wanting to be back at his haunts in the City before the Newgate closed at dusk.
The Church of St Edmund the King and Martyr Without Newgate was, despite its very long name, a modest wooden church of Saxon construction and was Anne’s chosen church for attending services when they were London. Apart from the abbey and the cathedral, London had a number of large churches, many of which were built of stone, as well as a myriad of small churches dedicated to virtually every saint in Christendom scattered every few hundred paces throughout the city, with most of the citizens of the city preferring to pray in small congregations with their neighbours. St. Edmunds was such a small church, situated just outside the city walls at Newgate and was barely 200 paces from the town-house at Holebourn.
The priest was a fat and usually jolly man of middling years called Edward, who took his pastoral duties to his small congregation seriously. The building was of post construction, with a nave about thirty paces long by ten wide made of massive oak posts and beams running down each wall and down the central aisle, with strong trusses supporting the gabled roof of timber slats and the walls clad with timber. It had no bell-tower, with its bell being supported by a small external wooden frame outside the main door. The altar was simple and restrained, with a beautifully embroidered altar cloth and brass candlesticks. The golden chalice, pyx and other sacred items were removed by Father Edward to the rectory after each service, as the church was left unlocked.
Anne had in the past stated that the reason for her preference for the church, apart from its convenience, was that she liked both the priest and the members of the congregation, that it remained reasonably warm in winter and most particularly because it was equipped with rows of benches on which the congregation could sit. Both she and Alan found attending services in the church considerably more restful than those at Thorrington or Wivenhoe as they usually could simply be members of the congregation instead of having to play the part of ‘the lord and lady of the manor’.
However, it was no usual occasion when the following morning the whole household attended at the church, along with much of the remainder of the congregation summoned by the slow tolling of the bell. Aitkin, who had been lying wrapped in his shroud near the altar his death, had been placed in a fine wooden coffin, with candles burning at both foot and head. Alan and Anne were sparing little expense to give an appropriate send-off for a valued servant. After a simple but moving service conducted in English by a subdued Father Edward the cortege moved out to the graveyard, where in the autumn sunlight Aitkin was laid to rest. Aidith and Tiw stood with their arms about each others shoulders and sobbed in anguish.
That evening Alan and Anne dressed carefully for the reception at Westminster and rather than walk the short distance in their finery they had arranged to hire a fine carriage for the night. They and two men-at-arms, the latter in their best clothes and each carrying a sword and seax, stepped down from the carriage outside the entrance to the Great Hall. Oil-soaked rush torches lit the entrance, and inside were more torches and many candles attached to sconces. The guards were shown to a separate Hall for servants, while Alan and Anne entered the Grand Hall.
Festivities had already commenced and a stately processional dance was taking place, involving about thirty couples and with a similar number looking on. A band of a dozen musicians was placed along one wall in the middle of the Hall and they were playing with skill and verve. Many of the dancers were less skilled, courtly dances not being high on the list of things usually studied by noble-born Norman warriors. However, clearly some had received some education in that skill, perhaps recently at the insistence of their wives. A number of foppish courtiers showed elegant moves on the dance-floor.
Alan and Anne were conducted to Hugh and Adelize de Grandmesnil. Ladies’ hands were kissed and men’s forearms grasped. Anne wandered off with Beatrice de Builly, the wife of Robert Count of Eu.
Alan, dressed in his usual garb of black linen and silk embroidered with silver, watched his wife, who was dressed in a low-cut dress of russet taffeta, circulate amongst her friends. “A fine turn-out,” he commented to his host Hugh de Grandmesnil.
Hugh snorted and gave a scowl, watching a dance where the men hopped and leaped like hares. “The Hall is full of homosexual pricks, pederasts and sycophants. They can dance and provide attention to the ladies, but are useless ornaments. It’s events like this that make me appreciate the benefits of my otherwise dullard retainers! Let’s go get a cup of wine and drown our sorrows!”
In the intensely political atmosphere of the court favourites there was no such thing as a simple social occasion, and Alan found himself repeatedly included in discussions. One of the main topics of conversation was the political situation in the duchy of Maine, taken by William by force of arms several years before and now with his young son Robert installed as duke. The Manceaux were making their disaffection clear and revolt was expected. What surprised the barons was that William was apparently content to allow matters in Maine to take their course while he was bringing the English to heel.
Unusually for a meal involving the Norman nobility, this was not a sit-down affair involving large amounts of roast meat. Instead side-tables had been placed with a variety of finger-foods. Lorenze pies; sausages baked in bread rolls; small meat pies; spinach tarts; pork doucetty; veal crustade; pork flampoyntes; stuffed mushroom pastries; more meat pastries and cold roasted marinated chicken wings and drumsticks, all with a variety of dipping sauces and chutneys. There were excellent wines from Burgundy and the Loire.
Anne several times prevailed on Alan to take to the floor for several sets of the more restrained dances, principally line and circle dances. They stepped together as the dance and music dictated, now holding hands high and now arming, bowing and circling before sliding, progressing and stepping. After a set of bransels Alan begged off from dancing a set with more complicated steps, standing with several of the younger nobles, including William of Eu, King William’s nephew, and Ivo Taillebois, near the drinks table for some much-needed fortification.