Alan slipped briefly into the city to confirm his orders and plans with fitzOsbern, noted the arrival of the expected reinforcements from Exeter and the south-west after their march along the Fosse Way, and returned to his men.
The Ermine Street Roman road ran due north, almost as straight as an arrow, passing just the village of Fillingham before taking a sharp turn to the west near Brigg to cross the River Trent and then proceeding north to the crossing of the River Aire. Then they rode further north to Selby, where the Benedictine monks were just breaking the ground for the foundations of a new abbey south of the River Ouse.
With the land as flat as a ruler and no cover for close on a mile Alan and his men approached the wooden bridge over the River Ouse with their horses at a canter. For the first time on their journey the bridge was guarded against them, with about fifteen men on duty. Stopping short of the bridge, Alan turned half of his force to face the village just to the south to repel the off-duty guards who were hurrying to join their compatriots. He then let his archers loose on the guards on the bridge. Barely a hundred paces away, those guards on the south bank were dead within thirty seconds, riddled with yard-long arrows from the longbowmen. Alan pushed horsemen across the bridge to chase and kill the half dozen guards who had been on the north side of the bridge and who had fled north for their lives. Within another two minutes the fleeing guards had lost both the race and their lives.
After that Alan placed thirty of his men north of the bridge, securing the crossing of the river while he waited for the vanguard of the army to arrive.
With this action the king’s army had secured the last natural obstacle before approaching York, now less than twelve miles distant, and apparently remained undetected.
When the vanguard arrived at about three in the afternoon, Alan handed off the village and bridge to them and moved a little north of the bridge. After his men advanced tiredly half a mile beyond the bridge a camp was set up and Alan allowed a fire to cook a meal. The landscape was still as flat as a pancake looking north towards the village of Ash Ridge. Again Alan set up a rotating system of rest as he set up a defensive umbrella, this time facing north. With the river and the bridge securely held behind them there was no need to watch for spies taking word north, only for scouts moving south.
The main body of the army arrived near dusk, nearly 4,000 strong, including the reinforcements from the south-west of England who had arrived at Lincoln the evening before.
As darkness was falling Alan arrived at the village inn that King William had requisitioned for his own use, and was surprised to see Queen Matilda and several maids heading upstairs as he arrived. Alan had not previously been aware that the tiny-statured queen was with the expedition and was surprised by her presence, despite her forceful personality and obvious attachment to her husband. For any expedition leader to take his wife on campaign was most unusual- particularly in this case, given the imminent expected birth of her next child, confirmed by her extremely gravid state and slow progress up the stairs as Alan looked on. Alan was sure that the king could do without this distraction on an important campaign, but Matilda was an unusually strong-willed woman.
Tired, hungry and annoyed, well aware that he stank like a polecat after three days on horseback and had not taken his boots off in that time, Alan dropped into a chair opposite the king and his half-brother Robert Count of Mortain and cousin William fitzOsbern, helping himself to a cup of wine without invitation. He flexed his shoulders and back to alleviate the aching as he leaned against the wooden wall and closed his eyes. He just wished he could do something about his thighs aching from three days in the saddle, but doubted he would find a hot bath and sympathetic massage here. Leof, Edric and Owain had accompanied him and stood just inside the door to the Hall, looking horrified at his presumptuous behaviour.
William gave a half-smile at this display of lese-majesty, noting the black marks of sleeplessness under the eyes and filthy disheveled appearance of the man before him, as he concluded his previous conversation.
“Sir Alan!” he said sharply, to rouse Alan from the doze he had quickly dropped into. As Alan’s eyes opened the king said, “Sorry to awaken you, but fitzOsbern says you have done particularly well since we left Peterborough, as indeed he had expected after your work together in Wales. We’re twelve miles south of York. Tomorrow I want your men to push ahead to cover our advance. FitzOsbern and his vanguard will take the bridge at York. Then I want you to push through beyond the city to provide scouting cover again to the north.”
Alan looked at his cup and thought, ‘I must have been tired to go to sleep without drinking that’, before he corrected his omission. Putting the cup down, he shook his head tiredly. “I am sorry, my liege, but my men are played out. We rode over ninety miles in a day to reach Peterborough. Fifty miles to Lincoln and sixty something miles here. Nothing unusual in that, but when your men sleep at night we scout and protect them. No warm beds. No hot food. No servants to care for our needs. There is a limit that men can serve for twenty-four hours in a day and we have reached that. If you want constant scouting cover, you have to provide sufficient men for the night shift. The problem is we have to ride all day to keep up with your men’s advance and then have to work all night. My men will provide advance cover tonight and then at daybreak I’m withdrawing them for a day of rest.”
With a thoughtful expression the king nodded and replied, “Very well, I look forward to seeing you in the field the day after tomorrow. Your men can rest here in Selby tomorrow and form part of the guard I’m leaving for the queen. As I understand it, her time has come, waters have broached and the next prince or princess of England will be born in this village. They will follow later.”
In confusion Alan said, “I’m most surprised that the queen accompanied you at this time.”
William gave a snort of amusement. “So am I,” he replied. “However, Matilda is not a woman to whom it is easy to say ‘no’, irrespective of the circumstances. And, of course, I already have three sons, safe in Normandy. At least, from my own experiences, I hope they are safe!” After a pause he added, “Robert of Eu is looking after them, as he looked after me. I trust that none will need to lay down their lives to protect them, as was needed to protect me.”
Seeing that Alan was nodding off to sleep again, he clicked his fingers to attract the attention of a servant. “Food and drink for Sir Alan and,” with a glance at those standing by the door, “his men. Instantly! Now, Robert, about…”
The king had obviously sent his cooks ahead of the main body of the army, as roast pheasant and venison were provided along with roast vegetables, gravy and several sauces, followed by a sweet pie made with preserved berries. Alan and the Englishmen drank ale instead of the fine wine offered as they still had a night of duty to perform, before they returned replete to their camp. There the others had completed their meal of reheated boiled pork and vegetables, stale bread and cheese, washed down with river water- which was probably better fare than most in the army received that day. ‘Nobody said life was fair,’ mused Alan, his belly full of delicious food, as he detailed the first men to the guard positions.
Despite his tiredness and his poor ability to perform at his best when fatigued, Alan rose and checked the guards three times during the night. There are few things more certain to keep a guard’s attention that the expectation that any moment either his captain or his lord would appear without warning and hopefully not be welcomed with an arrow in the belly.
As dawn broke a little before six in the morning, the men that Alan had undertake the second shift of the night watch returned to the camp. Four men were posted as guards and the grooms sent to the village to collect breakfast, as the army marched past heading towards York some twelve miles away. The grooms returned with news that the queen had overnight borne a son, her fourth, to be named Henry. Prince Henry’s birth was toasted and food was eaten before the exhausted troops wrapped themselves in their blankets for a well deserved rest.