Eadmer paused and inclined his head in agreement. “Separate sources of information are a good idea. And that way if I’m compromised it won’t affect your other source. Professional? No? Well, bear that in mind in both your dealings here in Hartlepool and the accuracy of the information.” Eadmer then began to give a detailed run-down of English rebel forces and a slightly less detailed account of those of the Danes and the Scots. Alan occasionally asked him to pause so that he could fix details in his mind. There would be no written notes that could potentially identify an important source. Alan had come to accept that in this very important but clandestine part of the war, that he and his men, together with Eadmer, Thorkell and Gundred, were all dispensable tools. But he was determined not to be dispensed with.
After quietly pouring away the last inch or so of ale in his leather pint jack onto the floor through a suitable gap in the poorly-constructed table, Alan gave Eadmer a nod and rose to leave.
He then spent the next two hours engaged in commerce. Despite the Quarter-Day holiday, a number of merchant’s shops were open, mainly Jews. Also open were the bakers, who worked every day of the year. Alan visited four bakers and bought virtually their whole stock of fresh bread and the pies that they had cooked as the ovens cooled. He also bought fifty pre-sewn but un-stuffed palliasses for the men to use as mattresses back in the cave, twenty bales of hay to stuff the mattresses, ten casks of ale, casks of smoked meat and fish, barrels of apples, sacks of dried vegetables and what little fresh fruit was available. Unfortunately the butchers were all closed for the holiday and he couldn’t obtain supplies of fresh meat.
He was back at the ship a little after the time he had nominated, but nobody complained as he was closely followed by carts bearing the purchases. All the crew were present, correct and reasonably sober- including Sven who had the drinking capacity of a camel. He’d spent the night at a tavern gleaning further scraps of information and was ‘bright eyed and bushy tailed’ when he appeared at the ship before the appointed time.
Heading south into a strong adverse wind, Havorn had to pull into the protection of a headland near Scarborough for the night, before continuing to row south next morning. Alan took several turns at the oars to show his ‘solidarity’ with the men. Sven didn’t bother as he had a different approach to leadership, and being receptive to every breath of wind or tug of current he minimised the work that the men had to undertake.
They arrived back at their cave at Flamborough Head a little after midday. Given the efforts that the men had made for the last day and a half Alan was prepared to give them a rest before they proceeded south to do the second part of their mission, to deliver the information they had received.
That evening, after the men had stuffed their palliases with straw, they enjoyed a meal of day-old bread with smoked ham, sausage, cheese, fresh fruit and boiled vegetables.
Three weeks later Alan was getting fractious and regretting more than ever that he’d allowed himself into being coerced into providing military service above his legal requirement for the year- and which had anyway been waived. The information collection procedures were working well, with regular contact with Gundred and regular and detailed reports from Eadmer. The problem was that York remained in rebel Anglo-Danish hands and there was nobody to whom they could pass on the information received. The king and his army had simply not appeared and from the little information available from the English and Danes in the taverns at York, it appeared as if there were no loyalist forces closer than Lincoln. Alan disliked having to find out information about the king’s forces from the enemy, although the weekly visits to York appeared to be raising no suspicions as they were used as shopping expeditions to purchase extra supplies and they had apparently been accepted by the locals as being pirates, which was an acceptable occupation on the north-east coast.
“Damn it all, where are William and his men?” Alan demanded in frustration as he sat on a flat rock eating a breakfast of porridge sweetened with honey.
“Something important must have come up,” commented Sven easily, as he dipped a piece of stale bread into a cup of mead and then popped it into his mouth. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. This is a pretty easy way to spend a campaign. Permanent dry quarters. Good and plentiful food. Two days of work a week for each ship, sailing up and down the coast to stop us getting bored.
Alan scowled at the accuracy of the complacent remark. Apart from the time actually spent ashore in the enemy-held towns there was little risk and life was easy- certainly much easier and less dangerous than being in an army on the march. However, he hated not knowing what was happening and was anxious to get back home to Thorrington where Anne would be nearing her time. After the problems with the last birth, where her life and that of the baby had only been saved by his intervention, he was determined to be home when her time came.
Two weeks later Alan sat at a table in the corner of the tap-room at the ‘Bull and Bear’ tavern at Hartlepool, sipping at a quart pot of ale. This was the second of the pre-arranged meeting times and places for the week for Gundred, skald Thorkell Skalleson’s woman. She hadn’t attended at the previous scheduled meeting, and Brand had told him when he’d returned to the hide-out cave from his journey north the previous week that the woman had also missed those two meetings. Until then the rendezvous system and exchange of information had proceeded well for six weeks, with Gundred making the short journey from Durham to Hartlepool at least weekly to meet with either Alan or Brand. Alan felt that her absence for over two weeks didn’t bode well for her, as with what she and her man were being paid to spy on the English earls and the Danes only serious illness or worse would keep her away.
Skald Thorkell Skalleson sat at table with the English earls and the Danish princes. The information that he had provided over the last few weeks, regarding the numbers and disposition of the rebels and the Danish invaders and the intentions of their leaders, had been sufficiently important that Alan was reluctant to simply drop the whole scheme. In wartime information was priceless and frequently meant the difference between winning and losing. Alan glanced out of an open window and saw that full darkness had now arrived. Gundred was over two hours late and obviously not going to arrive now that the town gates were being closed. He’d been carefully paying attention to the others frequenting the tavern that evening and had noted with relief that, other than several whores, nobody was paying him any attention. Given the difficulties he’d had in obtaining refills for his ale pot, that lack of attention had included the slatternly serving-wench.
With a muttered oath he rose slightly unsteadily and made his way down to the harbour where the rowing boat was waiting to take him back to the longship Havorn, which was moored against the river bank a mile upstream to keep the crew from getting into trouble. There he explained his concerns to Sven, the Norwegian captain.
Sven grunted an acknowledgement of the information imparted and after a long pause the taciturn Viking finally commented, “Why don’t you ask the other spy? You’re due to see him tomorrow. I’m sure that word would get out if the skald has been taken up for spying. Gundred may just be ill or have had an accident.” Alan nodded his agreement at this advice. Sven then continued, “By the way, I’ve arranged with Osbjorn’s steward for us to patrol to the south and receive regular supplies from the commissary, for both ships.”
Alan’s brain froze with amazement for several seconds before he could exclaim, “What in God’s name possessed you to do that? Why would you approach the local authorities when we’re spies?”