Sven snorted in derision. “Because they’re not stupid. A longship can slip in and out a few times without getting noticed, but one or the other of the ships are here nearly half the time. I told Henning that we camp up here because otherwise the crews get paralytic and start brawls, and it’s the only way to keep them under control. He can understand that. They knew we were here, but he just hadn’t gotten around to finding out who we were. Now he knows, or thinks he does, he won’t cause any problems. We get five barrels of ale, two barrels of ship-biscuit and two bushels of dried beans a day, and two pounds of meat per man per day, for both ships. We have to buy our own fresh bread and fresh vegetables. We also get paid a shilling a week for each man. He didn’t want to be responsible to pay us, but I insisted. Now that he thinks he knows who we are, he’s happy as a pig in shit and will leave us alone. This week’s supplies are stored over there under that tarpaulin.”
Alan shook his head in disbelief and walked off towards the ten-man leather tent that he shared with other members of the crew, and sat down next to the fire to eat a meal of beef stew made from the rations that the Danes had provided, and washed down by English ale paid for by Prince Osbjorn. Finally he gave a laugh at the irony that the Danes were paying wages to the men who were spying on them and he was still chuckling when he wrapped himself in his blanket to sleep.
The following afternoon Alan met with the spy Eadmer at ‘The Anchor’ tavern. As he walked into the tap-room he suffered the usual twinge in the stomach from the stench of unwashed bodies, vomit, urine, stale beer, rotting floor-rushes and animal excrement. His eyes watered from the drifting smoke from the small central fire, which in the absence of a chimney eventually seeped out under the eaves of the poorly-made thatched roof. Alan couldn’t understand how such an establishment could continue to exist, given the insalubrious conditions, poor fare and poor service- after all it wasn’t as if the drink was cheap. After a close look around in an unsuccessful attempt to locate Eadmer’s minders, Alan approached the nondescript spy, who was wearing a leather jerkin and breeches and with a red woollen cap. Eadmer waved away the slatternly woman who had been sharing his table, slipping her a silver penny as Alan sat down after carefully examining the cleanliness of the small wooden bench.
Eadmer launched straight into his report without any preliminary pleasantries, talking slowly and carefully to allow Alan to mentally record the information he was receiving. A serving-wench approaching with two quart jugs of rancid beer was waved away by Eadmer, who had rented the table by a previous purchase of a pint jack which sat untouched on the table. Eadmer picked up his beer mug and surreptitiously began to pour it onto the floor, so as not to draw attention by leaving an untouched drink when they eventually vacated the table.
When Eadmer had finished his report, which was intended to then be carried by the longship to King William’s agents further south, Alan explained the problem with Gundred and skald Thorkell Skalleson. “So that’s who you’re using. A fairly good source- if you can trust him, since he’s a Dane. Still, the Danes probably are no more fond of gold than anybody else, and any amateur spy is likely to be a weak tool. Missing two weeks of scheduled meetings isn’t a good sign, but I haven’t heard any rumours of spies being caught at Earl’s Hall at Durham, which is where the earls are staying. You’ll need to go up to Durham and see whether they’ve got cold feet, or what else is going on.”
Alan grunted his acknowledgement of the advice. “I’ll get the ship to take me up to Monkwearmouth tomorrow.”
“Nah! Nah!” replied Eadmer, waving a hand negatively. “You’ll be too noticeable that way. You’ve got the locals around here used to you, but questions will be asked if you head north instead of south. Buy a couple of nags and ride up to Durham with your servant. That way you won’t receive any undue attention- there are hundreds of armed men on horses and you won’t even be noticed. A longship would be noticed.”
Alan did as he had been bidden and early the following morning purchased two rough hackamores and their tack from one of the less-disreputable horse-traders, carefully examining their legs and gait at a trot. While they weren’t animals that he’d be prepared to take on a campaign he was satisfied they could cover the eighteen miles to Durham and then back.
Alan and his page Leof arrived at Durham a little after mid-day, payed their pontage toll to cross the wooden bridge over the River Wear and entered the town from the south. After weeks of living rough in either the hide-out cave or a tent at the camp on the bank of the River Tees Alan saw no need to patronise cheap and uncomfortable lodgings and chose a non-descript but comfortable inn called ‘The Duck amp; Drake’, taking a small and sparsely furnished but clean room on the first floor. The horses were ensconced at a small stable a few yards down the street, the young groom being given twopence to rub down and feed and water the animals.
After a midday meal of bacon and vegetable pottage, day-old bread and hard cheese washed down by ale, Alan decided to have a brief look at the town before he sought Gundred and the skald. By southern standards Durham was a large town rather than a city and was nestled on high ground on the north bank of the River Wear in a tight loop of the river, so as to be afforded protection by the water on three sides. The site had been chosen for defensibility, given the history of repeated raids by Vikings and Scots. The town lacked the grandiose buildings that usually adorned cities, but possessed in full measure all the banes of urban life including noise and filth in the crowded streets. Apart from being one of few substantial towns in the north, Durham’s claim to fame were the holy relics housed the ‘The White Church’, the large church built of white stone by the Saxons to house the relics of Saint Cuthbert. There was already talk of replacing the church with a cathedral, to reflect the importance of the diocese being the fourth-most influential in the land.
As they approached the church across the market square Alan indicated to Leof the burnt-out ruins nearby. “Bishop Aethelwine’s house. The bishop is no friend of the Normans, but nor is he popular with Cospatric and the House of Bamburgh. Robert of Commines was staying there when he came to the town after being appointed earl. The bishop warned him of the impending attack, but Commines thought he knew better- he always was an arrogant self-opinionated bastard. A typical Fleming. That was his last mistake. Cospatric couldn’t force his way into the house so he burnt it down and killed Commines and his men as they tried to flee the fire.”
There were a number of people proceeding in and out of the west-facing main door of the church, many in the sack-cloth and broad-brimmed hats of pilgrims visiting this the most important religious site in northern England. Here, in a shrine located in one of the transepts near the altar, were gilded caskets containing the remains of Saint Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, the most popular saint in northern England, together with caskets containing the head of Saint Oswald and the remains of the author Bede, who had praised both of the saints in his written histories.
The inside of the stone church was dark and cold, the air thick with floating clouds of incense. Just inside the church door stood two burly-looking priests in monk’s habits and a large box on a table. Noticing that the pilgrims placed coins in the box, Alan did the same, adding two silver pennies to the money that the diocese garnered from this religious tourism as the faithful came to pray, and in some cases to beseech the miracles for which the shrine was famous. He dipped his fingers in the holy-water of the stoup and anointed his forehead and lips.