Surprised that Anne had not returned, Alan gave Edsel instructions for the village to care for the released captives. When Edsel tried to demur, complaining about the cost, Alan uncharacteristically lost his temper.
“Listen, you mean weasel!” he roared. “Wivenhoe is also caring for refugees, and I’m taking another 100 to Thorrington. It’s time for you and your village to accept its responsibilities. When Edward came through here warning of the raiding fleet and requesting men to accompany him, you said nay and gave him not one man.
“I tell you this. If Edward and the other thegns had not met and defeated the Danes at Wivenhoe, your pretty village of Brightlingsea would be getting burned to the ground and its people massacred today. And all you can do is whine about ‘who is going to pay the cost of the food and drink?’ You are the King’s Reeve. You are responsible and you can attend to it. I’ll be speaking to King William when he returns and I doubt that you will be retaining your position in six months time.”
Alan stalked back to the longboat and was surprised when some of the refugees requested permission to re-board and accompany him to Thorrington. In particular one young lad of about twelve, thin and poorly dressed and with long dark hair, had been following Alan like a shadow.
Barfleet Creek wound north towards Thorrington, but did not reach it, the village being a mile or so beyond the navigable part of the river. As the incoming tide ceased, Alan’s crew had to get out the oars and start to row. They reached the remainder of the small fleet just as the tide had dropped so low as to prevent further progress even in the shallow-drafted longboat. The boat had run aground some distance from the shore and they had to wade through thick mud to reach solid land. An anchor was dropped and two men were left aboard to attend to the ship when the water returned.
Hugh and several others were standing on the shore and managed not to laugh at the sight of Alan, mired to the thigh and having lost one shoe in the mud. With a smile on his face Hugh said, “Sorry I can’t offer you a horse, but as you know we took every animal that could be ridden when we went to Wivenhoe and they aren’t back yet. Lady Anne has taken the refugees up to the village to be tended. Fortunately the hay-making and sheep-shearing can wait a few days.”
With an irritated grunt Alan limped off to the nearly deserted Hall, where he washed off the worst of the mud, put on a fresh tunic, leggings and boots before walking down to the village green.
As at Wivenhoe, Anne had organised the refugees into small parties, each group tended to by two or three villagers. Most distressing was the group of fourteen orphans aged from eight to twelve, being supervised by two matronly women. A small group of local children had started a game of knucklebones and managed to get most of the orphans involved, although several, particularly the older girls, were sitting quietly and with a withdrawn manner.
The stories the refugees told were similar to those heard at Wivenhoe. Small communities attacked without warning, slaughter, torture and murder, rape and looting. From the stories it appeared as if parts of Lexden Hundred and Winstree Hundred had been virtually depopulated. The Danes had swept through like a plague of locusts, destroying everything, burning villages and the isolated individual holdings or places where several houses stood close together. As before, most of the captives were young women who had seen their husbands killed, and all too often also their children. Some were men too young to be married, but strong of back and suitable to work as slaves in the fields of their captors.
In small groups they were taken to the local bathing place, a deepening of the creek that supplied the village with water, located just downstream of the village, to bathe and receive fresh clothing. They were then billeted with the locals, care being taken to keep together those known to each other, particularly the children.
Although Thorrington was reasonably affluent, some of its people were not and in some cases the clothing provided literally came off the back of the provider. Alan opened his store-rooms, but not all that was needed was in store and the local villagers generously made up any shortfall from their own belongings, including clothing, shoes, brushes and combs and many other small items.
The return of the first batch of warriors from the villages further north and east, those who had been loaned the use of the Thorrington horses when the Thorrington men took to the boats, arrived at mid-morning and caused an initial stir of fear amongst the refugees. After a brief rest and quick meal the men, now without the horses, moved on towards their homes at Tendring, Bentley and beyond.
Alan turned to the youth who had been following him as faithfully as a hound. “What is your name, boy, and where do you come from?” he asked gently.
“Leof, master. I’m from a hamlet near Fingringhoe. All burnt and gone now,” he concluded sadly in a rustic accent.
“Well, Leof, let’s get you cleaned up, clothed and fed. Come up to the Hall with me,” replied Alan. The Hall had its usual bustling character and Alan placed Leof in the charge of Otha the cook, sure that the boy would need a decent meal and that Otha could do with some assistance in the kitchen. However, not long afterwards the boy reappeared, now clean and with his long hair brushed, and stood behind Alan’s chair as he sat at the table talking to Osmund, who had been drawing up a list of the refugees, first at Wivenhoe and now at Thorrington. Osmund would go to Brightlingsea to do the same job that afternoon.
Anne came hurrying in and sat at the table. Alan waved for some food and wine for her and Leof disappeared like a shot, returning moments later with a laden wooden platter and brimming cup.
After giving the boy a brief nod of thanks Anne began to talk urgently to Alan in Latin, knowing that only he and his trusted scribe Osmund would be able to understand. “I’ve had a look through the ships, the two longboats and the four trading cogs. I’ve had a few things taken off and either put in your wine store or in a bundle in the room you use as your office. Now there’s no doubt that all those items belong to you by right of salvage. But most of them were seized by the Danes at Colchester, including the cogs. The previous owners are nearby and no doubt anxious to recover their property. To avoid any disputes, and any legal court cases that would drag on for months- and who knows what the outcome would be once the lawyers get involved- I strongly suggest that you get rid of them as soon as possible. I’ve taken a rough inventory and from what I’ve seen you’ve gone from being a man of substance to one of significant wealth in a couple of days. As long as nobody takes it away from you.”
Alan inclined his head. “And you have a suggestion as to how to do this?” he asked.
“Of course,” replied Anne. “As I have told you, my father is a merchant at Ipswich. I’ve taken the liberty of penning him a note instructing him to sell at Ipswich what is in the longboats and to send the cogs to Lubeck, Haarlem, Hamburg and Oslo to sell both the cargo and the ships. You should buy four different ships and then have them return to Ipswich with a return cargo. Father’s factors will know what to buy. I’ve told him that he can only keep ten percent of the gross, which no doubt will really upset him as he usually doesn’t work for less than fifty percent. Now, how many of the longboats do you want to keep? You have fourteen and that seems a bit greedy.”
“I’d like to keep six, maybe eight, and use them to provide some protection for the estuaries of both the Colne and Orwell. I’ll probably put a ballista on the bows of each one, which should make up for any lack of numbers,” said Alan with some confusion. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Fine. Send six up to Ipswich and my father will sell them back to the Danes or the Norwegians. You should get a good price for them.”