The King's Ships

Preface

Volume one of A Reluctant Warrior tells of the adventures and travels of Ranulf, from his lowly beginnings as a ragged orphan, to becoming a national hero and lord of the manor. This book, volume two, continues his story as he prepares the King’s fleet of warships that would become the embryo of the modern day Royal Navy.

I have used a number of historical facts, and apologise for bending their details and dates to weave them into the story’s needs. Ranulf, his family and friends are purely fictitious characters, created to tell the tale. King Alfred the Great took refuge for a while in the Somerset marshlands during his early confrontations with the Viking invaders. It is thought that there was never very much in the way of buildings at Athelney, probably not on the scale of those I have portrayed. But the only evidence of this important site is a rough stone in the middle of a field with no direct access. I thought this to be quite a shame and it was the sight of this lonely piece of rock that prompted this series of stories.

The Viking Chieftain and his followers were baptised into the Christian church at the tiny Somerset village of Aller after their defeat at the battle of Edington. The agreement that resulted, gave the Norsemen legal rights to settle in the areas to the north of England and that region became known as the Danelaw. But, to comply with the fragile truce arrangements, the King’s treasury was being bled dry by payments of Danegeld that they were forced to make. It must have been around this time that a decision was made to construct a new, controversial marine force. The battle could then be taken to the Danes and the British shores protected by gaining a mastery of the sea.

In the main, I have used modern place names (instead of the often unpronounceable Saxon equivalents) to aid the reader’s understanding of the area and the travels of the characters. The Saxon names are available of course, but there are considerable disagreements in their accuracy and very often the names vary from one district to another.

Chapter 1

A heavy door slammed, and motes of dust swirled their petticoats in the pale rays of early sunshine.

Ranulf’s eyes snapped open. His dream-softened mind struggled to find the reason for waking with such a start, his hand slid easily along the side of the bed, seeking the familiar weight and smoothness of his sword hilt.

A cooking pot clattered to the floor and he heard the cook’s muffled voice as she slapped and scolded her new scullery boy.

Ranulf relaxed, gently eased the bolster behind his neck and, as he let his thoughts range over the events that had led him here, he gazed down at his wife. Hild’s red-gold hair spread across his chest like the waves of a sunset coloured ocean. It almost, but not quite, covered the gnarled blue-white patch of an ugly scar that puckered his skin.

~ ~ ~

Today was not going to be a good day he thought. Yesterday a King’s messenger had arrived calling me to go to Winchester. In the King’s absence, the councillors of the Witan had pushed their way into overseeing the planning and the building of the King’s ships. But they had run into a hundred problems, not the least of which being, that the craftsmen had disappeared from the job. They had packed up their tools and, in the silence of a dark night, had melted away into the surrounding countryside. So far, no amount of persuasion had altered the situation and threats of violence and hardship had fallen on stubborn British ears.

The King was away, travelling to see a French cousin who controlled a small fleet of warships for the Frisian court, but was thought to be due back soon. By all accounts these Frisians were a fierce group of very experienced seamen who, with the aid of a modern design of ship, had kept the lowland shores of their country free from Viking raiders.

I knew that, without any doubts at all, the weasely courtiers in Winchester would seek to lay the blame for their blunderings at my feet and would take any credit for themselves and their newly appointed commander. I would have to be wary and try to match their manoeuvrings with some foxy-cunning and, something that would be new to most of them, some country honesty.

But first of all I had to get through this morning. This was the last morning that we would all be together for some while. I hated the thought of leaving.

Evelyn, our baby daughter whimpered in her sleep as she dreamt and Hild’s eyes flicked open. Instantly they were lit with a smile as she saw me watching her. Then the same cloud that I’d seen before swept its wispy thoughts across her face and softly she said.

‘It’s today already isn’t it? I mean....’

A tear welled up in her eye and she pressed her face against my shoulder.

‘Oh Rannie, I promised myself I wouldn’t do that.’ she said and shook her head.

‘It won’t be for long, you’ll see.’ I said, but even to me it sounded unconvincing.

We had already said all the words that we needed to say during the early, dark hours of the night before. Silently we slipped into loose fitting robes and, hand-in-hand, stepped out into the early morning sunlight to do our customary stroll around Hild’s busy garden.

‘I shall really miss this.’ I said, breathing in the day’s early perfume of a honeysuckle.

‘Not half as much as you will be missed.’ she answered. ‘It’s all coming on quite well now. But I do miss the sea. I’ve lived all my life beside it, or on it, and now it’s so far away.’

I could tell from the look in her eye that she had more to say, so I remained still, silently pulling at a few small weeds.

‘Of course, while you’re away, I shall need something to do.’ she announced.

‘You could see if we can get a couple of new horses?’ I suggested. ‘I’m getting to be quite good at riding now and could do with something a little bit livelier.’

‘Mmm....I could have someone do that. But I thought I’d maybe go and see my father. He’s converted to a Christian now, and it’s high time Mum and Dad met their granddaughter.’

‘Oh! .... I don’t think that’s too good an idea.’ I stumbled over the words in my surprise. I hadn’t expected it at all.

‘What brings that thought?’ I asked.

‘It’s been on my mind for some time. And anyway, whatever he’s done, he is still my father.’ she said and her eyes flashed as she added. ‘I’m not like one of your simpering ladies of the court. I can look after myself. I can’t just...sit around waiting!’ she turned away, her shoulders shuddered with a stifled sob.

‘Come now, don’t lets argue, today of all days.’ I whispered and gently turned her towards me. ‘If you really think it will be all right, then of course, you must go. But, just for me, would you write to him first, to gauge the position?’

Hild nodded, a thin smile trembled at her lips.

‘Then if you still think it right, you must go. But you will take some of our men with you. I will tell those that I can be sure of.’

She nodded again and slowly, with her head resting on his shoulder, they continued their morning walk, wandering around the paths that bordered the brimming beds.

‘I’m sorry that I became angry. I couldn’t help it.’ Hild said. ‘I’ve something else to tell you.’

She stopped and looked into my face. ‘I’m pregnant again. And I’m sure it will be a boy this time. You are pleased aren’t you?’

The words tumbled out like water from a cracked dam as she sought to see into my thoughts.

I gently pulled her to me and held her tightly. ‘Of course I’m pleased. Are you all right?’ I held her away for a moment. ‘How long have you known?’

Hild giggled. ‘Which answer do you want first?’ she asked.

There were a hundred words of caution that I wanted to say, but decided to wait.

Slowly, arm-in-arm, we continued with the happy ritual of our morning stroll. Bending, we passed beneath some low branches of the garden’s great oak, the late Lamas growth was already losing its bright red colour.

Autumn soon I thought, as we paused for a moment to breathe the fragrant scents drifting up from a huge bed of herbs.

‘What a lovely smell, the thyme is really strong. And I thought that I knew a thing or two about herbs and healing.’ I sighed and thought of the old man that had taught me the ways of using herbs and wild plants.

‘I hope I’m back in time for the harvest!’ I said. ‘There are plants here that I’ve never heard of, let alone used.’

‘Ah.’ smiled Hild. ‘I had a pretty exceptional teacher. My mother was the healer for all our clan and she taught me everything so that, one day, I could take over.’

Patiently and with a passionate enthusiasm, Hild pointed out various plants and described their strengths and main uses. We were both quickly lost in their world of healing magic.

Some folk, more ignorant than most, thought it to be witchery and the local wise-woman, who helped with birthing and the more serious wounding, proclaimed that she wouldn’t touch anyone that had been to see Hild for treatment. She said it was all foreign muck that would poison local people that were not used to such stuff. But Hild’s successes spoke for themselves of the remedies that had been given. Many of the country people had begun coming to her secretly, under the shelter of gloomy evenings and nightfall, and she could usually produce an effective remedy for them from her stocks of dried and pickled plant collections.

‘We must write a book.’ I said. ‘All this knowledge is too valuable to risk losing. I bet I could do some good drawings too.’

‘Good idea!’ agreed Hild, her eyes sparkling. ‘I’ve already got some scribbled notes that we could rewrite and use as a base to build on. It will be a big job though. We could have a whole section just for case-studies too.’

A cool breeze wandered through the orderly rows of the garden plants, swirling the skirts of their robes, Hild shivered and the chill reminded her that today was destined to be different from those she had been enjoying.

‘I know you are worried about me, perhaps I’ll put off my trip for a while.’ she murmured, then added. ‘But I must go before the weather turns and the winter storms fall upon us.’

‘I will try to find the time to come with you. The last time I heard any news, your father was still across the Severn Sea, but I did hear that he was preparing to move to the east. How’d you like to go by sea? You remember Peter, he has a fine, strong ship, a good crew and he’s a very trustworthy pilot.’

‘Oh yes.’ agreed Hild enthusiastically. ‘I’d not want one of your smelly little British fishing boats. If I travel by sea, it will have to be in some sort of style, or my old folks will laugh at us.’

A small, squeaky voice came from behind us, and we both turned to find a spindle-thin little girl clutching her apron front as she struggled a curtsy and began stammering through her message.

‘Excuse me Lady, but cook says your breakfast is ready.’

Hild reached down to the curly head and lifted the waif’s face to look at her.

‘Thank you Avril, run and tell cook that we will be right there.’

‘Where did she come from?’ I asked, as we walked towards the house. ‘I’ve not seen her before. She doesn’t look too well.’

‘She’s much better than she was.’ Hild said. ‘Her mother was a fatal victim of the old wise-woman’s treatment and little Avril had caught the same fever. She was on the point of following her poor mother to an early grave when her father brought her here. She’s almost ready to go home now, but I may ask to keep her on as a maid, she seems quite bright and she’s very willing.’

‘You must take extra care now not to catch any of the sickness that is brought to our door.’ I said. ‘In your condition, I mean. It could be serious...Do you really think it will be a boy?’

‘Of course I will be careful, it’s one of my first rules. And yes. I am certain that it will be a boy, but don’t ask me how.’ Hild took my arm and guided me indoors.

‘Come on, you’ve got to get a good breakfast inside you before you leave.’

Then she stopped me for a moment and turned to look into my eyes. Almost fiercely, she whispered.

‘I know the ways of men Rannie, and, although we will be apart during the long days we will be together in our dreams. And if I find anyone else there, you will be in more trouble than even you can imagine!’

Chapter 2

Ranulf dared not look behind as he rode down the tree-lined lane toward the Langport mills and the long, long Winchester road. One more imploring look from Hild’s pretty eyes would have melted his resolve and he would have turned back. Instead he squared his shoulders, took several deep breaths from the cool breeze to stifle the stiffness catching at his chest and then spurred his solid horse into a trot that was a bit faster than his skill usually allowed.

In a string behind Ranulf followed a half-dozen men from his personally retained guard and a sturdy little pack pony. It was just as well that the pony was a stocky creature he thought, because it carried two big panniers filled with clothes and food that had been packed by Hild. Being of Norse descent, she knew what it was to travel and had prepared him well. There was even a new suit of clothes, quilted and embroidered by her own hand, so that he would feel at ease amongst the wheedling courtiers when he met them again.

With a wrench, Ranulf tore his mind away from home and tried to order his thoughts on what may lie ahead of him. The court’s messenger, although not saying so in plain words, had hinted that there was some ill feeling being incubated against him and his choice of bride. There had been some muttered rumblings about his probable divided loyalties within the ranks of the Witan. If he didn’t nip them in the bud they would grow to be a dangerous canker. Knowing how underhandedly devious these political toadies could be, it crossed Ranulf’s mind that it might almost be a blessing if Hild were to be safely under her father’s roof while he was away.

Perhaps they shouldn’t have cut themselves off so completely from the capital and the King’s entourage of single minded, totally selfish followers. He had travelled several times to the boat building yard on the Thames to supervise the felling of trees and the clearing of land, but had always managed to avoid extending his visit down to Winchester. He was probably being served his just deserts, remembering all too well, the petty jealousies and bitterness that had erupted at his knighting ceremony and the celebration feast.

On an impulse, Ranulf decided to make a short detour. He’d not go east, directly to Winchester, but divert to one of the tiny islands that studded the Severn Sea. He needed to talk to his friend Peter who would be able to help him supply Hild with secure transport. They’d first met many years ago and had kept in touch regularly, Ranulf was sure he’d be able to help.

Turning clumsily in his saddle he beckoned to Orson, his guard lieutenant.

~ ~ ~

‘Orson, I need to send a message ahead to the Court.’ I said, reining back to an easy walk. ‘We will make a small detour to Western Island. I need to speak to someone there, and it will make us a few days or so late. But we don’t need to tell Winchester why, just that we will be there in about seven days from now.’

‘Yes sir.’ answered the lieutenant. ‘Who do you suggest sir?’

I nodded to a young man in the file that followed.

‘I think young John there might be best, if you would send him on his way. Make sure he understands that he’s to see Sir Edmund only. And he’s to give no details...except as I told you.’ I said. ‘Oh! And here’s a penny for his food and lodgings.’

At the crossroads and ford, around which the town of Langport and its mills had grown, we waved a farewell to John and I led my small group westward, toward the now famous village of Aller. The road wound its way along the flanks of the Polden Hills passing through some magnificent broadleaf woodland. Between the heavy trunks of ancient beech and alder, I caught glimpses of the views over the lowland marshes and saltings that bordered the Severn Sea.

The bustling village of Aller soon came into view, its celebrated church sat on the top of a low hill, curiously separated from the settlement, with its farms and the Inn where I intended stopping for our first night.

It was here that our King had received Guthrum, the defeated King of the Vikings, after the battle of Eddington. Alfred had officiated at the Norseman’s christening and I tried to picture the scene in my imagination. The village must have been stretched well beyond its usual limits to provide for such a host. Hild’s father, Halfdan, had been one of the thirty Viking Lords that had accompanied Guthrum and they had all accepted the baptism and sworn their allegiances to Alfred and the Christian church. Soon after the ceremonies, prayers and sermons, the party had moved to the Royal Estates of Wedmore where the feasting had continued for almost two weeks. It was during this time that Alfred had struck a peace bargain with Guthrum. The essence of the agreement was that, as soon as they were able, the Danes would move all of their people to the lands north and east of the Wattling Street, an ancient Roman road that ran from London to Chester. The area to the north of this line would be known as the Danelaw and Guthrum, although he became the lord of these lands, would publicly acknowledge Alfred as his overlord and King.

It all sounded very grand I thought doubtfully, because somewhere at the back of my mind I suspected treachery. They were a warring race, the Norse, and unlikely to give up so easily I thought. But, for the present anyway, I was happy to place my faith and trust in the King’s proclamation. Of course, I dared not discuss these thoughts openly. If my cynical doubts became known I would, almost certainly, be charged with sedition and that would be further fuelled by my marriage to Hild and the murmurings of the idle tongues at the court.

‘Sir!’

The call startled me from my thoughts and awkwardly, I turned in the saddle.

‘Your horse, sir.’ said Orson. ‘I think he’s cast a shoe.’ Orson pointed to the offending hoof.

‘That settles it.’ I said. ‘I had thought about stopping here for the night. Now we’ll have to.’

‘Please take my horse sir.’ said Orson. ‘One of the youngsters can walk yours and I’ll ride his.’

But one look at the nervously plunging stallion that was beneath him, was enough to persuade me.

‘No, no. It’s alright, I’m quite happy to walk.’ I told him.

With what I hoped was not too obvious a relief, I slid off of the animals back and, stretching my aching knees, set off on foot along the dusty road to Aller with the horse’s reins draped casually over my shoulder. As we entered the village a rider cantered towards us from a stockade on the high ground to the right.

‘Shall I meet him sir?’ asked Orson, his left hand slipping the leather retaining thong from his sword.

‘No, no...I think we are safe enough here Orson, you can fasten your sword.’ I said, smiling at the man’s eagerness. ‘Have the men dismount.’ I added.

‘Good day stranger. Are you passing through?’ called the rider as he cantered toward us.

‘I am Sir Ranulf of Athelney.’ I answered.

The rider reined in sharply, his horse wheeled and he slid easily from his mount to the ground.

‘I recognise you Sire. Yes indeed. Welcome to our humble village of Aller.’ the rider answered breathlessly. ‘I am Gerard, the King’s Steward and Reeve.’ he added proudly.

‘Thank you.’ I said and nodded toward my horse. ‘She’s cast a shoe, I need the services of a blacksmith...and we thought to stay at the Inn overnight.’

‘I’m sure Peter the landlord, would be delighted to add your name to his long list of illustrious guests.’ smiled Gerard. ‘Your men will find entertainment and quarters there I am sure...but, if you would do me the honour sir, I should be glad to have you as guest at the manor.’ Gerard gestured vaguely towards the church.

‘Well, thank you. A most kind offer. But I must see to my horse and men first.’ I said.

‘I’ll come with you to the Inn then. Peter will send his lad to call the smith and we could see if his ale can’t wash away some of the dust in your throat.’ said Gerard.

Gerard, true to his word, took us down to the village inn and within moments had organised the smith for my horse, bunk-house accommodation for the men and a generous board of cold meats, cheeses and fresh bread. But all the while, he chattered solidly. I just nodded now and then, unable to squeeze in hardly a word of my own. Peter, the stocky landlord, shook his head and smiled sympathetically while he bustled about, ignoring the torrent of speech that spattered off the walls and the other wooden faces in the room.

Most of the Inn’s other customers quietly finished their jugs of ale and silently slipped through the door. Soon, other than myself and Gerard, there was just one person left and he sat motionless, staring at the wisps of smoke that drifted from the lazy fire in the hearth. He had to be either deaf as a post I thought, or stone drunk.

Despite my best efforts to keep my attention on Gerard’s constant chatter, my mind wandered away to my own problems and thoughts of home. Just now, Hild would probably be feeding Evelyn our daughter and, no doubt, wondering what I was doing.

‘I’m sorry, you must