”Now sod off and go and pick the splinters out my boys arse!” Roldan De Godefroy
The mist from the river Gipley, which had crept tentatively across the woodland floor since the previous evening, had finally burnt away as the morning sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky. Mently Woods, all part of the De Godefroy Manor, is at its silent best with no more than the occasional scuttle of small wildlife to disturb the peace.
Burleigh De Godefroy is being exceptionally quiet for a big man. Lying on his back, he waited with perfect patience. ‘Surely he will be close soon?’ he thinks. A tingle loomed under his nose, but with every inch of his body covered under the damp leaves that layered the floor and his arms firmly by his side, he dare not move to relieve the irritation. He waited.
Ackerley is eighteen now, just eighteen months younger than his brother Burleigh and both are considered as fully grown men and rounded adults ready to take that next step in life. What that next step entailed is a mystery to both of them. They are happy to learn hand to hand combat, the art of battle or at least show their immense sword skills to the local female nobility; mostly of which were displays reserved as the centrepiece to a social gathering arranged by their father to show off his learned legatees. Each man would give their all to gasps and squeals from the expectant crowd, before finishing in a flourish of loud applause and a standing ovation. Neither would be hurt although someone’s pride always took a modest knock.
The wind blows thickly through Ackerley’s long black hair. Strands dance from his lip to his forehead, teasing the young nobleman as he squats perfectly still behind the large horse chestnut staring at the empty woodland in front of him. This is the third time in a week that the brothers have extended their lessons with Jerold to include a physical game of hide and seek; physical in the sense that when found you must make your opponent yield.
The trees have almost given up their foliage to the autumn winds and the winter chills that lay ahead, and the ground is eerily still with their blanket of browns, greens, yellows and burnt red leaves from the various varieties, all just waiting for their next companion to float gently into place. Ackerley dare not turn his head as any movement may twist his high-legged boots into the loose brush below which will give away his position. ‘Without doubt he will slip up soon,’ he thinks.
Burleigh is the stronger and larger of the brothers, but has a far clumsier demeanour. Ackerley hoped that this concluding trait will soon manifest itself fully and assist in revealing his siblings whereabouts; considering a game such as this requires a placid and subtle approach.
The trees bark is beginning to imbed itself into Ackerley’s cheek. He glimpses a pair of woodlouse as they, paying no attention to the large object that has no right being pressed against their home, scuttle down past his eye line. The wind is now biting. ‘How long have I been here?’ Ackerley wonders. ‘Should I move on?’ He lets his wooden sword slide through his right hand so he is left gripping the narrow tip. With the weapon now a useful crutch and with all his weight leaning down on it, he slowly straightens his legs without making a sound. Jerold would have had a fit if he saw him and he could hear the Yeoman clear as day in his head. ‘Everything you are taught, every movement, posture, turn, thrust, must all be as if for real, for a purpose and as if your life depended on it.’ In other words if he had done this with a genuine blade, his fingers would now be scattered amongst the leaves below! He stood perfectly still and ponders, ‘where is Burleigh?’ Then it dawns on him. Could he actually be on the other side of this tree? ‘No-, mind you-, he was very close the last time I saw him-, running and ducking-, scooting under a low branch just over there.’ He stares intently into the distance and visualises the last time he saw his brother. A look of bewilderment comes across his face. ‘Where is he?’ The heavy beige woollen tunic, which seemed a good idea at the start of this jaunt, is starting to itch around his neck but he dare not scratch it, however, if it continued to irritate this would make up his mind to leave his current position. There was nothing worse than a scratch you couldn’t itch and he knew that from his experience of the heavy chainmail which restricted his ability to eradicate a particularly nasty bite on his chest last summer. The armour may be just rings of metal linked together to form a shirt of clothing, but the rings were too small for a finger to poke through and the overall weight was too heavy to lift a hand underneath. ‘Where is he?’ Ackerley is sure he would come back this way. He made his mind up about 20 minutes into this foray when instead of hunting Burleigh down, he double backed and waited for the big man to stumble upon him; entering his trap he had so carefully thought out after supper the night before. His stomach growls at the thought of that mutton and bread, it is a way off from lunchtime but he can almost smell the soup Cook would have on the boil. ‘That’s it, it’s time to strike. First things first, check the other side of this tree.’ With his sword now the right way up he counts to three, in French, in his head and lunges in a hugging motion around the great trunk which has been his cover for the past nine minutes; nothing. He decides to make his move, and with each step as gentle as the last, with just the merest of crunches and ruffles underfoot, he makes his way gingerly deeper into the trees.
Creasing the scar just above his lip, Burleigh smiles to himself as he waits, for he knew his brother’s impatience would take over; either that or his hunger would dictate his next move. Two nil down in seeks this week left him determined not to lose again. He is a broad man, thick as ox and strong as one too. Heir to the Manor of Lord Roldan De Godefroy he is not a man to be trifled with and is given the utmost respect wherever he travelled in his manor or surrounding villages. His personality is as big as his boot size and he enjoyed the serf’s and peasants looking up to him with such respect. He enjoys the ladies doing it more. For a man in his position, he has a pleasant demeanour and acts like no-one is beneath him, which made an agreeable change from Lord De Godefroy who continued his ancestors more aloof conduct with great aplomb.
‘Lord, let me get him one more time this week and I will allow him win the long bow test on Friday,’ thinks Ackerley. Tempted to shout and give up his location, so at least the oaf would appear charging like a wild boar, he shimmies his feet, a little, in the dense undergrowth, in a vain attempt to rustle up some sword action. Nothing moved; well nothing the size of Burleigh, just a few birds perched high in the trees open their wings and take flight. He stares into the distance, with a puzzled look, as his eyes move from high in the trees, to left, then right and then along the ground. He darts his head sharply to the right; still nothing.
Burleigh hears Ackerley’s attempts clear as day. ‘If he thinks I’m biting he has another thing coming. One more step and your mine little man,’ he says to himself. This time he would remain patient, ready and set to strike.
With food now more on his mind than his brother, Ackerley decides to take a few swift steps and proceeds to jog across the autumn carpet.
Burleigh pounces! Lifting his left leg high into the air, it catches Ackerley perfectly which sends the young brother into a tumble only ending when he plummets to the ground using only his face and an outstretch arm to cushion the impact. Quick as a cat and with his covering of leaves flying in all directions, Burleigh leaps to his feet and straddles his fallen assailant, thrusting the wooden point of his sword into the back of his neck.
‘AH HA!’ cries Burleigh. ‘Victory is mine!’ His cry fused into a laugh as Ackerley flounders like trout on a riverbank. ‘My cunningness has prevailed young sir-, I take it thou yields?’
‘Get off you great oaf!’ Ackerley replies with some asperity, spitting a juicy clump of mud from his mouth.
‘Good enough,’ says Burleigh and he stood, bowed, turned on one foot and began to whistle as he made his way back to the manor house.
‘Git,’ mumbles Ackerley under his breath, ‘Wait?-, How?-, What?’
The questions flew from Ackerley’s muddy features but his brother is feeling far too smug to answer.
--------------------
‘Jerold!’ shouted Lord Roldan De Godefroy, with a sturdy frown fixed on his face. ‘Jerold Emory!’ He had a habit of announcing your whole name if you failed to answer within the half second gap he allowed between this and the original call of your Christian name.
‘Yes my Liege,’ Jerold replied as he walked slowly into the room.
Yeoman Jerold Emory is shorter than Lord De Godefroy but where you could say fat is the lining of the trunk on his Lordship, muscle is the order of the day and clearly in situ for Jerold.
The sunlight beamed through the two large windows in the sitting room in which they stood. The room is relatively bare, aside from a table along one wall which is guarded by two fine tall-backed chairs at either end. This is the main room in which guests were usual brought as they entered the Manor House and is always kept as clean as possible. The floor is covered in heavy grey stone slabs which lifted slightly at the edges of certain points and appeared uneven but quirky in their own right and certainly more pleasing to the eye than a set that were regimentally in a straight line. An iron fire basket in the middle of the room had its contents already ablaze. The oak, which is being used as the fuel today, is ashen, black and yellow and crackled as the writhing flames licked the surrounding air, whilst the beams above are blackened from the smoke of over 100 years.
‘When will the boys be back?’ enquired Lord De Godefroy as he walked to the fire, tossed in some parchment and walked back to his original position.
‘Anytime now sire,’ Jerold was puzzled by the question as he had already answered the same one not more than an hour ago.
Jerold is the Yeoman for the De Godefroy’s Manor and part of his duties is the honourable task of teaching the young Lords the ways of combat as well as protecting De Godefroy. Bow, dagger, battle-axe, sword and shield, all vital in the battlefield, were practised daily. Not that there is much chance of either sons seeing battle, they were too busy tending to the needs of the estate, tax collecting, land disputes and local laws all needed addressing and both Burleigh and Ackerley were on hand to do their father’s bidding.
‘What is it today-, bow?’ enquired Lord De Godefroy as he stood with his hands clasped behind him. He released his right hand and scratched at his black beard.
‘Not today sire, that will be Friday,’ he replied in a polite if slightly irritated tone. He brushed his hand down the front of his tunic where he had noticed a fly had settled. ‘The boys are finishing their spell of seek in the woods, my Liege.’
The Lord looked inquisitively at Jerold and the Yeoman knew what was coming. ‘Wooden swords I suppose,’ ruffled De Godefroy in his husky tone. Roldan De Godefroy spoke as if he had been weaned on nails and along with his immense size is an imposing figure even without his status as Lord of the Manor. He looked intently at Jerold and raised his substantial black eyebrows, which were close to meeting in the middle. ‘You do remember that I don’t see the point of wooden swords don’t you Jerold?’
‘Yes my Liege-, but if you would be kind enough to let me explain one more time-,’
‘You have been explaining to me the same thing for the past 5 years,’ interrupted De Godefroy, ‘and I don’t suppose your explanation has changed at all has it?’ Jerold looked on with a wry smile and simply nodded. There is only ten years between them and despite their differing prominence in the manor, both felt comfortable in each other’s company. The age gap helped as did the fact Roldan had known Jerold his whole life. Before his death, through a hunting accident, Jerold’s father had served Roldan for a short time and had the pleasure of serving Roldan’s father before him too.
‘When they are back and of course cleaned up-,’ Roldan paused, a pained expression washed over him, ‘no-, just make sure they are fine and that they attend dinner tonight.’ De Godefroy turned away to stare out of the window for a brief moment, hiding his anguish. ‘I need to go out for the day and won’t be back until late.’
‘Of course sire.’ Jerold took a step forward. ‘Is there something wrong?’ He asked. De Godefroy looked distant, thinking of his late wife and how she would deal with the news that had just reached him. He looked over his shoulder and then returned to face the window.
‘You mean other than my sons poking each other with the TABLE LEGS you provided them?’ He turned back at Jerold and was pleased to see a smile broaden on his face.
‘Point taken my Lord-, and I will assume everything to be fine-,’ he waited briefly for a response, ‘unless you tell me otherwise,’ he concluded.
‘Good assumption,’ barked De Godefroy. ‘Now sod off and go and pick the splinters out my boys arse!’
‘I will. Good day your Lordship,’ Jerold replied as he turned to exit the room.
‘Oh Jerold,’ De Godefroy muttered, looking down towards his silver belt buckle which had caught the sunlight and was now reflecting a splash of yellow on the wall next to the window frame.
Jerold stopped in his tracks and turned to face his master. ‘Yes sire.’
‘The next time you enter a room in this house that does not have rushes on the floor, clean your boots.’ Jerold looked down and lifted his right foot to inspect his sole and now realised where that smell is coming from! ‘If I had wanted more shit in this house I would have asked Farmer Webb to relocate his cows!’
Jerold smiled again. ‘Yes sire,’ he said as he turned once more, left the room and headed to the courtyard to meet the brothers.
The De Godefroy Manor of Stowburgh is situated in the Eastern County of Suffolk approximately ten miles south from the town of Bury St Edmunds. It covers close to 1800 acres and was awarded to Roldan’s Great Great Grandfather Bayard in 1070 by the then King William for his military service and assistance in helping him take the crown from Harold in 1066 at the Battle of Hastings.
Bayard De Godefroy was a Norman and lived as a master in his own right in France before the great battle. This reward meant his family would begin a new life in England with their own Manor and new responsibilities to the King. It is unclear who stood before him as the noble of Stowburgh, as history and gossip passed down through the generations would only tell us that the previous Lord was not very sociable and in fact the only word the villagers heard from him was to see an order signed for a peasant to have their hand removed for poaching. Although the De Godefroy’s were men of substance and ensured each person within the Manor knew they were in charge, they were welcomed very quickly and seemed a refreshing change.
Over 100 years have passed since that ‘gift’ was given to the De Godefroy’s and over that time they had allowed many of the locals to acquire their own land, or fiefs, in exchange for rent and services to the family.
Central to the De Godefroy’s demesne, the three remaining men lived in the Manor house which is surrounded by 300 acres of wood and farmland. The house is grand in size and Roldan often thought it was about time that Grandchildren filled the rooms. Neither Ackerley nor Burleigh are married, which was unusual for men of their age and there is no news of any bastards running through the fields of Stowburgh. Although Roldan would welcome children, he never shows chagrin at their absence with both boys working hard for him and living life to the full.
The house itself has three sections set out in a ‘U’ shape; with a courtyard at its centre. It is unusually large for a Manor house in this region and many believe that it must have once been for monastic purposes. In fact, a small chapel still remains behind the Buttery at rear of the house. The De Godefroy’s still use it and are happy to allow Jerold and the servants to pray their too. The furnishings within the chapel are not as opulent as in Roldan’s Grandfather’s day however there still remains an altar at one end with a large Crucifix displayed on the wall behind it.
The altar itself looks like a large rectangular cube. Stretching up from the floor, solid stone forms the lower part, whilst the last eighteen inches are in wood. On its surface is a small box which contains a cup and bowl for communion. Seating is plentiful and the congregation can take their place on one of the four rows of pews which are separated by an aisle that is paved with sunken tree trucks. The main door, bare of decoration, is large and takes some shifting if the ground behind it is not kept free from roots and weeds. From the outside and above it, is an oak carving that has withered over time. Despite its worn appearance you can just make out a couple riding a horse and the De Godefroy boys have always read it to be Mary and Joseph taking their donkey en-route to Bethlehem. This Chapel felt like a holy place, one for worship and recompense and was once used at least three times a day by Roldan’s Grandfather Maven.
Brother Maven De Godefroy was indeed a pious man of great influence and one that travelled the world during the early part of the 12th century. In 1114 he announced to his parents that he was leaving on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and did not return for thirteen years. Following that time he seemed to slowly breakaway from the church lifestyle, although he was keen to maintain the upkeep of the Chapel and spent many a gold coin on its interior, replacing old furniture and the previous altar with the one that remains today. By the winter of his return, he had completely given up his simple lifestyle as a Monk; announcing that Jesus himself had visited him and told him that his life’s remaining quest was away from the Church. This life away excluded celibacy and within a year he was married with his wife Fleta giving birth to his son Warrick in the spring. Fleta did not survive the birth so Maven and his son lived on in the Manor, with the former monk replacing his uncle as Lord in 1129. Roldan, son of Warrick, was born just one month before his Grandfather Maven passed away and it was as if Maven had stayed around to witness the arrival of his only Grandchild before moving on to meet the man that had played such a huge part in his life. The house and the manor were now run by Warrick and he was keen to add his input into the layout and set about making changes to the front of the building.
The main entrance to the house is now very grand with a large stone archway leading through to the courtyard. Once inside, but not through the arch, doors either side lead to the two single floor buildings. To the left is the sitting room and to your right is a corridor which leads to the largest room in the house; the main hall.
The main hall is primarily used for dining and entertaining and is predominantly filled by a large central table that almost stretches the length of the room. At the far end are two doors, one leading to the courtyard and the other to the kitchen, buttery and store rooms.
On the opposite side of the Courtyard is the only two-story building, which houses three solar rooms on each level. They are used as sleeping quarters for the De Godefroy and sometimes servants if they are not one of the local peasants with their own housing in the manor. Lord De Godefroy’s room is, as you would expect the largest and along with an ample bed, two large wooden clothing units adorn the plentiful space. Hanging from the clothing unit handles, bunches of herbs and scented flowers help fill the room with a sweet pleasant odour and the servants loved to breathe in the perfumed air as they cleaned. The brothers had a room each, sparsely set and tonight they should sleep soundly after their arduous days work.
Ackerley and Burleigh are exhausted from their morning of training. It had begun with the sword and finished with the woodland seek; that Burleigh would be keen to remind Ackerley once again of his victory. Both headed to the main storage room which could only be entered from the courtyard and held the armory, outdoor clothing, as well as the hunting equipment. Jerold is waiting patiently outside picking the remaining mess off the bottom off his boots with a stick.
‘Good chase?’ asks Jerold without looking up from the task in hand.
‘GREAT CHASE!’ exclaims Burleigh, still smiling brightly from his successful morning.
‘To be honest, I was keen not to upset the big man too much and gave him an easy catch,’ Ackerley retorts sarcastically as he nudged his way past his older sibling, giving him a dig in the ribs on the way. Burleigh didn’t bite and continues to undo the sword belt from around his waist.
Both men remove their tunics and discard them near the doorway of the store. Jerold sourly looks up and throws his stick in the opposite direction as he rose to his feet.
‘We will go through the how’s and why’s later today-, but first injuries,’ says the Yeoman who always finished training with a rundown of any cuts or bites that may need treating.
Both men lift their arms and turn, slowly, full circle in front of Jerold who inspects their lightly tanned flesh.
‘All good, I’ll leave you to clean up,’ Jerold says and began to turn away, but remembered Roldan De Godefroy’s look when they had discussed his sons in the sitting room only a few hours earlier. ‘How did your father seem to you today?’ he asks the brothers.
‘He was up with the cockcrow and seemed dandy when I left him gnawing on a bone in the dining room,’ Ackerley answers.
‘Yeah the same, why do you ask?’ says Burleigh, who had reached the large water tub that had collected enough rain in the past months to be able to scrub down in. He disturbs the suns’ reflection on the water’s surface by dunking his hands deep into the cold reservoir and, using the contents, scrubs his face and neck. Goosebumps appear down his arms and the hairs on his neck stand up on end as the cold liquid drips from his chin.
‘No reason,’ replies Jerold, ‘just wondered if you saw him.’
Ackerley joins Burleigh at the water tub but first sits on the ground to remove his muddy boots. They are black in colour and finish halfway up his shin. Unlacing them took some time but the relief when they were removed was worth the wait. Burleigh realises this was a good idea and proceeds to do the same.
‘I’m off to collect when I’m changed, do you fancy the walk old man?’ announces Burleigh to Jerold as he looks across to him and smiles. The Yeoman is just ten years older than his charge, so nowhere near ‘old’, but always enjoyed the banter.
‘Mmm-, maybe we could race there and the last one to Mrs Millets has to clean the stables tomorrow?’ Jerold replies mischievously.
The stables’ being cleaned is not normally Jerold’s job, it is mainly John Trott’s, the huntsman’s, but he had been in bed for ten days since the end of the Michaelmas festival with flux; his wife blamed the illness on the rancid goose he ate.
‘I would-, but my legs are a bit stiff from the pounding I gave Ackers in Mently!’ replies Burleigh as he exaggeratingly rubs his calf with great enthusiasm and turns to his brother, hoping to witness a glimmer of repulsion as a good sign that he is finally getting under his skin.
Not a glimmer comes back from the placid man.