William and his ancestors had protected the town quite effectively by
attacking first themselves. They had been burnt out only once, nearly thirty
years ago when the late Louis of France had been in England. Since then, there
had been no real threat.
Riding closer to the disturbed ground, William snorted in
irritation. His suspicions were correct. Those idiots were starting to erect
buildings there. Commoners, free or serf, had no common sense! William touched
his horse with his heel and rode forward.
“Where is the headman here?” he asked in English, but the man
had already run over and was bowing.
“My lord?”
“Take it all down,” William growled, gesturing at the
standing framework. “You cannot build here. This is common ground.”
“But my lord, it is agreed in the whole town. The cattle
will not suffer. We are clearing on the north side. There will be sufficient
grazing there! The merchant who needs these warehouses has purchased that land
and will exchange—”
“Numbskull!” William roared. “What do I care where the
cattle graze? If you build on this curve of the river, you will block my view
of the town wharfs. Boats could put in here and I would not see them.”
The master builder swallowed. He had been consulted about
the site and had given it his approval, but he was thinking only of how far the
river might rise in time of flood and whether the ground was firm enough to
support the structures required.
“It is not in my power,” he pleaded. “I only—”
“It is in my power,” William snarled. “Take it down
and save your timber or I will send down my men to burn it and break a few
heads also.”
He set heels to his horse again and rode off, picking up his
pace so that the horse was near a full gallop by the time he entered the town
itself. People scattered in confusion, women screamed and snatched up small
children, mules and asses were wrenched out of the way. Coming to a hall at the
center of the town, near the guildhall, William reached down and grabbed a
shrinking man by the hair.
“Summon me the guildmaster,” he snapped.
“Wh-which gu-guildmaster?”
“The one who sits highest in the guildhall, or if he is not
here, any other, so long as he be in authority.” The trembling man nodded and
ran. Sir William glared around, but the green facing the guildhall was now
empty. What the devil was the name of the guildmaster and to which guild did he
belong? William had not even realized there was more than one. When he did
business with the townsfolk, one man would usually approach him as spokesman.
As long as dues and tolls were paid promptly and in full, William did not
trouble himself with the town management. It had seemed to work well, but now
William began to wonder whether he had been stupid.
It seemed to him, now he thought of it, that fewer and fewer
cases had been brought before him when he sat in justice. That was odd because
the town had grown in the past few years. Since men were men, it seemed highly
unlikely that an increase in business and population could have brought a decrease in crime. Neglectful, William told himself. He had been sorely neglectful. In
recent years, as Richard became more and more involved with public affairs,
William had insensibly been drawn to think more and more about such things,
even though he did not go often to court, and less of local matters.
The guildmaster—a guildmaster—was now bowing to him, introducing
himself as Thomas Mercer. William told him briefly that he had ordered the
building headman to tear down what he had erected and smooth over the pits he
had dug. No building was ever to be constructed on that curve of the bank, he
ordered. “But my lord,” the guildmaster wailed, “it is perfect dockage. The
river has scoured a deep pool there, and ships can—”
“I know that,” William snapped. “That is why I forbid
buildings there. As the land lies, such buildings would block the view of the
docks from the
attacking first themselves. They had been burnt out only once, nearly thirty
years ago when the late Louis of France had been in England. Since then, there
had been no real threat.
Riding closer to the disturbed ground, William snorted in
irritation. His suspicions were correct. Those idiots were starting to erect
buildings there. Commoners, free or serf, had no common sense! William touched
his horse with his heel and rode forward.
“Where is the headman here?” he asked in English, but the man
had already run over and was bowing.
“My lord?”
“Take it all down,” William growled, gesturing at the
standing framework. “You cannot build here. This is common ground.”
“But my lord, it is agreed in the whole town. The cattle
will not suffer. We are clearing on the north side. There will be sufficient
grazing there! The merchant who needs these warehouses has purchased that land
and will exchange—”
“Numbskull!” William roared. “What do I care where the
cattle graze? If you build on this curve of the river, you will block my view
of the town wharfs. Boats could put in here and I would not see them.”
The master builder swallowed. He had been consulted about
the site and had given it his approval, but he was thinking only of how far the
river might rise in time of flood and whether the ground was firm enough to
support the structures required.
“It is not in my power,” he pleaded. “I only—”
“It is in my power,” William snarled. “Take it down
and save your timber or I will send down my men to burn it and break a few
heads also.”
He set heels to his horse again and rode off, picking up his
pace so that the horse was near a full gallop by the time he entered the town
itself. People scattered in confusion, women screamed and snatched up small
children, mules and asses were wrenched out of the way. Coming to a hall at the
center of the town, near the guildhall, William reached down and grabbed a
shrinking man by the hair.
“Summon me the guildmaster,” he snapped.
“Wh-which gu-guildmaster?”
“The one who sits highest in the guildhall, or if he is not
here, any other, so long as he be in authority.” The trembling man nodded and
ran. Sir William glared around, but the green facing the guildhall was now
empty. What the devil was the name of the guildmaster and to which guild did he
belong? William had not even realized there was more than one. When he did
business with the townsfolk, one man would usually approach him as spokesman.
As long as dues and tolls were paid promptly and in full, William did not
trouble himself with the town management. It had seemed to work well, but now
William began to wonder whether he had been stupid.
It seemed to him, now he thought of it, that fewer and fewer
cases had been brought before him when he sat in justice. That was odd because
the town had grown in the past few years. Since men were men, it seemed highly
unlikely that an increase in business and population could have brought a decrease in crime. Neglectful, William told himself. He had been sorely neglectful. In
recent years, as Richard became more and more involved with public affairs,
William had insensibly been drawn to think more and more about such things,
even though he did not go often to court, and less of local matters.
The guildmaster—a guildmaster—was now bowing to him, introducing
himself as Thomas Mercer. William told him briefly that he had ordered the
building headman to tear down what he had erected and smooth over the pits he
had dug. No building was ever to be constructed on that curve of the bank, he
ordered. “But my lord,” the guildmaster wailed, “it is perfect dockage. The
river has scoured a deep pool there, and ships can—”
“I know that,” William snapped. “That is why I forbid
buildings there. As the land lies, such buildings would block the view of the
docks from the
Similar Books
