Chapter 8: Hold the Fort

(Will Archer narrates)

I have put the shire town of Bartown under Martial Law today. This morning, just before dawn, a baker and his family attempted to row across the river, which is still in full spring flood from the distant hills. They were caught by my guards and stopped. They did it, they said, to escape the pestilence.

I sleep late, but the incident is brought to my attention, so I go to see them in the lock up. Old Billy I have know for many years, he was in an archery section with me that sailed to Naples, after the Norman garrison there were having a dispute with the Italian warlord in the region. It all came to naught and we were only there for six months kicking our heels.

“Billy, you know why I have sealed the town.”

“Aye, Will, er, Sir William, but my family ... You’ve seen before what happens with these marching sicknesses in crowded old towns. It starts in one place, first a few go down with it then the whole row catch it, before it spreads to the next row and the next.”

Riverside is the oldest part of the town, starting at the root of the rock that the Castle is perched whereon, next to the river. An old community grew up along the river, for fishing and the ferry, with a mill and cloth fulling industries, a boatyard, shops and a market grew up. People spread from the narrow streets there, the prosperous moving to the lower twin hill to the Castle mount, and the town was formed. Riverside is the oldest, most tightly crowded part of our town.

“I know that is what happens, but already we have people recovering. This pestilence will burn itself out and pass, we just have to give it time. If you have caught it already, we will know in a couple of days, and so would the next town you had gone to, if we had let you get away.”

“I know Will, but my son’s wife is pregnant with my first grandson. I just had to get away.”

“I have already had your son and daughter in law sent home, we still need bread, Billy. But I am keeping you in here for now, at least a couple of days. Robert, my sergeant, is collecting all the boats and storing them in Bart’s boatyard, so that no one else can try the same thing.”

Well, I have organised the town and pressed younger men as soldiers to mount the guards in case more townsfolk want to flee the plague which is affecting all with headaches, running noses, coughing, running stools and severe weakness of the joints.

I dare not let this pestilence out into the countryside. We must ride it out here alone. If I fail to hold it here, in a line drawn in the sand, the whole country may be lost.

I am called to the south gate, where men are being turned away from market, I had not realised it was market day, I had lost sense of time, being away from the routine. There are carts of cheeses and milk, root vegetables, eggs and small herds of sheep and geese. I send for Paul, who looks after trading standards in the market. Word comes back in the form of his son, Paulie Junior, as Paul Senior has caught the sickness. We have contained the animals with picket fences, the produce from the unloaded carts piled on trestle tables. Paulie confirms what are good and what is rejected. By shouting across from tables to the carts and their suppliers 50 yards away, prices are discussed and haggled over, Paulie insisting on wholesale prices at a discount. Bargains are made and the money from the Castle coffers counted out, wrapped in linen bags and dipped in boiling water. The goods are brought inside, loaded up and taken down Main Street where Cross St meets and three of the Boroughs of Bartown meet.

The trestle tables are scrubbed down and the money set out for the traders to collect. It all goes according to plan and with remarkable ease.

Three full drays from Oaklea arrive, fully loaded with fresh ale, supplied by Alwen gratis, for the benefit of the town during this difficult time, yells the leading drayman Alfred. He and his mates unload at the gate. I send the draymen back with a plea to summon Father Andrew, for his counsel, describing the illness from the symptoms observed, and to verbally convey the town and my gratitude to Lady Alwen. I dare not to send her a letter, though my heart aches me so not to, but who can assure me that this devils’ ailment will not pass as easily on parchment as it appears by handshake?