Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [230]
“Where is Port?” he asked.
The sheep farmer was brought forward and Alfred looked at his arms before declaring:
“This Welshman,” this was the term often applied to men of Celtic descent, “fights like a true Saxon noble.” He turned to Aelfwald with a look of enquiry and the thane nodded quickly: for the day before he had spent the morning with the king urging him to bestow this honour upon his loyal man. “Therefore,” Alfred continued: “from today, Port, you are to be a thane.” And then, followed by Aelfwald and his family, he solemnly embraced the astonished sheep farmer.
But this was not all. If Port was to be a thane, he must have land.
At a nod from the king, two monks now stepped forward. They held in their hands heavy sheets of parchment: for the granting of lands was carefully recorded in writing. There were two kinds of land that the king could grant: the ordinary land of the people on which the owner would owe him the feorm tax; or the still more valuable bookland, which was exempt from all taxes except military service and contributions to fortifications and bridges.
“Thane Port,” Alfred announced, “I will give you bookland.”
The sheep farmer flushed with pleasure; his eyes opened wide as the monk, holding up the charter, read it out in Latin, which he translated into Saxon as he went along.
The wording of the charter, like all such documents at that time, was resounding.
In the name of the High Thunderer, the Creator of the World, be it declared to all present, absent and to come, by the contents of this charter that I, Alfred, by the grace of God King of the Anglo-Saxons, give and concede to Port an estate in my ownership into his perpetual possession by hereditary right.
His own charter: his own land. Now he was truly a thane. As he listened carefully the monk continued.
And on account of his pleasing obedience I confirm the extent of the estate: that is, twenty hides near the river Avon, immediately north of Aelfwald’s land.
Twenty hides! He was a rich man. With the income from that he could give his sister Edith not only her gold cross but put jewels on it too. He knew the land in question. It was a fine estate. He listened intently as the monk came to the definition of its boundaries, which was written not in Latin but in Anglo-Saxon, so that there could be no doubt about what was meant.
First along the river, then at the bend, east over the meadow to the great tree; then north along the boundary furrow to the linch, and west along the dyke . . .
He knew every inch. Even as the monk recited, his precise mind was carefully calculating its income.
Which lands include the place called Odda’s farm, and the right to pasture in the meadow six oxen . . .
“Stop.”
At this unexpected interruption from the sheep farmer, the monk looked up, astonished.
“There are eight oxen there, not six,” Port objected.
Alfred stared at him, then seeing what kind of man he had to deal with, smiled.
“Are you sure?”
Port nodded.
At a sign from the king, the monk crossly altered the charter, before continuing.
And to receive from the dairy farm there twenty weys of cheese, fifteen lambs, fifteen fleeces . . .
But Port was shaking his head.
“They produce twenty-five weys of cheese,” he told the king.
Now Alfred and all those around burst out laughing, and even the monk could not suppress a smile. Again the charter was altered.
That he may have and possess and present the aforesaid land to whomsoever he shall choose in all things with free will, except the fortification of fortresses, construction of bridges and military service.
He had land, and he had it for ever. The Charter ended with the usual flourish.
If anyone shall insolently attempt to infringe this generous munificence, let him know that, on the great Day of Judgement when the deepest caves of Hell shall open and the whole world tremble, he will perish in the infernal fire with Judas and all traitors and suffer agonies for all eternity, if he shall not