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Found in Hope Wolf Creek Shifters 2 1st Edition H R
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Kathy Denver, iPublishGlobal Cover by MoorBooks Design
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1 – Theo
Chapter 2 – Becca
Chapter 3 – Theo
Chapter 4 – Becca
Chapter 5 – Theo
Chapter 6 – Becca
Chapter 7 – Becca
Chapter 8 – Theo
Chapter 9 – Becca
Chapter 10 – Becca
Chapter 11 – Theo
Chapter 12 – Theo
Chapter 13 – Becca
Chapter 14 – Theo
Chapter 15 – Becca
Chapter 16 – Becca
Chapter 17 – Theo
Chapter 18 – Theo
Lycan Families
Cedar Creek Shifter Clans
Playlist
HauntedWolfPreview
Also by Nikki Landis About the Author
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Becca Harlow is missing.
Theo has been tasked with locating the woman who broke his heart five years ago. As the only shifter who knows her scent and routine well enough, he’s forced to obey his alpha and try to locate Becca.
There’s just one problem with this plan.
Theo can’t get over the woman who still owns him body and soul. Worse, sinister forces are at play and the target isn’t only one innocent shifter. All of Cedar Creek is in danger.
Will Theo be able to rescue Becca and protect the pack? Or will his obsession with vengeance lead to more bloodshed and death?
Just the thought of that phrase made my wolf snarl deep in my chest as he tried desperately to break free. For days I had been pacing like a caged animal, desperate to hear back from the pack delegate sent to find the woman that was my shining star, my light, and my perfect fucking mate. My wolf had latched onto and claimed her long ago. We were both obsessed with Becca and had been for the last five years, despite her father’s effort to keep us apart.
Now that was a long ass story and one that didn’t end pretty.
I was a hopeless cause. A shifter than ran with the pack instead of leading it. I wasn’t an alpha like Rinnick or the beta like Cole. My family didn’t have alpha blood. No, I was part of the cohesive unit, just a soldier who took orders, but that wasn’t good enough for Becca’s father. His little girl belonged with the toughest and strongest of our clan.
That sure wasn’t me – Theo Bardolf.
He never let me forget it.
Becca was the first girl that I ever kissed, the one I lost my virginity to, and the one girl that still caused my blood to simmer with both desire and rage. She broke my fucking heart when she ended our engagement and I hadn’t been the same since. Hopeless and full of anger, I became a guy that hardened his heart against the world. Ironic since I still carried the ring in my pocket like some lovesick fool and clung to the hope that she’d realize her mistake. Yeah, I was a stupid fucker.
My two best friends took great delight in reminding me often. Cole and Rinnick didn’t get it. They didn’t understand the extent of my bond to Becca.
The past never really went away and had a way of sneaking up on you, dumping more bullshit onto the stack you were already dealing with. That was my life. A series of consecutive events that
pushed Becca farther and farther from my reach until she left my life altogether.
I swore I wouldn’t get involved with her disappearance. When the news surfaced that she was missing, I shifted into my wolf for days to escape. When the pack decided something had to be done, I didn’t volunteer. When her father Jedd met with Rinnick, I wasn’t around to complicate the plan of rescue. I kept my big mouth shut even when her brothers Lor and Elias showed up and demanded something else be done to recover Becca.
Fuck if I wasn’t super pissed about it all anyway.
Then the delegate Max Thompson returned without Becca and a gut-wrenching fear replaced every other emotion. I couldn’t stand it any longer. Without permission from Rinnick, I stormed into the meeting between the elders, Jedd and his sons, Max, and Cole. Rinnick took one look at my face and nodded, realizing that what I had to propose was the best option – whether Jedd approved or not.
“I’m going after Becca,” I nearly growled, “alone.”
My announcement wasn’t a negotiation. Jedd could kiss my ass. Not big on words or ceremony, I was a simple guy with basic needs. Becca was at the top of that list. Come hell or judgement day, I’d find her and bring her home. End of discussion.
Jedd stood, his entire frame vibrating fury as Lor placed a hand on his shoulder. “Over my dead body.”
My lip curled up in a snarl. “It’s a good thing that doesn’t matter, Jedd. I’m going and no one is going to stop me. The fucking excuses end here. You want Bec back safe at home? I’m the guy to do it.”
Elias shook his head but locked eyes with his brother. “Lor?”
Lor was the alpha now. He’d taken that position from his father last year when Jedd passed the leadership role down to his eldest son. Lor had a little more sense and was less hostile to me than his father. I wouldn’t say we were on friendly terms, but we didn’t argue or hate one another.
“Go, Theo. Bring her home, please.”
My gut twisted with the pain I could feel in his voice, an agony that matched my own. “Done. I’m leaving at first light.”
I didn’t wait around for any drama to unfold. My next order of business was to get extremely drunk and then pass out at home until I had to wake up and confront the reality that I would soon face my long-lost love. Sitting at the local bar that was frequented by shifters, I’d already downed a good three beers before Rinnick joined me. Cole went home to Briar and I didn’t feel bad about his choice. He’d finally found his mate and I didn’t begrudge him the happiness.
If only it were that simple for me . . .
I felt the presence of my alpha before I heard his voice.
“Surprised it took you so long,” Rinnick commented as he ordered a whiskey. The shot was placed before him and slung back quickly before he slammed the glass on the bar and eyed the pretty blonde bartender with a wink. “We need a round of beers at our table. Don’t take too long, sweet stuff. We’re thirsty.”
She swung a towel around the bar in mock anger and sashayed her shapely ass over to the tap, filling mugs as Rinnick led us over to our usual table. We sat in the corner, watching the crowded bar and patrons for a few minutes in silence. Once our beers arrived and Rinnick’s gaze left the blonde’s perky tits, we got down to business.
“I lasted as long as I possibly could,” I finally replied. “Jedd doesn’t want my interference, but it’s too late now.”
“No, and that’s why I said as much after you left.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, not feeling any better.
Rinnick watched me closely. He had this way about him that was quiet but intense, powerful but controlled. I supposed most alphas were like that. All the ones I had ever met shared those same qualities. “Fuck, Theo. I know this isn’t easy.”
Choking on a large gulp of beer, I swiped my hand across my mouth. “Easy? I’ve been dealing with this shit for five years. Just when I thought I could have some kind of life without her, Bec ends up missing. Fate fucking hatesme.”
Rinnick snorted, slapping me on the back. “Grow some balls, man. This isn’t karma. Your woman needs to be reminded of who you are and what you mean to each other. Fate has given you another chance. Take it. Don’t be a fucking fool.”
Sighing, I ran my hand through my hair. “She made it perfectly clear where I stood with her.”
Becca had ordered me to stay away from her nearly a year ago. It was the last conversation we had after an endless argument about something so insignificant I couldn’t remember what we fought about now. Her lack of emotion and willingness to fight for our relationship had ended the last spark of romance between us.
Or so I thought.
“Theo,” he began but I slammed my fist on the table and he leaned back, shaking his head. “Five years is a long time to live with regret but forever is a lot longer.”
“What do you know about it?” I asked with anger. “You’ve never fallen in love.”
Rinnick growled as he leaned forward, his presence suddenly menacing. “You forget your place, old friend.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, not the least bit intimidated. “That shit works on the rest of the pack, not me. We’re too close for bullshit. You, me, and Cole. We don’t fuck around.”
Rinnick blew out a breath and downed his beer, shoving the empty mug away. “There may be some truth in that statement.”
Damn straight.
“Listen, I know you’ve been through your fair share of hardship. Cole is finally dealing with his past and that’s a good thing. Losing Seth was a devastating blow to you both. I get that, but we’re not talking about siblings. Becca is my mate.”
He smirked, leaning back as his feet rose and rested on the surface of the worn wooden table. “You said she isyour mate, as in present tense.”
Cringing, I shrugged. “Is, was, doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. Your wolf hasn’t forgotten.”
Shit.He was right but I wouldn’t admit it. Not at this moment. It hurt too much to consider the idea. “I don’t have any idea where to begin the search.”
He let me change the subject, but I didn’t miss the twinkle of humor in his eye. “Why not the Blazing Bull Motel? That’s where Max found her things.”
True, but I had a feeling it wasn’t where she actually spent her time. Becca wasn’t a cheap motel kind of girl. She was too girly and didn’t like squalor. For a wolf, it was both humorous and endearing. “I’ll probably check it out, but I have a feeling something more sinister is at work. Bec didn’t have any problems with family.” Rinnick lifted a brow in protest and I nodded. “Alright, nothing other than an overbearing father and overprotective brothers. She wasn’t unhappy to my knowledge.”
Rinnick laughed, the sound both a little frustrated and slightly sarcastic. “You speak to her about that often?” His question alluded to the fact that maybe she wasn’t happy, and I didn’t want to entertain that idea any more than I wanted to discuss her feelings about me or our past.
No, I didn’t speak to her and he knew it. That was another problem. Becca’s continued silence completely cut me off from her life. I didn’t know shit about why she left the pack grounds to begin with, much less what kind of trouble she was in. “Fuck off,” I growled, rising to my feet. “You know what I mean.”
He stood, clapping my shoulder with a wide grin. His smile was only remotely apologetic. “This is going to be a turning point in your relationship. I’m sure Bec will welcome you with open arms.”
Swinging my fist, he ducked the blow as I chased him out, both of us laughing hard as we exited the bar. “You’re a shit friend,” I observed. “Asshole.”
Rinnick couldn’t stop laughing, hands on his knees as he shook his head. “We both know what this means to you.” He sobered as our gaze met. “You have my full support. Bring her home to her family. That’s got to count for something.”
“Yeah,” I answered slowly. “Maybe. I’m not going to win any points with her father but maybe Bec will be reminded that I’m the same guy I was five years ago, and nothing is going to change how I feel about her.”
“I truly hope so, Theo. It sucks to see you so down.”
Turning away, I didn’t betray the level of emotion that surfaced with those words. “Night, bro.”
“Stay in touch. Don’t forget to text me while you’re out there.”
“I won’t,” I assured him and jogged home, already far more sober than I wanted.
The long night stretched ahead, and I knew I would chase sleep and Becca Harlow for many endless nights to come. I was absolutely certain that she would haunt me for the rest of my days.
Chapter 2 – Becca
“She’s coming around.”
I blinked, moaning as I shifted my sore body in an attempt to find the slightest comfort. The cold metal of the cage and bars left my body in a constant fight for warmth as the zip ties at my wrists bit into the flesh relentlessly. Dried blood caked around the plastic where my skin was raw and chafed. Disoriented, I tried to understand where I was and failed to recognize anything familiar.
My mouth was dry, and I could barely swallow. “Hello?” I croaked, blinking several more times to focus clearly.
“Hey there, little wolf. About time you woke up.” The male voice was one I didn’t recognize. “There’s water in the bottle to your left.”
A plastic drinking bottle was clipped to the side of the cage. I was immediately reminded of a dog kennel and cringed. Swallowing my pride, I leaned in and sucked through the metal straw as cool liquid trickled down my throat. After a few minutes I had enough to quench my thirst although I couldn’t help the overwhelming sense of dread that sank into my weary bones.
“Where am I?”
The man leaned forward, his dark hair falling into his face in stringy long strands. A corner of his lip lifted up, but it wasn’t with a smile. A jagged scar tugged at the flesh and distorted his looks, transforming the man from an average looking human male into something decidedly more sinister. “The factory. A fun little place where we like to conduct our experiments in privacy without interference.”
Experiments? “I recognize you from the forest.” I didn’t say he’d been snooping around Cedar Creek pack lands. We both knew that information to be true already and I wasn’t interested in riling him up. Right now, I needed as much knowledge as possible to escape.
“Ah, yes. That’s when we had the pleasure of locating your pack. I didn’t expect to find such a sweet little shifter among your kind. I admit, I’m quite intrigued.”
Something about the way he said those words made my skin crawl with an itch I couldn’t reach. His dark blue eyes were dull except for the hint of aggression and promise of pain that steadily held my gaze. I could sense he was toying with me and I would soon regret that I ever noticed this particular human and his friends.
When I didn’t respond he continued, leaning closer to the bars of the cage. “Have you ever heard of the term conditioning?” At my blank stare he sneered. “It’s the process of training or accustoming a person or animal to behave in a certain way or to accept specific circumstances.” A wide grin tugged his smile into some kind of demented leer. “Person or animal . . . how about both? That is what youare, isn’t that right?”
For the first time I began to feel afraid. I knew I could shift into my wolf but in his eyes, I saw a determination to bring suffering and harm. Trembling, I was tempted to beg. Would he give up this foolish pursuit if I pleaded for his mercy? As his gaze traveled the length of my body, I knew I could never pay the price for such a bargain.
“I’d rather stay in my cage,” I finally answered with more bravado than I felt.
“You won’t think so for long.”
Numerous men stepped forward, all armed with guns as my cage was unlocked. I didn’t jump out in a hurry and the man with the scar laughed, the sound viciously hungry and deeply disturbing.
“No one believed me when I said you weren’t a fool. Much too pretty for your own good, too. I think we’ll have a lot of fun cataloging the results of your trials.”
“Stop fucking around, Hall. We need to begin before she gains back her full strength.”
Hall, the scarred kidnapper, yanked me from the cage roughly and hauled my body close to his own. “Let’s see if we can bring your wolf out to play.”
I stumbled as he shoved me toward his friends, and I was led down a dark tunnel that hid most of the interior from view. Too dark to make out where I was, I tried not to panic. If I shifted now, I’d end up killing these men. No matter what they believed, I wasn’t a
murderer. It was this precise moment that I realized I hadn’t heard from my wolf at all. She didn’t whine or howl or snarl. It was almost as if she was sleeping.
I’d been drugged. That was the only explanation, but I didn’t remember being injected with any needles. The only recollection I had was a faint memory of darts from multiple guns. Stifling a gasp, I realized I’d been tranquilized like a wild animal on the run. Fury boiled beneath the surface of my skin and I felt the faint stirring of my wolf in response.
Something burned the side of my thigh as I jerked and fell down to the ground, shocked when I realized I had been zapped with a stun gun. My wolf snarled as she fought against the heavy blanket of lethargy that covered her whole body. My nails lengthened as she tried to push through and tear these humans apart.
“Another dose!” Hall yelled as I was shot with another dart and it impaled the opposite thigh.
Screeching with pain and rage, I lunged toward the shooter but dropped when two more darts imbedded in my arm and shoulder.
“We have plenty more where those came from, mutt. Don’t worry, we already know the drugs burn off fast with your metabolism. Shifters like you are an abomination. We’ll end your kind and the stain you have placed on humanity.”
Shocked to find such hatred in Hall’s tone, I didn’t reply.
The torture continued for hours.
Every time I began the transformation to shift, they would drug and prod me, forcing my wolf to retreat. This went on for so long I lost track of time. Hours blended into days. Days blurred into a week. Back and forth, I was shuffled from the cold metal cage to the room where they continued their endless torment. I knew it was bad when my wolf no longer answered the call to violence. She had been reconditioned and no longer wished to surface, effectively making me unable to control my wolf form.
Just as Hall threatened, I was now useless. No longer a threat. Depression quickly settled in and I didn’t care what they did anymore. I allowed their beatings and snide remarks, the insults and abuse. There was no other choice. Only enough food and water
were given to keep me alive. I was far too weak to escape and continue the fight.
Blinking, I caught the name of their group as it was proudly displayed above the cage where I would never forget what to call these monsters. The Society.
The men cheered as they realized I had been completely broken. My limp and naked body was returned to my metal prison.
As I lowered my head and succumbed to the fatigue, I could only hope that Theo decided to come after me and found my note. If not, I would probably die here before the pack would ever find my location. Eyes fluttering, I sent out a desperate signal to any shifter from the pack close enough to catch it. A mental push that would tingle the senses of any other wolf in the area.
Danger.Hunters.
Chapter 3 – Theo
The Blazing Bull Motel was a cheap, rundown, low rent strip of rooms located right off the highway about three hours outside of Cedar Creek lands. I assumed it was used for quickies and drug exchanges as I couldn’t imagine sleeping there intentionally for any length of time. Stained carpet and odd smells permeated the rooms while graffiti littered many of the chipped and stained walls. A persistent drip echoed so loudly I had to ignore the urge to cover my ears. Cockroaches and bedbugs roamed the bed linens and side tables. Glad I wore my boots, I stomped on anything that moved in my direction.
Cheap cigarettes clung to the air with a stale musk mixed with sweat and the faded but bitterly metallic stench of dried blood. Someone had vomited a short distance from where I stood, and the odor nearly overwhelmed my hypersensitive sense of smell. One of my ears flicked back in reflexive response and I couldn’t fight the expression of disgust on my face. A faded trace of lust and sexual conquest joined with the rest and the only saving grace was the knowledge that Becca’s sweet clean scent wasn’t entangled with any of these repugnant smells.
The front desk clerk was a pimply faced youth smacking gum loudly and watching television, barely noticing who came through the door other than to take money. I glared at him as I cleared my throat and he didn’t turn around or acknowledge me.
“Hey,” I shouted with a growl, my wolf impatient. “Pay attention.”
He swung around, a snappy retort dying on his lips as he took in my size and no-nonsense attitude. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for someone. A pretty girl with caramel skin, long brown hair, and hazel eyes. She had a backpack and was traveling alone but could have had a companion.”
He shrugged. “I see a lot of women.” He started to turn his back on me when a rumble deep in my throat stopped him.
“You’d remember this one. She was clean, had money, and didn’t stay long. She was here recently.”
He jumped up, reaching underneath the register to hand me an envelope and Becca’s torn backpack. I recognized it as the one she carried when we used to go hiking together. Something had stained the back of it a dark brown or red. Blood? My wolf began to pace and growl low, his presence pushing to the surface of my skin.
Calmdown,we’llfindher, I soothed.
My beast listened, but probably not for long.
“Yeah, I remember. Cute little mixed chick, right? She said if some scary big guy with dark hair, tattoos, and the propensity to growl his words came in looking for her to give him this.” He shoved the items my way. “I assume that’s you.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“Nah, I think that’s why you have the envelope.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, leaving in a hurry as I practically ran to my truck and hopped inside, slamming the locks down as I searched her bag. The usual travel items were inside like toiletries and a change of clothes. Nothing personal was included which was a bit suspicious.
Setting the pack aside, I picked up the envelope. The seal was intact, so I assumed no one saw the contents but Becca. Sliding my finger across, I ripped it open and dumped everything out to be sure I didn’t miss any clues.
My wolf instantly inhaled as fresh linen, cherry flavored lip gloss, and female filled our senses.
“Becca,” I moaned aloud, my heart stirring with the achingly familiar scent.
Funny, but the backpack didn’t smell like her, even the items inside. My guess was she either didn’t open it on purpose or never had a chance. The smell of blood clung to the pack’s outer fibers, but it wasn’t Becca. A stranger perhaps but I catalogued the distinct metallic scent for later use. I’d know if I ran across it again since the blood was human. No shifter. My throat tightened and I had difficulty breathing for a minute. My wolf snarled and whined as the knowledge that she’d be taken against her will filled my thoughts.
There was a note, her state driver’s license, cherry Chapstick, some cash, and a thin gold chain with a wolf’s head charm next to another charm with the letter ‘B’. I remembered when her mama gave her that necklace many years ago. Becca never removed it, at least not in the past. She must have been concerned it would become lost, broken, or stolen. She chose to give it to me for safekeeping instead. There was no doubt in my mind this was left intentionally for me to find.
My heart beat a little faster as I realized she trusted me even after all this time.
“Becca, baby,” I whispered aloud. “What did you do?”
She knew I would come after her and was counting on it, which only meant one thing. Becca was in greater danger than I first realized. My wolf snarled as I cracked my neck and rolled my shoulders, trying to prevent a foolish display of rage. The last thing I wanted to do was shift in front of the humans at this rundown motel. I placed everything back in the envelope but the note and exhaled slowly before reading.
Growling, I had to look away for a moment before I lost my shit. A sense of dread and foreboding left me restless and fighting against my wolf. We both felt the urgency to locate her before something bad happened . . . if it hadn’t already. Becca making a stupid choice equaled someone getting hurt. At this point, that could be anyone within the vicinity.
“Fuck!” I yelled, almost crumpling the paper in my hand. “Dammit, Becca.”
Why didn’t she come to me with that information? I could have helped her without risking her safety. The woman was too damn stubborn. Who knew what the hell she was thinking?
If only I hadn’t let her pull away from me. I should have insisted that she maintain contact and tried to rekindle our lost connection. If we’d been close, she would have told me about the strange humans. I couldn’t help feeling this was partially my fault and I could have prevented her disappearance.
That was as far as I got before I roared and tossed the piece of paper on the dashboard. Seething with anger, my chest puffed out and I felt the change coming on. Heat infused my body at the same moment my wolf ripped open my humanity. I couldn’t stop the inevitable. Emotion was strongly linked to the man andthe wolf which caused a nearly combustive reaction.
Yanking on the handle of the door while I still had the ability, I hopped out of my truck and dashed toward the trees. Luckily for me, no one was around. I barely had the time to strip before my bones began to snap and pop, rearranging into my wolf. Snarling, I pounded the ground as I took off through the forest and raced beneath the canopy of the cedar, oak, big-leaf maple, and spruce trees. My paws barely hit the dirt as I caught a whiff of Becca’s scent and I howled, thundering my displeasure for miles.
Her trail ran cold at the edge of the forest on the other side of the highway and I knew this was where she’d been captured. I could
still smell the faded metallic droplets of her blood mixed with the soil. A recent rain had left only traces as my snout buried into the leaves and grass. Desperate to pick up any hint of her whereabouts, I growled when I caught which direction she’d been taken. Several vehicles left deep enough tread marks that I was able to discern the same type of SUV was used for all three. There were signs of a struggle or planned attack. Scattered bullets from a shotgun were imbedded in the mud. The frayed end of a piece of rope was buried in the bushes nearby. More of Becca’s blood was visible in the twisted threads. Whining, my wolf pawed at the ground and demanded retribution.
Howling again, I headed to the edge of the forest where I shifted and changed back into my clothes. Climbing inside the truck, I picked up the note and finished but it was hardly necessary. I already knew where I was headed but this confirmed my plans. Igottooclose,Theo.TheysawmeandsomehowknewwhatI was.Imanagedtoslipawayinwolfform,butIknowthey’recoming forme.Ican’thideforever,andIwon’tleadthemhome.Thereare toomanylivesatriskandElenaisexpectingherandJoe’sbaby soon.MyonlychoiceistoleadthemfartherfromCedarCreek. Findme.Iknowyoucan.You’rethebesttrackerIknow. Whatevermessisbetweenus,Itrustyou.You’veneverletme downandIknowyouwon’tnow.IfI’mright,myfatheralreadytried tostopyouandyoucameanyway.Ihopeyoukeepgoing.Wehave toomuchunfinishedbusiness.
Becca
My anger temporarily fizzled away as I read her final words. For the first time in over a year, I began to hope that Becca wasn’t lost to me forever. Maybe Rinnick was right. Perhaps fate was finally stepping in and giving me one last chance to prove I was worthy of my mate. If I could rescue her, I’d be able to convince her of my love and devotion. Even after all this time, it never diminished. A part of me was ecstatic but placing her in danger was never worth the opportunity. I’d rather she was home and safe and still avoiding me than her life at risk. This Society sounded like poachers and big game hunters who flaunted money, power, and authority. I’d
seen this type of group before. Most of the time we outsmarted these hunting groups but every once in a while, we’d get a bunch of particularly nasty individuals who knew the truth and didn’t care about our humanity. They saw us as only beasts.
The Society and others like them neglected to realize one important thing – shifters were gifted with enhanced senses and abilities and we had no problem using those against our enemies. Whatever awaited me I knew I’d fight to the death to save Becca. She was worth whatever sacrifice I would be required to make. Pinning all my hope on that letter, I left to find my intended mate.
Chapter 4 – Becca
Days. Weeks. A month? I was unsure how long I remained in that metal cage and was forced to endure the cruel experiments and endless torture at the hands of Hall and his associates. The Society was more than anti-shifter. Fully intending to eradicate any shifter species, the organization was only interested in genocide. They were monsters in their own right.
Delirious from the constant flow of drugs through my system, my mind drifted to memories of the past and previous mistakes that cost the happiness of my own heart. Theo Bardolf was my intended mate. Five years ago, I broke off our engagement to please my father, but that choice had left my wolf and I desperately unhappy ever since. My father didn’t understand that I didn’t want the same things he did. I didn’t care about mating an alpha or being the mate of the strongest wolf in the pack. My feelings were irrelevant. Jedd Harlow dictated his desires and his children all obediently followed his orders. He was an alpha and expected his daughter to unite with one.
There was no room for argument.
My first mistake was falling in love with a handsome young wolf with a constant smile, towering height, deep blue eyes, and a fantastic sense of humor. Theo made me laugh. For a girl without her mother, I was surrounded by men and rules. I wanted to live, to be free, to choose from my heart for my mate and not the directive from my overprotective father.
Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t cruel. The man lost his wife when his children were young, and he was forced to be strong and raise them on his own. The other pack members including my brothers didn’t have a problem with how my father conducted pack business, but they weren’t his daughter. The other females had freedom to do as they wished but I was stifled. My father made it clear that I was expected to choose my mate from one of the clan alphas and I rebelled.
The night of the monthly full moon when shifters ran free into the forest and explored possible mates, I was held back and unable to join the festivities. My father didn’t want me to become caught up in the lust and excitement of the night. He thought I was safe behind closed doors where no male wolf could scent me and stake a claim.
Little did he know, Theo already chose his intended mate . . .
Tossing small rocks at my bedroom window Theo signaled his arrival. I was frustrated with his persistence until I realized he was there to help me escape. I climbed out of the home that felt more like a prison and joined him, racing through the forest as we shifted into our wolves and ran for hours until exhaustion forced us to return home. He placed a chaste kiss on my cheek that night, but it was the way his gaze softened as his eyes roamed every inch of my face that confirmed my suspicions. He was attracted to me and my wolf.
I didn’t know how I felt about him at the time. We were young, my wolf and I inexperienced. At only fifteen, I was unaccustomed to the attention of males who weren’t my father and brothers. Lor and Elias were nearly as bad as my father. They kept a tight watch on my every activity. Maybe that was why I ran off so often with Theo in the middle of the night in the following weeks and months. He was everything my heart longed for and needed. He was a symbol of the freedom I desperately craved.
Three years later I still hadn’t decided on a mate and neither had Theo. At eighteen, we were each old enough to declare our intentions to the pack. Nearly every day I awaited his choice of mate, but Theo never said a word. Many of my friends thought he was handsome and charming. His cousin Elena used to tease me often until she fell for Joe Harley. Elena and Briar Lovell were my closest friends.
Thinking back to those days I wished I would have been strong enough to ask Theo what he wanted. I was too shy and uncertain to pursue such a sensitive subject. As a result, Theo and I drifted in limbo for another year, neither of us confessing our feelings but clearly attracted to one another. The innocent romps through the
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whole policy, by the impartial character of his internal administration, by the nature and circumstances of his relations with his chief continental neighbours, France and Anjou; indirectly it was helped on by the sense of a common grievance in the promotion of “strangers”—men born beyond sea—over the heads of both alike. Slight as were the bonds between them at present, they were the first links of a chain which grew stronger year by year; and the king’s last and grandest stroke of policy, the marriage of his daughter and destined successor with the count of Anjou, did more than anything else to quicken the fusion of the two races by driving them to unite against sovereigns who were equally aliens from both.
[50] Eadmer, Hist Nov (Rule), p 224
[51] Suger, Vita Ludovici Grossi, c 1 (Rer Gall Scriptt , vol xii p 12)
Roger’s great work as justiciar was the organization of the Exchequer. Twice every year the barons of the Exchequer met under his presidency around the chequered table whence they derived their name, and settled accounts with the sheriffs of the counties. As the sheriffs were answerable for the entire revenue due to the crown from their respective shires, the settlement amounted to a thorough review of the financial condition of the realm. The profits of the demesne lands and of the judicial proceedings in the shire-court, now commuted at a fixed sum under the title of “ferm of the shire”; the land-tax, or as it was still called, the Danegeld, also compounded for at a definite rate; the so-called “aids” which in the case of the towns seem to have corresponded to the Danegeld in the rural districts; the feudal sources of income, reliefs, wardships, marriagedues, escheats; the profits arising out of the strict and cruel forestlaw, the one grievance of his predecessor’s rule which Henry had from the beginning refused to redress; all these and many other items found their places in the exhaustive proceedings of King Henry’s court of Exchequer. Hand in hand with its financial work went the judicial work of the Curia Regis: a court in theory
comprehending the whole body of tenants-in-chief, but in practice limited to the great officers of the household and others specially appointed by the king, and acting under him, or under the chief justiciar as his representative, as a supreme tribunal of appeal, and also of first resort in suits between tenants-in-chief and in a variety of other cases called up by special writ for its immediate cognisance. It had moreover the power of acting directly upon the lower courts in another way. The assessment of taxes was still based upon the Domesday survey; but transfers of land, changes in cultivation, the reclaiming of wastes on the one hand and the creation of new forests on the other, necessarily raised questions which called for an occasional revision and readjustment of taxation. This was effected by sending the judges of the King’s Court—who were only the barons of the Exchequer in another capacity—on judicial circuits throughout the country, to hold the pleas of the crown and settle disputed points of assessment and tenure in the several shires. As the justices thus employed held their sittings in the shire-moot, the local and the central judicature were thus brought into immediate connexion with each other, and the first stepping-stone was laid towards bridging over the gap which severed the lower from the higher organization.
By the establishment of a careful and elaborate administrative routine Henry and Roger thus succeeded in binding together all branches of public business and all classes of society in intimate connexion with and entire dependence on the crown, through the medium of the Curia Regis and the Exchequer The system stands portrayed at full length in the Dialogue in which Bishop Roger’s great-nephew expounded the constitution and functions of the fully developed Court of Exchequer; its working in Roger’s own day is vividly illustrated in the one surviving record which has come down to us from that time, the earliest extant of the “Pipe Rolls” (so called from their shape) in which the annual statement of accounts was embodied by the treasurer. The value of this solitary roll of Henry I.— that of the year 1130—lies less in the dry bones of the actual financial statement than in the mass of personal detail with which they are clothed, and through which we get such an insight as nothing else can afford into the social condition of the time. The first
impression likely to be produced by the document is that under Henry I. and Roger of Salisbury—“the Lion of Justice” and “the Sword of Righteousness”—every possible contingency of human life was somehow turned into a matter of money for the benefit of the royal treasury. It must, however, be remembered that except the Danegeld, there was no direct taxation; the only means, therefore, of making up a budget at all was by the feudal levies and miscellaneous incidents; and these were no longer, as in the Red King’s days, instruments of unlimited extortion, but were calculated according to a regular and fairly equitable scale, subject to frequent modification under special circumstances. Still the items look strange enough. We see men paying to get into office and paying to get out of it; heirs paying for the right to enter upon their inheritance; wouldbe guardians paying that they may administer the estates of minors; suitors paying for leave to marry heiresses or dowered widows; heiresses and widows paying for freedom to wed the man of their own choice. The remittances are not always in money; several of the king’s debtors sent coursing-dogs or destriers; one has promised a number of falcons, and there are some amusingly minute stipulations as to their colour.[52] There is an endless string of land-owners, great and small, paying for all sorts of privileges connected with their property; some for leave to make an exchange of land with a neighbour, some to cancel an exchange already made; some to procure the speedy determination of a suit with a rival claimant of their estates, some on the contrary to delay or avoid answering such a claim, and some for having themselves put forth claims which they were unable to prove; the winner pays for his success, the loser for failing to make good his case; the treasury gains both ways. Jewish usurers pay for the king’s help in recovering their debts from his Christian subjects.[53] The citizens of Gloucester promise thirty marks of silver if the king’s justice can get back for them a sum of money “which was taken away from them in Ireland.”[54] This lastquoted entry brings us at once to another class of items, perhaps the most interesting of all; those which relate to the growing liberties of the towns.
[52] Pipe Roll, 31 Hen. I. (Hunter), p. 111.
[53] Ib. pp. 147, 148, 149.
[54] Ib. p. 77.
The English towns differed completely in their origin and history from those of the states which had arisen out of the ruins of the Roman Empire. The great cities of Italy and Gaul were daughters of Rome; they were the abiding depositaries of her social, municipal and political traditions; as such, they had a vitality and a character which, like their great mistress and model, they were able to preserve through all the changes of barbarian conquest and feudal reorganization. The English towns had no such imperial past; in their origin and earliest constitution they were absolutely undistinguishable from the general crowd of little rural settlements throughout the country. Here and there, for one reason or another, some particular spot attracted an unusually large concourse of inhabitants; but whether sheltered within the walls of a Roman military encampment like Winchester and York, or planted on the top of an almost immemorial hill-fort like Old Sarum, or gathered in later days round some fortress raised for defence against the Welsh or the Danes like Taunton or Warwick, or round some venerated shrine like Beverley or Malmesbury or Oxford, still the settlement differed in nothing but its size from the most insignificant little group of rustic homesteads which sent its reeve and four men to the court of the hundred and the shire. The borough was nothing more than an unusually large township, generally provided with a dyke and palisade, or sometimes even a wall, instead of the ordinary quickset hedge; or it was a cluster of townships which had somehow coalesced, but without in any way forming an organic whole. Each unit of the group had its own parish church and parochial machinery for both spiritual and temporal purposes, its own assembly for transacting its own internal affairs; while the general borough-moot, in a town of this kind, answered roughly to the hundred-court of the rural districts, and the character of the borough-constitution itself resembled that of the hundred rather than that of the single
township. The earlier and greater towns must have been originally free; a few still retain in their common lands a vestige of their early freedom. But the later towns which grew up around the hall of a powerful noble, or a great and wealthy monastery, were dependent from the first upon the lord of the soil on which they stood; their inhabitants owed suit and service to the earl, the bishop, or the abbot, whichever he might chance to be, and their reeve was appointed by him. On the other hand, when it became a recognized principle that everybody must have a lord, and that all folkland belonged to the king, it followed as a natural inference that all towns which had no other lord were counted as royal demesnes, and their chief magistrate was an officer of the crown. In the great cities he usually bore the title of port-reeve, a word whose first syllable, though here used to represent the town in general, refers in strict etymology to the porta, or place where the market was held, and thus at once points to the element in the life of the towns which gave them their chief consequence and their most distinctive character. The Norman conquest had led to a great increase of their trading importance; a sense of corporate life and unity grew up within them; their political position became more clearly defined; they began to recognize themselves, and to win their recognition at the hands of the ruling powers, as a separate element in the state. The distinction was definitely marked by the severance of their financial interests from those of the shires in which they stood; a fixed “aid,” varying according to their size and wealth, was substituted in their case for the theoretically even, but practically very unfair pressure of the Danegeld; and to avoid all risk of extortion on the part of the sheriff, their contribution to the ferm of the shire was settled at a fixed round sum deducted from the total and accounted for as a separate item, under the name of firma burgi, either by the sheriff or, in some cases where the privilege had been specially conferred, by the towns themselves. At the same time the voluntary institution of the gilds, which had long acted as a supplement to the loose territorial and legal constitution of the boroughs, forced its way into greater prominence; the merchant-gilds made their appearance no longer as mere private associations, but as legally organized bodies endowed with authority over all matters connected with trade in the great
mercantile cities; the recognition of their legal status—generally expressed by the confirmation of the right to possess a “gild-hall” (or, as it was called in the north, a “hans-house”)—became a main point in the struggles of the towns for privileges and charters. The handicraftsmen, fired with the same spirit of association, banded themselves together in like manner; the weavers of London, Huntingdon and Lincoln, the leather-sellers and weavers of Oxford, bought of the crown in 1130 a formal confirmation of the customs of their respective gilds.[55] The lesser towns followed, as well as they could, the example of the great cities; they too won from their lords a formal assurance of their privileges; Archbishop Thurstan’s charter to Beverley was expressly modelled on that granted by King Henry to York.[56]
[55] Pipe Roll, 31 Hen I (Hunter), Oxford, pp 2 and 5; Huntingdon, p 48; Lincoln, pp 109, 114; London, p 144
[56] Stubbs, Select Charters, pp 109, 110 (3d ed )
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We may glance at some of the towns of southern England in company with some travellers from Gaul who visited them in the later years of Henry’s reign. The cathedral church of Laon had been burnt down and its bishop Waldric slain in a civic tumult in 1112. Waldric had once been chancellor to King Henry,[57] and the reports which he and others had brought to Laon of the wealth and prosperity of the island[58] led some of the canons, after perambulating northern Gaul to collect donations for the restoration of their church, to venture beyond sea for the same object. They set sail from Wissant —seemingly in an English ship, for its captain bore the Englishsounding name of Coldistan—in company with some Flemish
Wagner & Debes’ Geogˡ. Estabᵗ. Leipsic.
merchants who were going to buy wool in England, and they landed at Dover after a narrow escape from some pirates who chased their vessel in the hope of seizing the money which it was known to contain.[59] They naturally made their way to Canterbury first, to enlist the sympathies of the archbishop and his chapter, as well as those of the scarcely less wealthy and powerful abbey of S. Augustine.[60] Thence they apparently proceeded to Winchester.[61] The old West-Saxon capital had lost its ancient rank; London, which had long surpassed it in commercial and political importance, had now superseded it as the crowning-place and abode of kings. But its connexion with the crown was far from being broken. Its proximity to the New Forest made it a favourite residence of the Conqueror and his sons; William himself had built not only a castle on the high ground at the western end of the city, just below the west gate of the Roman enclosure, but also a palace in its south-eastern quarter, hard by the cathedral and the New Minster; it was here that he usually held his Easter court, and his successors continued the practice. One very important department of the royal administration, moreover, was still permanently centred at Winchester—the Treasury, which under its English title of the “Hoard” had been settled there by Eadward the Confessor, and which seems not to have been finally transferred to Westminster till late in the reign of Henry II.[62] Of the two great religious foundations, one, the “Old Minster,” or cathedral church of S. Swithun, the crowning-place and burial-place of our native kings, assumed under the hands of its first Norman bishop the aspect which, outwardly at least, it still retains. The other, the “New Minster,” so strangely placed by Ælfred close beside the old one, had incurred William’s wrath by the deeds of its abbot and some of its monks who fought and fell at Senlac; to punish the brotherhood, he planted his palace close against the west front of their church; and they found their position so intolerable that in 1111, by Henry’s leave, they migrated outside the northern boundary of Winchester to a new abode which grew into a wealthy and flourishing house under the name of Hyde Abbey, leaving their old home to fall into decay and to be represented in modern days by a quiet graveyard.[63] As a trading centre Winchester ranked in
Henry’s day, and long after, second to London alone; the yearly fair which within living memory was held on S. Giles’s day upon the great hill to the east of the city[64] preserved a faint reminiscence of the vast crowds of buyers and sellers who flocked thither from all parts of the country throughout the middle ages.
[57] On Waldric (or Gualdric) and Laon see Guibert of Nogent, De Vitâ suâ, l iii c 4, et seq (D’Achéry, Guib Noviog Opp , p 498, et seq ) Cf above, p 22
[58] “Quæ [sc Anglia] tunc temporis magnâ divitiarum florebat opulentiâ pro pace et justitiâ quam rex ejus Henricus in eâ faciebat ” Herman Mon De Mirac S Mariæ, l ii c 1 (D’Achéry, Guib. Noviog. Opp., p. 534).
[59] Ib c 4 (pp 535, 536)
[60] Ib c 6 (p 536)
[61] Herman Mon , l ii c 7 (D’Achéry, Guib Noviog Opp , p 536)
[62] At the date of the Dialogus de Scaccario (A D 1178) its headquarters seem to have fluctuated between London and Winchester, and to have been quite recently, if they were not even yet, most frequently at the latter place. See the payments to the accountants: “Quisque iii denarios si Londoniæ fuerint; si Wintoniæ, quia inde solent assumi, duos quisque habet.” Dial. de Scacc., l. i. c. 3 (Stubbs, Select Charters, p. 175, 3d ed.).
[63] Flor. Worc. (Thorpe) vol. ii. p. 64. Ann. Waverl. a. 1111. The king’s charter confirming the removal is dated 1114; Dugdale, Monast. Angl., vol. ii. p. 444.
[64] It is mentioned in Henry’s charter to Hyde; Dugdale, as above.
At the opposite end of the New Forest the little town of Twinham, or Christchurch as it was beginning to be called from its great ecclesiastical establishment, whose church had been rebuilt on a grand scale by Ralf Flambard, had, on the octave of Pentecost, a fair
which the travellers took care to attend, much to the disgust of the dean, who was anxious to secure all the offerings of the assembled crowd for the improvement of his own church, and had no mind to share them with our Lady of Laon.[65] They met with a warmer welcome at Exeter at the hands of its archdeacon and future bishop Robert.[66] In the next reign Exeter was counted as the fourth city in the kingdom.[67] Natural wealth of its own it had none; the bare rocky soil of the south coast of Devon produced nothing but a few oats, and those of the poorest quality;[68] but the mouth of the Exe furnished a safe and convenient anchorage for small merchant vessels either from Gaul or from Ireland, and though Bristol was fast drawing away this latter branch of her trade, Exeter could still boast of “such an abundance of merchandise that nothing required for the use of man could ever be asked for there in vain.”[69] It was far otherwise with Salisbury, to which the travellers were probably drawn chiefly by the fame of its bishop;[70] the Salisbury of those days was not the city in the plain which now spreads itself around the most perfect of English Gothic minsters, but the city whose traces, in a very dry summer, may still now and then be seen in the fields which cover the hill of Old Sarum. Crowded as it was into that narrow circle —narrow, and without possibility of enlargement—Bishop Roger’s Salisbury was an excellent post for military security, but it had no chance of attaining industrial or commercial importance, although he did not disdain to accept the grant of its market tolls, which till 1130 formed part of the ferm of Wilton.[71] Wilton was apparently still the chief town of the shire to which it had originally given its name; like Christchurch it had its fair, but, like Christchurch too, its importance was mainly derived from its abbey, where the memory of S. Eadgyth or Edith, a daughter of Eadgar, was venerated by English and Normans alike, by none more than the queen who shared Eadgyth’s royal blood and had once borne her name.[72] The visitors from Laon, however, seem to have been more impressed by another name which one is somewhat startled to meet in this southern region —that of Bæda, whose tomb was shown them in the abbey church of Wilton, and was believed to be the scene of miraculous cures.[73] They retraced their steps into Devonshire, where they found the
legends of Arthur as rife among the people as they were among the Bretons of Gaul; they were shown the chair and oven of the “blameless king,” and a tumult nearly arose at Bodmin out of a dispute between one of their party and a man who persisted in asserting that Arthur was still alive.[74] After visiting Barnstaple and Totnes[75] they turned northward towards the greatest seaport of the west, and indeed, with one exception, of all England: Bristol.
[65] Herman. Mon., l. ii. cc. 10, 11 (D’Achéry, Guib. Noviog. Opp., pp. 537, 538).
[66] Ib. l. ii. c. 12 (p. 539).
[67] Gesta Stephani (Sewell), p. 21.
[68] Will. Malm. Gesta Pontif., l. ii. c. 94 (Hamilton, p. 201).
[69] Ibid.
[70] Herman. Mon., l. ii. c. 13 (p. 539).
[71] Pipe Roll, 31 Hen. I. (Hunter), p. 13.
[72] Ibid.
[73] Herman. Mon., l. ii. c. 14 (D’Achéry, Guib. Noviog. Opp., p. 539).
[74] Ib. l. ii. cc. 15, 16 (pp. 539, 540).
[75] Ib l ii cc 17–19 (p 540)
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To trace out the Bristol of the twelfth century in the Bristol of to-day is a matter of difficulty not only from the enormous growth of the town, but from the changes which have taken place in the physical conformation of its site. Nominally, it still stands on the peninsula formed by the junction of the Frome and the Avon; but the courses of both rivers have been so altered and disguised that the earlier aspect of the place is very hard to realize. The original Bristol stood wholly upon the high ground which now forms the neck of the peninsula, then a small tongue of land surrounded on the south-east by the Avon, on the north, west and south by the Frome, which flowed round it almost in the form of a horse-shoe and fell into the
Wagner & Debes’ Geogˡ. Estabᵗ. Leipsic.
Avon on the southern side of the town, just below the present Bristol Bridge.[76] Before the Norman conquest, it seems, the lower course of the Frome had already been diverted from its natural bed;[77] its present channel was not dug till the middle of the thirteenth century, across a wide expanse of marsh stretching all along the right bank of both rivers, and flooded every day by the tide which came rushing up the estuary of Severn almost to the walls of the town, and made it seem like an island in the sea.[78] Within its comparatively narrow limits Bristol must have been in general character and aspect not unlike what it is to-day—a busy, bustling, closely-packed city, full of the eager, active, surging life of commercial enterprise. Ostmen from Waterford and Dublin, Northmen from the Western Isles and the more distant Orkneys, and even from Norway itself, had long ago learnt to avoid the shock of the “Higra,” the mighty current which still kept its heathen name derived from the sea-god of their forefathers, [79] and make it serve to float them into the safe and commodious harbour of Bristol, where a thousand ships could ride at anchor.[80] As the great trading centre of the west Bristol ranked as the third city in the kingdom,[81] surpassed in importance only by Winchester and London. The most lucrative branch of its trade, however, reflects no credit on its burghers. All the eloquence of S. Wulfstan and all the sternness of the Conqueror had barely availed to check for a while their practice of kidnapping men for the Irish slave-market; and that the traffic was again in full career in the latter years of Henry I. we learn from the experiences of the canons of Laon. They eagerly went on board some of the vessels in the harbour to buy some clothes, and to inspect the strange wares brought from lands which can have had little or no intercourse with the inland cities of Gaul. On their return they were solemnly implored by their friends in the city not to run such a risk again, as they would most likely find the ships suddenly put to sea and themselves sold into bondage in a foreign land.[82] [76] See the description of Bristol in Gesta Steph. (Sewell), p. 37.
[77] Seyer, Memoirs of Bristol, vol. ii. pp. 18–27.
[78] Gesta Steph. (Sewell), p. 37.
[79] See the description of the “Higra,” and of Bristol, in Will. Malm. Gesta Pontif., l. iv. cc. 153, 154 (Hamilton, p. 292).
[80] Gesta Steph. (Sewell), p. 37.
[81] In Gesta Steph. (Sewell), p. 21, Exeter is called the fourth city in the realm. As London and Winchester are always counted first and second, the third can only be Bristol.
[82] Herman. Mon., l. ii. c. 21 (D’Achéry, Guib. Noviog. Opp., p. 541).
No such dangers awaited them at Bath. With their reception there by the bishop[83]—whom the healing virtues of its waters had induced first to remove his bishopstool thither from its lowlier seat at Wells, and then to buy the whole city of King Henry for the sum of five hundred pounds[84]—their itinerary comes to an abrupt end. If they penetrated no further up the Severn valley than Bristol they turned back from the gates of a region which was then reckoned the fairest and wealthiest in England. The vale of Gloucester is described as a sort of earthly paradise, where the soil brought forth of its own accord the most abundant and choicest fruits, where from one year’s end to another the trees were never bare, where the apples hung within reach of the traveller’s hand as he walked along the roads;—above all, where the fruit of the vine, which in other parts of England was mostly sour, yielded a juice scarcely inferior to the wines of Gaul. Another source of wealth was supplied by the fisheries of the great river, the fertilizer as well as the highway of this favoured district. Religion and industry, abbeys and towns, grew and flourished by Severn-side.[85] Worcester was still the head of the diocese; but in political rank it had had to give way to Gloucester. Standing lower down the river, Gloucester was more accessible for trade, while its special importance as the key of the South-Welsh border had made it one of the recognized places for assemblies of the court from the time of the Danish kings. The chief town of the
neighbouring valley of the Wye, Hereford, had once been a borderpost of yet greater importance; but despite its castle and its bishop’s see, it was now a city “of no great size,” whose broken-down ramparts told the story of a greatness which had passed away.[86]
[83] Herman. Mon., l. ii. c. 22 (D’Achéry, Guib. Noviog. Opp., p. 541)
[84] Will. Malm. Gesta Pontiff., l. ii. c. 90 (Hamilton, p. 194). The grant of the city is in Rymer, Fœdera, vol i pt i p 8; date, August 1111
[85] Will Malm Gesta Pontiff , l iv c 153 (Hamilton, pp 291, 292)
[86] Will Malm Gesta Pontiff , l iv c 163 (Hamilton, p 298)
Far different was the case of Chester. What the estuary of the Severn was to the southern part of western England, that of the Dee was to its northern part; Chester was at once the Bristol and the Gloucester of the north-west coast—the centre of its trade and its bulwark against the Welsh. Beyond the Dee there was as yet little sign of industrial life. Cultivation had made little or no progress among the moorland and forest-tracts of western Yorkshire, and its eastern half had not yet recovered from the harrying with which the Conqueror had avenged its revolt in 1068. For more than sixty miles around York the ground still lay perfectly bare. “Cities whose walls once rose up to heaven—tracts that were once well watered, smiling meadows—if a stranger sees them now, he groans; if a former inhabitant could see them, he would not recognize his home.” The one thing which had survived this ruin was, as ever, the work of the Roman.[87] York still kept its unbroken life, its ecclesiastical primacy, its commercial greatness; the privileges of its merchants were secured by a charter from the king; they had their gild with its “alderman” at its head,[88] their “hans-house” for the making of byelaws and the transaction of all gild business; and they were freed from all tolls throughout the shire.[89] Far to the north-west, on the
Scottish border, Carlisle, after more than two centuries of ruin, had been restored and repeopled by William Rufus. The city had been destroyed by the Danes in 875, and its site remained utterly desolate till in 1092 the Red King drove out an English thegn who occupied it under the protection of Malcolm of Scotland, and reunited it to the English realm.[90] The place still kept some material relics of its earlier past; fragments of its Roman walls were still there, to be used up again in the new fortifications with which the Red King encircled his conquest; and some years later the triclinium of one of its Roman houses called forth the admiring wonder of a southern visitor, William of Malmesbury.[91] But the city and the surrounding country lay almost void of inhabitants, and only the expedient of a colony sent by Rufus from southern England, “to dwell in the land and till it,”[92] brought the beginnings of a new life. Yet before the end of Henry’s reign, that life had grown so vigorous that the archbishop of York found himself unable to make adequate provision for its spiritual needs, and was glad to sanction the formation of Carlisle and its district into a separate diocese.
[87] Will. Malm. Gesta Pontiff., l. ii. c. 99 (Hamilton, pp. 208, 209).
[88] Pipe Roll, 31 Hen. I. (Hunter), p. 34.
[89] Charter of Beverley, Stubbs, Select Charters, pp. 109, 110 (3d ed.).
[90] Eng. Chron. a. 1092.
[91] Will Malm Gesta Pontif , l ii c 99 (Hamilton, p 208)
[92] Eng Chron a 1092
The chief importance of Carlisle was in its military character, as an outpost of defence against the Scots. On the opposite coast we see springing up, around a fortress originally built for the same purpose, the beginning of an industrial community at Newcastle-upon-Tyne. The “customs” of the town contain provisions for the regulation of
both inland and outland trade; if a merchant vessel put in at the mouth of the Tyne, the burghers may buy what they will; if a dispute arise between one of them and a foreign merchant, it must be settled before the tide has ebbed thrice; the foreign trader may carry his wares ashore for sale, except salt and herrings, which must be sold on board the ship. No merchant, save a burgher, may buy wool, hides, or any other merchandise outside the town, nor within it, except from burghers; and no one but a burgher may buy, make, or cut cloth for dyeing.[93] Round the minster of S. John of Beverley, on the marshy flats of Holderness, there had grown up a town of sufficient consequence to win from the lord of the soil, Archbishop Thurstan of York, a charter whose privileges were copied from those of the metropolitan city itself. As a whole, however, the north was still a wild region, speaking a tongue of which, as William of Malmesbury complained, “we southrons could make nothing,” and living a life so unconnected with that of southern England that even King Henry still thought it needful to reinforce his ordinary body-guard with a troop of auxiliaries whenever he crossed the Humber.[94]
[93] Customs of Newcastle, Stubbs, Select Charters, pp 111, 112
[94] Will Malm Gesta Pontif , l ii c 99 (Hamilton, p 209)
This isolation was in great part due to physical causes. What is now the busy West Riding was then mainly a vast tract of moor and woodland, stretching from Wakefield to the Peak and from the Westmoreland hills to the sources of the Don; while further east, the district between the lower course of the Don and that of the Trent was one wide morass. Such obstacles were still strong enough to hinder, though not to bar, the intercourse of Yorkshire with midEngland. The only safe line of communication was the Foss Way, which struck across the central plain and along the eastern side of the Trent valley to Lincoln, and thence turned north-westward to cross the Trent and wind round between forest and fen to York. Lincoln was thus the chief station on the highway between York and
the south. Under the Norman rule the city had risen to a new importance. Two of its quarters had been entirely transformed; the south-western was now covered by a castle, and the south-eastern by a cathedral church. Neither building was the first of its kind which had occupied the spot. Few sites in England could have been more attractive to a soldier’s eye than the crest of the limestone ridge descending abruptly to the south into a shallow sort of basin, watered by the little river Witham, and on the west sloping gradually down to a broad alluvial swamp extending as far as the bank of the Trent. The hundred and sixty-six houses which the Conqueror swept away to make room for his castle[95] were but encroachments on an earlier fortification, a “work” of mounds and earthen ramparts of the usual old English type, which now served as a foundation for his walls of stone.[96] To the ardent imagination of the medieval Church, on the other hand, the rocky brow of Lincoln might well seem to cry out for a holier crown, and a church of S. Mary was already in existence[97] on the site where Bishop Remigius of Dorchester, forsaking his lowly home in the valley of the Thames, reared his bishopstool amid the foundations of that great minster of our Lady whose noble group of towers now rises on the crest of the hill as a beacon to all the country round.[98] But there were other reasons for the translation of the bishopric than those of sentiment or of personal taste. Of the vast Mid-Anglian diocese, which stretched from the Thames to the Humber, Lincoln was beyond all comparison the most important town. Even in Roman times the original quadrangular enclosure of Lindum Colonia had been found too small, and a fortified suburb had spread down to the left bank of the Witham.
During the years of peace which lasted from the accession of Cnut to that of William, the needs of an increasing population, as we have seen, covered the site of the older fortress with dwellings: when these were cleared away at William’s bidding, their exiled inhabitants found a new home on a plot of hitherto waste ground beyond the river; and a new town, untrammelled by the physical obstacles which had cramped the growth of the city on the hill, sprang up around the two churches of S. Mary-le-Wigford and S. Peter-at-Gowts.[99] Some fifty years later Lincoln was counted one of the most populous and
flourishing cities in England.[100] The roads which met on the crest of its hill to branch off again in all directions formed only one of the ways by which trade poured into its market. Not only had the now dirty little stream of Witham a tide strong enough to bring the small merchant vessels of the day quite up to the bridge: it was connected with the Trent at Torksey by a canal, probably of Roman origin, known as the Foss Dyke; this after centuries of neglect was cleared out and again made navigable by order of Henry I.,[101] and through it there flowed into Lincoln a still more extensive trade from the lower Trent Valley and the Humber. The “men of the city and the merchants of the shire” were already banded together in a merchantgild;[102] and it is doubtless this gild which is represented by the “citizens of Lincoln” who in 1130 paid two hundred marks of silver and four marks of gold for the privilege of holding their city in chief of the king.[103]
[95] Domesday, vol i p 336 b
[96] G. T. Clark, Lincoln Castle (Archæol. Journal, vol. xxxiii. pp 215–217)
[97] “Sancta Maria de Lincoliâ in quâ nunc est episcopatus,” Domesday, vol i p 336 The patron saint of this older church, however, was the Magdalene, not the Virgin See John de Schalby’s Life of Remigius, in Appendix E to Gir Cambr (Dimock), vol vii p 194, and Mr Freeman’s remarks in preface, ib pp lxxx , lxxxii
[98] Will Malm Gesta Pontif , l iv c 177 (Hamilton, p 312) Flor Worc (Thorpe), vol ii p 30
[99] See Domesday, vol i p 336 b, and Mr Freeman’s remarks in Norm Conq , vol iv pp 218, 219
[100] Will Malm Gesta Pontif , l iv c 177 (Hamilton, p 312)
[101] Sim Durh Gesta Reg a 1121
[102] Said to date from the time of Eadward; Stubbs, Select Charters, p 166
[103] Pipe Roll, 31 Hen. I. (Hunter), p. 114.
Co.
The removal of Bishop Remigius from Dorchester to Lincoln was in accordance with a new practice, which had come in since the Norman conquest, of placing the episcopal see in the chief town of the diocese. The same motive had prompted a translation of the old
