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“My Earl Hugh of Chester, have you collected the information that the King has requested?” Sir Walter said, entering the room. He was dressed in a chainmail coat, a sword hanging at his belt.
He had stepped into a long, brick room. All around him were different types of people. There were giggling woman in finely decorated dresses, whispering to each other as he walked past.
There were several other knights, each watching him move closer and closer to the long table at which the Earl Hugh and his retinue sat. There were lesser lords and bishops of varying power, two famed battle-hardened knights and the Earl Hugh’s wife; the Lady Joan.
“I have done as our King William has commanded,” the Earl Hugh said, lifting his arms out wide in a welcoming gesture. “But first you must feast with us.”
“I am afraid I cannot,” Sir Walter replied. “I must travel on to the castles of Hereford and then onto Shrewsbury. King William wants the information from the Earls of the Marches. It is a region that troubles him.”
“Surely you can remain to say grace,” the bishop said. “It would be insulting if a knight of the King would not remain to do so.”
“I must insist upon leaving with the information that the King has requested,” Sir Walter repeated. The King had warned him that every lord would offer a feast and time would be wasted unless he kept on-track.
“Very well, very well,” the Earl of Chester said in defeat. He made a gesture to several servants who stood at the side of the room. They moved into the hall carrying scrolls of parchments, several of them, clutched under each of their arms.
“The names of every Norman, every Saxon and every Briton who lives within my castle and the lands that I control,” the Earl said. “Unfortunately I’ve found that many, if not all, of the non-Normans did not have surnames. We have improvised as best as possible according to their professions. The blacksmiths are labelled as Smith, the fletchers are Fletcher. It was the best solution we could come up with to solve this administrative nightmare. I don’t know how the Anglo-Saxon kings of old must have coped.”
“Apparently it’s a problem that most of the lords are finding across the country,” Sir Walter said, ordering the servants to go and place the parchments within the bags upon his horse. “Your method of surnames is most acceptable. Others have followed this method too”
Bowing deeply to the Earl and his companions, Sir Walter followed the servants out of the great hall. His horse was tethered just outside the great wooden doors, in the middle of the courtyard of the small castle that towered around him.
Thanking the three men as the parchments were placed carefully within bags on either side of the animal, Sir Walter
clambered atop his horse and clicked his heels against the animal’s body. He had a long ride in front of him.
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