Medieval Crime discussion

Here you are, David. Good luck!

Thanks Michael!

So this is an extract of the book I'm currently working on, set in the Baron's War in England in the 1260s. The reason I'm putting up here for comment is because I'm unsure if I'm packing too much exposition into the dialogue or not - any feedback, good or bad, would be much appreciated.

Oh and as Michael has already intimated, please don't nick any of this, people...(assuming you think any of it worth nicking!) :)

Extract:

Master John had advised Franklin to seek out the assistance of the High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Reynold de Grey, who was also serving as Constable of Nottingham Castle. After presenting himself at the castle gates and showing his royal commission, Franklin was quickly ushered into Grey’s presence in the great hall of the keep. Franklin had imagined that such a weighty dual office would be filled by a hard-bitten veteran of senior years, but Grey turned out to be a much younger man.
He was sitting at high table and picking at the remains of his dinner when Franklin was escorted into the hall by two guards. Franklin was startled by the Constable’s youthful features, but noticed he had hard eyes, and lines on his face that shouldn’t have been there for another twenty years.
“Dismissed,” Grey said to the guards, who bowed and left, and scrutinised Franklin for a full minute before speaking again.
“Let me see that commission,” he said at last. Franklin approached the table and handed him the vellum. Grey carefully inspected the wax seal, unfolded it and carefully read the contents.
“So you’re one of the Savoyard’s creatures,” he said, motioning at Franklin to sit and pushing the wine jug and a cup at him, “I’ve dealt with one or two of your colleagues before. Bad people. Rather not do so again, to be truthful.”
He spoke in a clipped, staccato manner, tapping the commission with his index finger and staring unblinkingly at Franklin. “King’s orders, however, so am obliged to obey. Damned nuisance, but there it is. What are you doing in Nottingham?”
Franklin took a sip of wine and recited his mission as Master John had outlined it. He also informed Grey of the ambush on the highway north of Coventry, and the loss of Brother Stephen.
“God’s bones,” Grey exclaimed when Franklin was done, “the Savoyard has pitched you into the stew, hasn’t he just? Join the outlaws in Sherwood and spy on them. I don’t envy you. Not at all.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” Franklin asked, “Master John told me you were installed as High Sheriff in March. You must know the situation here better than anyone.”
Grey handed the commission back and sat back in his chair, rubbing his neat little forked beard. “I was appointed in March, as you say,” he replied, “and my first duty was to repair the walls of the town. Timber, you see. No money for stone. Rebels in Sherwood did the damage a few days before I arrive. Burned down the palisade at night, got into the town, killed a few people, plundered a few houses. Vicious bastards. My second duty was to go chasing off after them. Caught and hanged five, rest got away. Been chasing and hanging them ever since.”
“What’s the strength of your garrison?” Franklin asked, feeling that he should ask practical questions.
“Eighty, or thereabouts. We’ve just been reinforced by Roger Leyburn’s son William and his eight knights and twenty serjeants. Add to those my two knights, twenty serjeants, ten crossbowmen and twenty archers. Leyburn’s a young firebrand. No more sense than a goose. Insisted on taking half the men and riding south to patrol the roads. Couldn’t refuse. His father’s too important.”
Grey studied Franklin again. “You could pass for a forest brigand, easy. Big, strong, rough-looking. Peasant stock, are you?”
Franklin held his temper in check. “I am…was, a stone mason. My grandfather was a bondsman.”
“All to the good. Plenty of high-born men among the Disinherited. They would know in an instant if a spy tried to get in among them, shamming as a gentleman. You’re nobody, though. Only have to look at you to see that.”
Franklin clenched his fists and dug his nails into his palms, willing himself to relax.
“What was the second part of your mission again?” asked Grey.
“Once I have gained the confidence of the Sherwood men, I am to enter the service of their master, Sir John Deyville, at his camp inside the Isle of Axholme. There I am to assess his strength, and the best way for an army to enter the fens, and then desert and report my findings to Master John.”
“Got some news for you, then,” said Grey, “a few days ago Deyville left Axholme and made a sudden dash south. Moves like lightning, that fellow. Stormed Lincoln at night and attacked the Jewish quarter. Hell of a mess. Corpses everywhere, high-ranking Jews abducted, houses torched, property destroyed. Deeds, contracts, and charters all burned to nothing. Escaped without taking a single casualty, so I heard. Bloody Sheriff made no attempt to give chase. Should be stripped of his office, and his knighthood. Shameful.”
Franklin’s jaw dropped open. “That’s finished, then, and Stephen died on the road for nothing,” he cried, throwing up his hands, “I must return south and tell Master John.”
“He knows already,” said Grey, “I sent gallopers to London as soon as word reached us here. Your mission remains the same. All that’s changed is that Deyville has shifted his headquarters twenty miles south. He’s holed up in the Isle of Ely now. Heard of it?”
Franklin said he had not.
“It’s similar to Axholme, only bigger. An island surrounded by marshes. God help anyone who tries to navigate through it without knowing the way. Last refuge of Saxon resistance, back in the time of the Conqueror, and he had the devil’s own job prising them out. Used as a base by rebels, off and on, ever since. That old ruffian Mandeville held it for a time against King Stephen. Terrible place to try and take by storm, or starve into surrender. I wouldn’t care to try, not with less than ten thousand men.”

I like! Maybe a tad wordy, but then again this excerpt IS two men going over plans, LOL! I'm very interested in reading more, which for NE is a good sign of writing I like. :) I only have one bit of any kind of criticism, and that is maybe to add some "color" - what does the room look like, etc. I adore the line about the lines on Grey's face! :) One other concern; would Grey have been that vehemently upset about the plight of the Jews back then? I ask because I know much about the Jews in Lincoln up to 1230 when Nicolaa de la Haye was castellan of the castle, but I'm clueless as to what the atmosphere was in the 1260's.
Great stuff, more please! :)

"Me" instead of "NE", btw! Stupid iPhone autocorrect! ;)

Thanks Stacey! Must admit I'm more of a dialogue man than scene description - one Great Hall looks much like another - but I take your point. It is a bit wordy, which was my main issue. I'll pare it down a bit when it comes to editing!

Grey is mainly concerned with the breakdown of law and order, and the failure of the local Sheriff to stop Deyville's marauders, than the Jews as such (though he is a royal official, and the Jews were still an important source of crown revenue at this point)

Ah, now I understand Grey's point, gotcha! :) Can't wait to read more!!

Been a bit inactive on here recently: here's my scene introducing the Lord Edward, later Edward I (still a hero of sorts, despite modern revisionism tearing him to bits). What does everyone think, have I done the young Edward justice?

'Franklin stepped inside, wondering what awaited him. Inside was a large, airy upper-floor chamber. The walls were whitewashed but undecorated, giving the chamber a chilly, oppressive atmosphere despite the warmth of the fire crackling under a hooded hearth.
The only furniture was a chair of polished black oak and a square table. Both were positioned just in front of the carved window seat, so the bright spring sunlight streamed through and rendered in silhouette the man lounging in the chair.
Franklin squinted to get a better look at him. He made out an extremely tall young man dressed all in black, one slender, tapering leg draped over the other. His silvery yellow hair was close-cropped, and his heavy jaw clean-shaven. His eyes were dark blue, and his left eyelid drooped, making him appear half-asleep.
To Franklin he looked dangerous, a long, lean assassin with a haughty, menacing air.
“Well, here he is,” said Lacy, folding his arms and indicating Franklin with a nod of his head. “Though he doesn’t look much to me.”
The assassin smiled and laced his long, pale fingers together. The light reflected and flashed off his heavy gold rings. “I am pleased to hear it,” he said, speaking in a soft, amused voice with a pronounced lisp, “if he was striking to look at, he would be of no use to us.”