Had I been thinking more clearly, I would have understood that these were fighting men – men I would do well not to cross. But at that moment my stomach was all that I cared about, as the smell of roasting meat drifted on the breeze. And so, taking care not to stumble or to tread on any twigs, I carried on. One tent on the other side of the camp stood slightly further back from the rest, and I chose this as my target.
Closer to the river, a handful of boys were running at each other with wooden swords and wicker shields. They looked to be the same age as me, or perhaps a little older – it was difficult to tell from so far away. One, taller than the others, seemed to be fending off two by himself. I paid them no mind; they seemed too involved in what they were doing to notice me. Keeping low, watching to make sure that none of the men by the fire had seen me, I made my way out of the cover of the trees, towards the tent. It was made from several hides stitched together and stretched over wooden poles, and was probably large enough to fit two men comfortably. Leather ties hung from the flaps that made the opening, but they were not fastened and so I slipped inside.
The heat was the first thing that struck me; the second was the darkness. I fumbled about while my eyes adjusted, searching for something that I might be able to eat or drink. Linen blankets were laid out over the grass; a rolled-up tunic made for a pillow at one end. Beside the tunic lay a pouch with some silver coins inside. I pocketed a few, thinking that they might be useful later, before in the corner I spied a leather bottle. Without thinking I removed the stopper and began to gulp it down, and straightaway began to splutter, sending scarlet droplets everywhere. Instead of water I had found wine, and far stronger wine than any I had ever tasted.
I replaced the stopper and hurriedly put the bottle back where I had found it, hoping I had not made too much noise. There was nothing else of use here in any case; I would have to try another tent. I turned to go, but at that moment the flaps were pulled aside and the evening light flooded in. A dark figure stood before me. The sun was behind him, dazzling me with its brilliance, and I shielded my eyes. It was the tall boy I had seen by the river.
‘Who are you?’ he said in French, his eyes narrowing. His hair was dark, cut short on the top and shaved at the back like mine. He had thin lips and a keen stare.
I was still on my hands and knees. I looked up at him, too fearful to say anything. My mind was whirling: what would these men do to me now that they had caught me?
‘Folcard!’ the boy called in the direction, I guessed, of the men at the campfire. ‘There’s a thief in your—’
He had not the time to finish, for I was scrambling to my feet, my head down like a bull’s as I barrelled into his lower half. He went down, and I was half running, half stumbling past, seeing the safety of the woods before me, when all of a sudden I felt him grab first my tunic and then my leg. I heard cloth rip and found myself falling too. The wind was knocked from my chest as I hit the ground. I struggled to get free, flailing my leg, trying to kick him away, but he held on, and then somehow he was on top of me, one hand pressed down on my collarbone, the other raised high.
I saw the blow coming and turned my head to one side. His hand connected with the side of my face and I felt the impact jar through my jaw. He sat back, getting ready to deliver another strike, but I rose up, grabbing him around the waist and wrestling him from me. He lashed out, missing my head, and I slammed my fist into his nose. He reeled back, crying out as he put a hand to his face. Blood, thick and dark, dripped through his fingers.
I had never struck anyone before, let alone drawn blood. I stared at him, not knowing what to do. My heart was beating fast; a rush of excitement came over me. Then I heard voices and looked up. The men from the fire were running towards me, some with swords drawn. Their legs were longer than mine and I knew that for all my speed, I could not outrun them. I stood in my torn tunic, frozen to the spot as they approached and began to spread out, surrounding me.
‘You,’ said the one I had taken for their lord. ‘What’s your name, boy?’
His voice was deep, his face stern. He was not all that tall, but there was something about his manner that nevertheless commanded respect.
‘My name is Tancred,’ I replied nervously. The words felt awkward on my tongue. My name was French, given to me by my mother, but I did not speak the language much. Some of the brothers in the monastery had spoken it, but not as much as they had Breton and Latin: tongues which I knew far more readily.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Dinant,’ I said. I looked around the rest of the men. All of them had scabbards at their sides, and most were wearing leather jerkins, though a few had mail like their lord. They were all different sizes: some short and squat, arms folded in front of their chests; others slim and long-limbed, with piercing stares that I did my best to avoid.
‘You have a family, a father or mother?’ I heard the lord say.
I turned back to face him, shaking my head. My mother had died giving birth to the girl who would have been my sister. Not much later my father had followed her from this world after a feud with another man. He had not been anyone of great standing, just a minor lord with some lands near to Dinant. Neither was my uncle, his older brother, who took me in after his death. He had his own sons to provide for, and I was nothing but another mouth to feed. And so, as soon as they would take me, he gave me up to the monastery, where I had lived until just a few days before.
The lord raised his thick eyebrows but did not enquire further, regarding me without emotion. ‘You fight well,’ he said, and gestured towards the boy. ‘Eudo has been training with me for a year and more, and still you managed to best him.’
I glanced at the one he had called Eudo, who was standing hunched over, feeling his nose, cursing and then cursing some more. He drew a grimy sleeve across his face and it came away scarlet. He did not meet my eyes.
‘How old are you?’ the lord asked.
‘This is my fourteenth summer,’ I replied, trying to work out why he was so interested in whether I had a family, or how well I could fight, or how many I was in years.
‘Enough of these questions,’ one of the other men said. He was perhaps the shortest of them, and had a large chin and eyes that seemed set too close together. ‘He was in my tent. He’s a thief and he should be punished.’
‘Were you stealing, Tancred?’ the lord asked.
‘I was hungry,’ I said, turning my head down towards the ground. ‘I was looking only for food, and something to drink.’ Then I remembered the coins I had taken, and slowly removed them from my pocket, holding them out in an open palm. ‘And these,’ I added.
One of the others laughed. ‘He has nerve, I’ll grant him that.’
‘You son of a whore,’ the short one said. His face had gone a bright red. He advanced out of the ring they had formed around me, grabbing me by the wrist and snatching the silver from my hand.
‘Temper, Folcard,’ the lord warned him.
‘I should slit your throat right now, you little bastard,’ Folcard said. I stepped back quickly as his free hand went to his sword-belt; his other held fast to my wrist.
‘No one will be slitting any throats,’ the lord called out to him. ‘Least of all the boy’s.’
Folcard snarled at me, baring two uneven rows of yellowed teeth, then drew back, watching me closely. ‘Then what are we going to do with him?’ he demanded.
The lord stroked his beard as if in consideration, then approached slowly, his mail chinking with each step. ‘Have you ever used a knife before?’ he asked me. ‘For fighting with, I mean, not for eating,’ he added sternly, when he saw what I was about to answer.
‘No, lord,’ I said.
He unbuckled a sheath from his belt. It was about the same length as my forearm, or a little longer. He held it out to me. ‘Take this,’ he said.
There was a murmur from the rest of his men, of discontent perhaps, or simply surprise. I was not paying them any attention, however, as I took t
he sheath in both hands, feeling its weight, turning it over. It was wrapped around with thin copper bands, off which the sun glinted.
I looked questioningly up at the lord. Did he mean to give it to me, or was this part of some test?
He nodded and gestured towards the hilt. Tentatively I curled my fingers around it and pulled. It slid out smoothly. Even to me, who knew nothing of weapons, it seemed a beautiful thing. Its edge was so thin I could barely make it out, the steel polished so clear I could see my own face in its reflection.
‘It is yours, Tancred, if you wish to join me,’ the lord said. He extended his hand. ‘My name is Robert de Commines.’
Six
THAT SUMMER’S EVENING by the river was the first time I had ever heard that name. And it was there, the next day, in the year one thousand and fifty-seven, that for the first time I left Brittany behind. For as I was later to understand, Lord Robert had recently sworn his allegiance to the young Guillaume, Duke of Normandy, with whom lay our fate.
Of course I had no idea then that I would still be serving the same lord another dozen years later, or that our path would bring us here to England. At the time I could think only that I had been offered a chance to flee the life I had known: a chance to make myself anew. I knew almost nothing of those men or what they did, but I saw that they were if not rich then certainly comfortable. And apart from all else, I had nowhere else to go.
But there was another reason too, for that fight with Eudo had stirred within me something unexpected: a thrill that I did not understand but suddenly craved. I saw those men making their living by the sword, and the longer I travelled with them in Lord Robert’s company, the more I realised that I wanted to be one of them. It was foolish thinking for one who had hardly ever seen a blade before that day, let alone wielded one, but like all youths I was easily led. My head had become filled with visions of glory and plunder: that was the life that I saw ahead of me.
I glanced at my knife, resting upon my shield beside me: the same one that I had received from Lord Robert by the river Cosnonis all those years ago. I had needed a new sheath made for it some months previously, for the blade was thinner now than it had been then, and no longer fit as snugly as it should, so often had I sharpened it in the years since. Yet that same steel had stayed with me through all these years.
A thin drizzle was falling, more like mist than rain as it swept in from the north. Beside me Eudo stirred, mumbling words I could not make out. For a time after that first meeting the two of us had been bitter rivals, and not surprisingly, for it was one thing to be beaten in a fight, but to be beaten by a boy without any training at all was far worse. But as the months passed, the bitterness receded and we gradually became fast friends.
As that year’s leaves had turned from green to gold, we returned to our lord’s home of Commines in Flanders. There I met Wace, who was one of the longest-serving boys in Robert’s household. Then, just as now, he was headstrong and short of temper, impatient with those he considered less able than himself and full of confidence, though he was little more than a year older than me. At first he, like Eudo, was wary of me, but as I grew in strength and skill at arms, so his respect for me increased. From that time on the three of us formed a close band, swearing our swords to each other’s protection, our lives to each other’s service. Our days were spent learning the art of horsemanship, practising with sword and spear and shield: how to ride and how to fight. We were knights in training, and there was nothing that could harm us.
That first autumn in Lord Robert’s company was the one that came to mind most clearly. The heady smell of pine burning in the hearth in the castle hall; the taste of wine upon my tongue; the sight of the orchards rich in gold and brown beneath the dwindling sun: if I closed my eyes I could imagine myself there again. But when I tried to remember all the other boys who had been there, not one of their faces came to mind, though all must have been comrades of mine at one time. Even their names I recalled only vaguely, like fragments of a dream. And it was soberly that I realised that of all of them, the only ones who were now still alive were Eudo and Wace and myself.
The sun broke through and I sat, eyes half-shut, feeling its touch upon my face. Hardly had it emerged, though, than it disappeared again behind the clouds, now the colour of slate. Soon after the rain began to fall. I closed my eyes, feeling water run down my cheeks as I thought of Lord Robert, and for the first time since Eudo had brought us the news, I wept.
I roused Eudo after noon and he took the next watch while I settled down to rest. It was evening when I woke again, and the light was fading fast.
I felt a chill all through my body, and found myself shivering. My head was clouded, and for a moment I did not know where I was, or how I had come to be there, until I remembered. I tried to sit up, feeling dizzy, but only made it halfway before falling back down to the ground. Stones dug sharply into my back. Every one of my limbs was aching, but worse than that by far was the pain, the pain lancing through my leg—
‘Tancred,’ Eudo said. He crouched down beside me and put a hand to my brow, concern showing in his eyes. ‘He’s burning hot.’
‘We need to get him to a physician,’ I heard Wace say, though I could not see him from where I lay. ‘We need to get to Eoferwic.’
Eudo held a flask out to me. ‘Drink this,’ he said.
He waited until I had it in both hands and then helped me to sit up as I raised it to my lips. I sipped at it slowly; my throat was dry as parchment and I could sense each drop trickling down.
‘Thank you,’ I managed to croak as I passed the flask back.
‘Can you stand?’ Wace asked.
‘I think so,’ I said, though I was not at all certain.
Wace nodded to Eudo and they put their arms under my shoulders, pulling me to my feet. The two of them helped me towards Rollo, and I clambered up on to his back as they guided my feet into the stirrups. I bit back the agony. Somehow being in the saddle made me feel more secure.
We set off down the hill towards the plains below. Night fell, the stars again hidden by the clouds. All was quiet. My eyelids kept drooping, but every time they did I was quickly jolted awake again by Rollo moving beneath me.
Hills rose up and fell away. Soon we came to what I presumed was the old Roman road: a wide earthen track stretching from north to south. The way to Eoferwic, I thought, at the same time wondering how far we still had to go. I was shivering all the time now; sweat welled beneath my underarms, trickling down my side, and I felt my shirt clinging to my skin.
The hours passed. I closed my eyes, listening to the steady fall of Rollo’s hooves upon the earth, trying to imagine myself someplace else, before this had all happened. I saw Oswynn, her long hair black as pitch, tumbling loose as it always was when she was with me. If I tried, I could imagine that I was touching my fingers to her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin, so smooth and pale. I wanted to speak to her, even though I knew my words would make no sense. I wanted to say the things that I never could, and now never would. I wanted to say sorry for everything. For letting her die.
The skies cleared and the stars came out. We paused at the top of a rise, and I saw the road stretch out before us, unnervingly straight all the way towards the distant horizon. So many miles yet to travel, I thought. With every passing hour the pain was growing worse, burning as never before.
I breathed deeply, feeling light-headed all of a sudden. In the distance the hills were wavering under the dim light of the moon. I leant over Rollo’s flank, gasping for air. The trees, the ground itself swirled before my eyes.
I opened my mouth to say something, though what it was I never remembered. For at that moment my mind clouded, and just as it did so, the world keeled over.
I was lying on the ground when I came to, staring up at the stars with both Wace and Eudo crouching over me. Their faces were in shadow, the moon behind them.
I blinked, feeling the mist clear slowly from my head.
‘How—?�
� I asked. My mind was turning, twisting, full of thoughts that did not join together, that did not make sense. Thoughts of Oswynn and Dunholm, of Lord Robert and Eoferwic. Of course, we had been riding to Eoferwic—
I tried to rise, and straightaway felt dizzy again.
‘You fell,’ Wace said, and placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me getting up. ‘Lie back for a moment.’
I heard a whicker. Eudo turned his head in its direction and then stood and walked away. He returned swiftly, reins in hand, and standing beside him I saw the dark form of Rollo, black coat faintly shimmering in the light of the moon.
‘Are you fit to ride?’ Eudo asked.
‘He’s too weak,’ Wace said grimly.
‘We’re two days from Eoferwic, out in the open country without food or shelter, and with the enemy behind us. We can’t stay here.’
Wace said nothing. He glanced at me briefly and then turned his head down towards the ground, his eyes closed as if deep in thought.
‘What do you suggest we do?’ Eudo asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Wace said, and there was frustration, even anger, in his voice. His hand clenched to form a fist. ‘If I did, don’t you think I would say?’
‘We have to get to Eoferwic.’
‘I know that.’ Wace stood and began to pace about, his hands clasped upon his brow.
I heard the two of them speaking to one another, though I could not make out what they were saying. At length I found the energy to sit up, but without help I could not get to my feet. And as the feeling returned to my body, so did the pain.
Eventually they came back, Wace making for his horse and mounting up without delay. ‘I’ll see what I can find,’ he said to Eudo as he worked his feet through the stirrups and gripped the reins. ‘Rest here, but don’t light a fire. Give him water; keep him warm. I’ll return soon.’
Sworn Sword Page 6
