Sworn Sword

by James Aitcheson

  After the rush and the noise of the battle, all was suddenly quiet, save for the bells of the minster church in the distance, their soft chimes carrying clearly to us as they rang for midday.

  ‘That was some fighting,’ Wace said with a grin as he placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Especially for a man who’s hardly picked up a blade in two weeks.’

  I smiled back, though only weakly. The fight had drained more of my strength than I would have liked, and I could not shake from my mind how easily the fear had overcome me, nor how nearly I had succumbed to it.

  On the other side of the marketplace, Malet passed his lance with its black-and-gold pennon to one of his knights. It was the first time that I had seen him equipped for battle, in mail and helmet and with a sword at his belt, though I had heard many tales of his prowess on the field at Hæstinges: how he had rallied the duke’s men when they had all thought him dead; how he had led the counter-charge into the English lines and with his own hand slain one of the usurper’s brothers.

  Gilbert shouted at his men to get out of his way as he threaded his way through their lines. He glared at the three of us as he passed, but this time he had no words for us. He rode to greet Malet and, still mounted, the two clasped hands and exchanged a few words, although I could not make out what they were saying. Then Gilbert raised his lance with its red fox pennon, signalled to the rest of his men and rode off, up the street that led to the minster, leaving Malet with his conroi.

  ‘Should we follow him?’ Eudo asked.

  I did not answer, for even as the spearmen were beginning to march I saw Malet riding towards us, keeping his mount to a walk as he made his way over the corpses of those who had fallen. On each flank rode one of his knights: to his left, a stocky man with a bulbous nose that was only part hidden by his nasal-guard, while the one on his right appeared not much more than a boy. If he was a knight proper, as opposed to one still in training, then probably he had only recently sworn his oath.

  The vicomte untied his helmet’s chin-strap and passed it to the younger of the two knights. He glanced at the English corpses that lay around us, then at each of us in turn, a grave look upon his face.

  ‘Eoferwic is growing restless,’ he said. ‘The townspeople are becoming bolder.’

  Behind him I heard cries of distress, and saw a woman running towards one of the bodies, throwing back her hood and clutching at her hair as she fell to her knees beside it. The wind buffeted at her dress as she leant forward, resting her head upon the chest of the dead man. Tears poured down her face.

  I turned my eyes away from her, back to Malet. ‘Yes, lord,’ I replied. What had brought him to meet us, I wondered; did he mean to have our answers now?

  ‘You have fought well,’ he said, not just to me but to all three of us, it seemed, as he looked down at the corpses which lay around us. He turned to Eudo and Wace. ‘Tancred has told you of the task I have in mind?’

  ‘Yes, lord,’ Wace said.

  ‘Naturally I’ll see that you are well paid, if you choose to do this for me. Of that you can be certain.’ He turned back to me. ‘I would see you again later this afternoon, Tancred. Come to the chapel in the castle bailey when the monastery bells ring for vespers. I will meet you there.’

  He did not give me a chance to reply as he tugged on the reins and pressed his heels into his horse’s flank; it harrumphed and started forward. He called to the rest of his conroi and together they rode away, in the direction of the castle.

  I turned back to the others. ‘Will you join me?’

  Wace shrugged and glanced at Eudo. ‘You said it yourself,’ he said. ‘What else is there for us here?’

  Eudo nodded in agreement. ‘We’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘And maybe after we’ve done everything for Malet, then we can go back to Normandy, or Italy, and take service there.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, smiling at the thought. It was nearly three years since we had last set foot in Normandy, and five since we were in Italy, though I was sure there would be many there who would yet remember the name of Robert de Commines, and who would happily receive us into their households.

  But all that lay far in the future, for first we had to do this for Malet. And before everything else there was one task more difficult still: one that filled me with unease. I would have to give my oath to him.

  Eleven

  THE BELLS HAD just finished pealing, and the low edge of the sun was almost touching the rooftops to the west by the time I rode into the bailey. The heavens blazed with golden light, but there were dark clouds overhead and I felt a few drops of rain as I arrived at the chapel.

  Men sat around their fires, sharing flasks of ale or wine, or else honing their blades. A few I thought I recognised from the fight in the marketplace, although I could not be sure. From beyond the walls came the calls of geese, moments before I saw them lifting above the palisade, their wings beating hard as they swooped around the bailey’s southern gate then headed towards the sun.

  The stable-hands were nowhere to be found, and so I tethered the mare to a wooden post just outside the chapel, where there was a trough for her to drink from and a small patch of grass to graze upon. I gave her a pat on the neck, and went inside.

  Malet was already there, no longer wearing his mail, but instead a simple brown tunic and braies. He was kneeling in front of the altar, upon which stood a single candle. Its flickering light played across a silver cross, in the centre of which was a gemstone the colour of blood. There was little other decoration: no scenes from the Passion painted upon the walls, nor any tapestries depicting Christ with his apostles, such as I might have expected; even the altar-cloth was a plain white in colour.

  I pulled the door closed and made my way across the stone floor, my footsteps loud in the empty darkness. Malet rose as I approached the altar. His scabbard swung from the sword-belt at his waist, which I was sure Ælfwold would have disapproved of, but then the priest was not here.

  ‘Tancred,’ the vicomte said. His face lay in the shadow of the candlelight, making his long nose and angular chin seem even more prominent. ‘It is good to see you again.’

  ‘And you, my lord.’

  ‘Events are moving quickly. Today was not the first time that the townsmen have risen against us.’

  I recalled what Eudo had said only a few days before: about the fight that had broken out down by the wharves. ‘No, lord.’

  ‘They realise that our forces are weakened after the castellan’s death. They await the arrival of their kinsmen.’

  ‘Yet the rebels still haven’t marched on the city,’ I said. Exactly why, no one I had spoken to had been able to understand – not even Ælfwold, who of all men was closest to the vicomte and so, I thought, best placed to hear such information.

  ‘They will, though,’ Malet said, and his gaze fell upon the cross that stood on the altar. ‘They will, and when they do, I do not know how Eoferwic can be defended.’

  His frankness took me aback. Even though I had known him but a short while, I had not thought the vicomte the kind of man who would admit such a thing so readily, even in confidence.

  ‘There is the castle,’ I said. ‘Even if the city falls, we would still hold that, surely?’

  ‘Against a large enough army, even that may be difficult,’ Malet said, and still he did not meet my eyes. ‘I will be honest with you, Tancred. In all the time that has passed since the invasion, never have we faced a worse state of affairs than this.’

  It was not warm in the chapel, but it felt suddenly much colder. For if Malet himself doubted whether he could hold Eoferwic, then what hope was there? From outside came the faint shouts of men, the whinnying of horses, the trundling of carts across the bailey.

  ‘We will prevail, lord,’ I said, although even as I said it I found that I was far from certain.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But it is important that you understand the circumstances under which I have asked you to undertake this task for me.’

  ‘You
assume that I’ll accept.’ At last we were coming to the matter that he had called me here for.

  He smiled, and I sensed that he was enjoying this exchange. He clasped his hands before him. His silver rings glinted in the light of the candle, and his countenance became serious once again. ‘I believe that you will do what you perceive to be right,’ he said. ‘Should you decline, I will simply seek repayment some other way.’

  I took a deep breath, felt my heart pounding in my chest. This was my last chance to consider before I had to make my decision. But already I knew what I was going to say.

  ‘I will do this for you, lord.’

  Malet nodded. He had known that I would not refuse. ‘And your comrades?’ he asked. ‘Are they willing to accompany you?’

  ‘They will join me.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You know, then, what I must ask of you.’

  I did. I knelt down on the stone paving before the altar. A twinge ran through my leg where it had been wounded, but I tried not to show it. Malet stood before me. He lifted the silver cross with its blood-red stone. As he did so, the flame of the candle wavered, and I thought it might go out, but then it straightened. Was it an omen, I wondered, and if so, what did it mean?

  ‘In taking this oath,’ Malet said, ‘you swear that you are and will be subject to no lord but me. You bind yourself to my service, to the protection of myself and my kin, to do as I bid you. I, for my part, will invest you with everything you need to fulfil this task, and upon your return I promise to absolve you of all further obligation to me.’ He held out the cross, and his eyes bored into me. ‘Do you swear to become my man?’

  I clasped my sweating palms around his own fingers, around the cross. My heart pounded in my chest. Why was I so nervous?

  ‘I swear by solemn oath,’ I said, meeting his gaze, ‘in the sight of Jesus Christ the Lord, my God, to serve you until my duty is done.’ I knew the words that were required. Long ago I had spoken almost the same thing before Robert, except that I had vowed to serve him unto death. I had not thought then that I would ever have to give another man my oath. Nor had I known how hard it would be to do so.

  I let go. My throat felt dry and I swallowed to moisten it. But it was done.

  Malet replaced the cross on the altar before unbuckling his sword-belt. ‘I give you this blade,’ he said as he held the scabbard out to me in open palms. The leather was unadorned save for the steel chape at its point; the hilt was wrapped around with cord to aid one’s grip, the pommel a simple round disc.

  I rose and took it from him, slowly, so as not to drop it. It felt heavy in my hands, but then it was the first time since the battle that I had held a sword, even one sheathed such as this. I fastened it upon my waist, adjusting the buckle until it fitted.

  ‘I will make sure you are provided with new mail, a shield and a helmet,’ the vicomte said. ‘Otherwise I intend for you to travel light. Come to the wharves at noon tomorrow. I will be there to bid you all safe journey.’

  ‘We’ll be travelling by ship?’ I asked, surprised. The usual route to Lundene was by land, not sea.

  ‘The roads around Eoferwic are growing ever more dangerous, and I do not wish to take any chances,’ Malet said. ‘My own ship, Wyvern, is to take you downriver until you meet the Humbre, where you’ll make landfall at one of my manors: a place called Alchebarge. There you can obtain horses before making south on the old road for a town called Lincolia, and thence on to Lundene. Ælfwold’s knowledge of the country is good; you may trust in him if ever you are unsure of the way.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said.

  ‘There is one more thing.’ He produced a leather pouch from within the folds of his cloak and handed it to me.

  I took it, feeling its weight, the clink of metal inside. I undid the drawstring and upended the contents into my palm. A stream of silver coins spilt out, cold upon my skin, glinting in the candlelight.

  ‘There ought to be enough there to pay for provisions, inns for the night, and whatever else you might need on the way,’ Malet said. ‘If, however, by the time you arrive in Lundene you should find yourself needing more, you have only to ask my steward, Wigod, and he will provide you with whatever else you require to get to Wiltune and back.’

  Wigod. Yet another English name. I wondered how many more Englishmen the vicomte had in his service.

  ‘I trust that you will not fail me,’ the vicomte said, his blue eyes fixed upon me.

  ‘No, lord,’ I said. He had given me this responsibility, and my debt to him would not be paid until I had seen it through. ‘I will not fail you.’

  He looked as if he were about to say something else, but at that moment the doors were flung open. I raised a hand to shield my eyes as bright light filled the chapel. The man who entered was dressed in mail, his helmet tucked under his arm. With his face in shadow and the sun behind him it took me a moment to recognise him, but as he hurried across the tiles towards us, I saw his long chin, his high brow. It was Gilbert de Gand.

  ‘Lord Guillaume,’ he said. Either he had not seen me or he did not care, but for once his arrogant air was gone, replaced by a troubled look.

  ‘What is it?’ Malet demanded.

  ‘There is a man outside wishing to see you. An envoy from the enemy. He arrived at the city gates not half an hour ago.’

  ‘An envoy? What does he want?’

  ‘It seems the rebels’ leader wishes to see you,’ Gilbert said. ‘To discuss terms.’

  Malet fell silent. I thought of the doubts he had expressed to me only moments before, and wondered what was going through his mind. As difficult as our position was, he would not willingly surrender Eoferwic, surely? Gilbert was watching him carefully, waiting for a reply. I wondered if Malet had confided as much in him as he had in me.

  ‘Let me speak to this man,’ the vicomte said at last. He strode towards the chapel doors. ‘Where is he now?’

  He did not have to look far. The envoy sat astride a brown warhorse in the middle of the practice yard, where a crowd of knights and servants had gathered to watch. He was built like a bear and dressed like a warrior, with a helmet and a leather jerkin as well as a scabbard on his belt. If he was at all nervous at being surrounded by so many Frenchmen, he did not show it. In fact he seemed to be enjoying the attention, grinning widely and taking every insult thrown at him as if it were a mark of honour.

  He bowed his head when he saw the vicomte. ‘Guillaume Malet, seigneur of Graville across the sea,’ he said, stumbling a little over the French words. ‘My lord sends you his greetings—’

  ‘Spare me the pleasantries,’ Malet cut him off. ‘Who is your lord?’

  ‘Eadgar,’ the envoy replied, loudly so that everyone in the bailey could hear, ‘son of Eadward, son of Eadmund, son of Æthelred, of the line of Cerdic.’

  ‘You mean Eadgar Ætheling?’ Malet asked.

  The envoy nodded. ‘He would speak with you this very evening, if you are willing.’

  The last surviving heir of the old English line, Eadgar was the only other figure around whom the enemy might have rallied after Hæstinges, his title ætheling meaning one who was of royal blood, or so at least Eudo had once told me. Until now, though, Eadgar had shown no hunger for rebellion; instead he chose to submit to King Guillaume soon after the battle and remained a prominent figure at court. It was only when whispers of plots against him were voiced last summer that he fled north into Scotland, but even then none had thought him capable of raising an army.

  ‘I would advise against this, lord,’ Gilbert said, his voice low. ‘We know how treacherous the Northumbrians are. These are the same savages who murdered Richard but four days ago.’

  ‘Even so,’ Malet said, ‘I would prefer to look upon the face of my enemy.’ But though he spoke confidently, his face was grim. He looked about, saw one of his servants and called for his sword and mail, and then to the Englishman said: ‘Tell your lord I will meet with him.’

  ‘This is unwise, Guillaume,�
� Gilbert said, more loudly this time. ‘What if they plan another ambush?’

  ‘Then you will accompany me with fifty of your own knights to make sure that doesn’t happen.’

  For a moment Gilbert looked as though he was about to protest, but he must have thought better of it, for he merely scowled and stalked off to his horse.

  ‘Come, Tancred,’ said the vicomte. ‘That is, if you wish to see the man who was responsible for Earl Robert’s death.’

  ‘Yes, lord,’ I replied, though the words came out more stiffly than I would have liked. I could feel my sword-arm tensing, but I tried to calm myself, difficult though that was, for Malet was watching me. As if testing me, I thought.

  ‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘Let us hear what Eadgar has to say.’

  The sun was already upon the horizon by the time we rode out from the city’s north-eastern gate. Almost every one of the Norman lords who resided in Eoferwic was there, each with a contingent of knights under his own banner, and at their head rode Malet.

  The country around Eoferwic lay open in every direction: wide marshes rising to gentle slopes where sheep grazed. A few trees gave some cover, but they were sparse enough that an ambush was unlikely. Not that the enemy seemed to have any such intention, for no sooner had we left the city than I spied spearpoints and helmets glinting not half a mile away. Eadgar was already waiting for us.

  ‘There they are,’ murmured Ælfwold, who was riding beside me. The vicomte had brought him for counsel, although in truth I could not see what use the priest would be. This was surely a matter for men of the sword, not of the cloth.

  In the low light it was hard to make out the enemy’s exact numbers, but I reckoned they had brought at least as many men as we had: some on horseback, others on foot, and all of them gathered under a purple-and-yellow banner – the colours, I supposed, of the ætheling himself.

  Indeed I saw him now. He was a head taller than most of his men and wore a sturdy helmet, with plates at the side to protect his cheeks and a long nasal-guard rimmed with gleaming gold. Surrounding him were men in mail and helmets, armed with spears and swords and long-handled axes, with his colours upon their shields. What the English would call huscarlas, I thought: his closest and most loyal retainers, his ablest fighters. Men who valued their lord’s life above even their own, who would fight to the last in his defence. How many of them had been there at Dunholm, I wondered; how many of my comrades had died on their blades?