Sworn Sword

by James Aitcheson

  * * *

  I woke the next day just as the sun was coming up, a glimmer on the distant horizon that turned the waters into a sea of shimmering gold. The oars had all been stowed inboard and most of the men lay curled up in their blankets beside their ship-chests. But the wind was rising, gusting at us from astern, and Aubert was amidships giving orders as the mast was raised and the sail unfurled, its alternating stripes of black and yellow billowing out, pushing us on downriver.

  The river had broadened, so much so that I could hardly pick out the shores to either side. Blinking, rubbing my eyes to clear the last traces of sleep, I breathed in a deep draught of frigid air. A lone gull swooped low in front of the ship, soon joined by another which flew up from the river, and the two rose to the blue sky, dancing in flight, twisting around and about each other, crying as they did so.

  It was a clear dawn, but a cold one. I blew warm air into my hands as I shook off the woollen blankets that covered me. Around me the other knights were all still sleeping; of our party Ælfwold was the only other up and he was at prayer. Aubert soon returned to take the tiller and I spoke to him for a while, though he was bone-tired. He had not slept all night; his eyes looked dark and heavy and he kept yawning. I offered to take his place for a few hours while he rested, and he readily accepted. With open water around us and a following wind, managing the tiller ought not to be difficult, he said. As long as I kept her facing into the sun I could not go wrong.

  And so I sat on his ship-chest, gazing out across the wide river, towards the many small islands which drifted past, and beyond, to the south and a shoreline dotted with trees, with low hills in the distance: the part of England known as Mercia.

  A sudden shadow was cast over me and I looked up to see Beatrice leaning upon the side of the ship, the profile of her face sharply outlined in the low sun. Her eyes were closed and she wore a slight smile, as if she were enjoying the play of the breeze across her cheeks.

  ‘My lady,’ I said, a little surprised to see her there. I had expected one of the other knights, or perhaps Ælfwold. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Well enough,’ she replied. The smile faded from her face but she did not open her eyes.

  I wondered if she was angry about what I had said the night before, and almost opened my mouth to apologise. Our flight from Eoferwic, the encounter with the English fleet, the pursuit: it had all left me on edge, and I had not been thinking clearly. But I stopped myself long before the words formed on my tongue. I had meant what I said, and there was no point in denying it.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said abruptly, ‘have you ever been married?’

  I stared at her, taken aback by the question. She turned and met my look, but I could not read anything from her expression; her brown eyes gave no clue. The breeze tugged at her cloak but she did not try to pull it closer, cold though she must have been. Her demeanour, the way she carried herself, suggested a maturity which her youthful appearance belied, and I wondered if she were a little older than I had first thought.

  ‘Only to my sword,’ I answered, when I’d recovered my wits.

  She gazed back out upon the river, nodding as if she were coming to some new understanding, but she did not speak. The silver bands she wore around her wrists shone brightly in the morning sun.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Only because if you had,’ she said, ‘you would know what it means to have to leave a loved one behind.’

  An image of Oswynn came to mind: an image of her as I had last seen her, that night at Dunholm, with her dark hair falling across her smiling face. And I recalled the moment Mauger had stood before me in the street and told me she was dead, and I felt something of the same fire that had consumed me then returning.

  ‘I know what it means,’ I said, rising from the ship-chest to face Beatrice, my cheeks burning.

  She stared back at me, impassive, though I stood a whole head taller than she. ‘You do not show it.’

  ‘There’s a lot I don’t show,’ I said, though what I truly meant by that, I didn’t know. All I wanted were words that I could throw back at her.

  She smiled again, though it was less a friendly smile than one of derision – almost as if she understood all this and was enjoying my discomfort.

  ‘And what about you?’ I asked, turning the attention away from me for one moment. ‘Have you married?’ I didn’t see how she could not, if she were as old as I thought – but on the other hand I had not seen her with any man back in Eoferwic, nor did she wear a marriage-ring on her hand.

  A strand of golden hair had fallen loose from under her wimple and she tucked it back behind her ear. ‘Once,’ she said quietly. ‘It was before the invasion, four years ago. We were wed in the summer; he died before Christmas. I didn’t know him long, but the end, when it came, was nonetheless hard to bear.’

  Oswynn had not been with me long when she died, either: a matter of months at most.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  She nodded and for a while did not speak, as if she were considering whether or not to accept my apology.

  ‘Just remember that you are not the centre of the world, Tancred a Dinant,’ she said at last, and there was a hard edge to her voice now. ‘Perhaps next time you’ll think more carefully before you open your mouth.’

  Before I could say anything more, she turned on her heels and went. I watched her go, surprised by her sudden change in manner. I still couldn’t see what she, what Aubert and Ælfwold, wanted from me. I had no time to wonder then, though, for the wind was changing direction and one of the men shouted to me to bring the ship around more to steerboard. I pulled on the tiller, leaning back on my heels as I put the weight of my body into it, until the prow pointed into the sun, the full circle of which had risen above the horizon. Above us the gulls circled still, swooping, screeching.

  A few others were waking now, sharing bread with each other, pouring out cups of ale to break their fast. Before long Lady Elise also rose and she and Beatrice joined Ælfwold in prayer. Beside me on the stern platform, Wace and Eudo and the rest of the knights were still asleep, as was the shipmaster himself, gently snoring.

  The sun climbed higher and the day grew brighter. Aubert woke after an hour or two more and took back the tiller, though he still looked exhausted. The oarsmen took their places on their ship-chests, soon settling back into their rhythm as the shipmaster beat a languid pulse on the drum, and Wyvern soared across the calm waters.

  It was mid-morning by the time Alchebarge was spotted ahead of us: first as a few wisps of grey smoke rising above the horizon, then as a long ridge dotted with trees, rising over wide flats. From our steerboard side, across bare fields and past dense thickets, a second river wound its way to meet the Use, the two joining to form a single broad expanse of blue.

  ‘The Trente,’ the shipmaster said to me. ‘Where the two streams meet, the Humbre begins.’

  I nodded, but I was paying him little attention. Instead I was watching the ridge in the distance and the smoke blowing towards the east, and growing puzzled, for it wasn’t the kind that I would have expected to see from houses during the day, and especially not on such a cold day as this. For there were no thick clouds billowing up, as there should have been if their hearths had been freshly stoked, but rather a collection of thin, feeble threads weaving slowly about one another, as when a fire has nearly burnt itself out.

  We drew nearer, leaving the Use behind us. I began to make out more clearly the houses there, dotted against the bright sky. Or rather I saw what remained of them: their blackened timbers and collapsed roof-beams, smouldering still. The stone tower and nave of the church were all that was left standing; all else along the ridge lay in ruins.

  Aubert’s hand stopped beating upon the drumskin, and the splash of oars against the water ceased. Silence fell like a shadow across the ship. I saw the chaplain cross himself and murmur a prayer in Latin, and I did the same as I stared up at the twisted wreckage of what once had been Alchebarg
e, but was no more.

  The enemy had been here before us.

  Sixteen

  WE APPROACHED SLOWLY, drifting on the current with only the occasional pull on the tiller from Aubert to keep us on the correct course. The shipmaster had ordered the sail furled and the mast lowered. We didn’t know whether there were any more of the enemy still watching us from the ridge, with their ships perhaps hidden amidst the reeds and mudbanks that lay beneath, in which case it was better they did not see the black and gold, since then they would know straightaway that we were not of their own fleet.

  But if the enemy were there, they did not show themselves. I kept watching for any flicker of movement or a glint that might be steel, and I saw nothing.

  The ridge on which Alchebarge stood loomed steeply before us. From its top it must have been possible to see for miles around, and it seemed to me that it would make for a strategic place – if one could hold it – for it commanded the two rivers, the Use and the Trente, at the place where they joined. And it ought to be easily defensible from the water, too, owing both to its steep slopes, and to the mudflats that lay at its foot: a wide expanse of reeds and long shoals, which glistened under the light of the sun.

  The tide seemed to be on its way out, for though the part of the flats nearest us was still submerged, on their landward side I could see myriad pools and channels where the river was retreating. If we were to reach Alchebarge at all we would have to make our way – whether by ship or on foot – through that maze.

  ‘Can we make it across before we lose the tide?’ I asked the shipmaster.

  ‘It’ll be difficult,’ he said. ‘The channels through the marsh aren’t deep and it’s easy to get stuck upon these banks. But if we don’t try now, we’ll have to wait until the waters return.’

  I looked again towards the ridge and the black remains of the halls. ‘Get us as close as you can.’

  Aubert shouted to the oarsmen and tugged hard on the tiller; Wyvern carved her way between two banks of reeds, which rippled in waves as the westerly breeze played across them. Ahead, a pair of moorhens flapped their wings, shrieking loudly as they skimmed across the surface of the murky water. They took off away from us, flying around in a great loop until we had passed, before settling once more. Amidst the reeds on the banks to either side more birds stretched their wings as if preparing to flee, but they did not; instead they watched us carefully with dark beads of eyes as we scythed our way around the larger islands.

  One of the oarsmen stood at the prow, lowering a long pole into the murky water, testing its depth. The tide was flowing fast and the channels were growing narrower the further we went. Eventually the man gave a shout and raised his arm.

  ‘Slow,’ the shipmaster called to the rest of his crew. He looked to me. ‘I can’t take us much further in,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot.’

  I waved my thanks to the shipmaster, and then called to the rest of the knights. We put on our hauberks and helms, slinging our shields over our backs. Again we left behind our chausses; they would only slow us down over the marshes. Besides, they were more useful when mounted, when blows would naturally come from below. On foot, however, opponents tended to aim their strikes more towards one’s chest and head. In such situations speed was all-important; the extra weight of mail would be a burden if we needed to fight.

  ‘I should come with you,’ Ælfwold called. ‘If there are any dead in the village it’s only right that they be accorded a proper burial.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Stay with the ladies. The enemy could still be about. If so, it’s better that you stay away from danger.’ I still had to make sure he reached Wiltune to deliver Malet’s message; I could not have him at risk. Besides, it was not the dead that I was concerned with, but rather the living: if there were any Normans still left alive in Alchebarge, it was important that we found them.

  ‘You’re leaving us?’ Elise asked. She strode towards me, her cloak swirling behind her.

  ‘We’ll be back before long,’ I said. ‘We have to know if there is anyone left on your husband’s manor. It’ll be safer for both you and your daughter if you stay here on the ship.’

  ‘And what if the enemy find us while you are gone?’

  ‘If they were to come upon us in numbers,’ I said, and I spoke honestly, ‘it would make little difference whether or not the six of us were here to help protect you.’

  She didn’t look comforted by that, nor had I expected her to, but she said nothing more. And in truth I could not help but feel a little uneasy, even though we had seen no sign of the enemy since the previous night.

  ‘My men will be here with you,’ Aubert assured her.

  ‘Can they fight?’ she asked.

  ‘Well enough, my lady. What they lack in skill they make up for in strength. There are more than fifty of them on the Wyvern; that ought to be sufficient.’

  ‘And what of yourself?’

  ‘I’ll be going with Tancred.’ He saw my glance but he cut me off even before I could open my mouth. ‘If you’re to take anyone it should be me. You’ll need someone who knows the village well.’

  ‘We also need the ship prepared,’ I pointed out. ‘We might need to leave suddenly.’

  ‘That’s easily done without me.’ He turned to one of his men, older than the rest, and I noticed that it was the same grizzled face who had challenged Aubert the night before. ‘Oylard,’ he said. ‘I leave you in charge of Wyvern until we return.’

  ‘Yes, Aubert,’ he replied, with a slight bow of his head.

  ‘Keep her out of sight from the river if you can, hidden amongst the reeds, but at the same time ready to sail in case you see us running down that hill with the enemy behind us.’

  ‘I’ll make sure of it,’ Oylard said.

  Of course, if more rebel ships were to come, there would be little chance of us making a quick escape, but I kept that thought to myself.

  ‘Are you ready, then?’ I asked the shipmaster. ‘I don’t want to spend any longer here than we have to.’

  ‘Let me fetch my sword,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll be ready.’

  I waited while he did so, and while he donned a leather jerkin, then I jumped down from the ship’s prow. Straightaway my shoes sank into the mud, and already I was beginning to wonder whether this was so wise after all. But I found firmer footing along the top of the bank, and I waved to Aubert and the other knights to follow. Once the seven of us had climbed down the shipmaster waved to Oylard, who shouted to the oarsmen to push Wyvern off.

  ‘Don’t take her too far,’ Aubert warned him. ‘We have to be able to find our way back to you.’

  Oylard waved back in acknowledgement and then we set off, trudging on through the reeds and over the mudbanks, splashing through the pools that remained where the tide had gone out. Water seeped into my shoes and with every step I felt a fresh bite of cold at my toes. Wading birds flocked down upon the flats, digging in the bare mud for worms and whatever else they might find. They scattered as we approached, lifting up into the sky as if with one mind, and I shivered at the sight, for if we had not been spotted before, we almost certainly would have been now. The hairs on my neck stood on end; I had the feeling that we were being watched. I kept glancing up at the buildings upon the ridge, and once or twice I thought I saw a shadow moving in between them, but I could not be sure. I did not want to mention it, in case the others took it wrongly for a sign that I was growing nervous.

  The footing became easier the further we went on, as the land became firmer and the waters receded yet more, until at what I guessed would have been the line of the high tide we came upon a wooden landing stage. To its timbers were roped a collection of rowboats and small punts, with poles for pushing them across the flats, and fine nets for catching eels. Beyond it the hill itself rose steeply, affording little by way of cover, apart from the occasional bush. At its crest stood the remains of what was once a large building, around the same length as Wyvern’s hull.
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  ‘Lord Guillaume had that hall built last summer,’ Aubert said, shaking his head. ‘Not that he came here much; I don’t believe his womenfolk ever did. Since he was made vicomte he’s rarely been away from Eoferwic.’

  We continued up the hillside, hands ready at our hilts in case we should find any of the rebels waiting to ambush us when we arrived at the top. But the air had gone still and, save for the cawing of the carrion birds circling above the village, the day was quiet. Nor was there any sign of the shadows that I thought I had seen earlier, but even so we trod carefully, taking care not to let our mail make too much sound.

  At last the ground began to grow less steep and we could see the whole of Alchebarge before us. It didn’t look as though it had been a large village – perhaps a dozen families at most – and there was even less of it now. Where houses and workshops had once stood, all that now remained were piles of quietly smoking timbers and ash. There were bodies everywhere: men, women and children, oxen and cattle all lying together in death. The stench of burnt flesh wafted on the wind.

  ‘They didn’t leave anything,’ Wace said as we walked amidst the corpses. Crows picked at them with black beaks, tearing skin from bone, flapping their wings angrily at any others of their kind who tried to come near. They watched us closely as we approached, hopping aside grudgingly before flocking back as soon as they thought we were far enough away.

  Many of the bodies were hacked to pieces, missing arms and even heads. Several of them were Normans; indeed some were still in their mail, with shields lying by their sides. Most, however, seemed to be English, and from their dress I took them mostly for the villagers of Alchebarge rather than the ones who had wrought this destruction.

  ‘They killed even their own kinsmen,’ I said, scarce believing what I saw, before I recalled that they had done the same to Oswynn. I imagined her body lying unburied at Dunholm, just as these did here, and hoped that if we met again at the end of days she would forgive me.