‘You trust him, then?’ I asked.
She stared at me as if I were mad. ‘There are few whom I trust more,’ she retorted. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because he is English.’
‘As are many of my father’s men,’ she snapped, her voice rising. ‘And his own mother too; you must know that.’ She continued to stare, but I said nothing, and eventually she turned away, towards the open window, looking out over the yard and the men and horses below. Her hair fluttered in the breeze, catching the light like threads of gold; her breasts rose and fell as she sighed.
‘I see you’re leaving again,’ she said.
‘We have to go if we’re to meet with the king’s army before it reaches Eoferwic.’
She drew away from the window, turning to face me again. ‘You must promise that you will do all you can to aid my brother, and to rescue my father.’
‘My lady, of course—’
‘Listen to me,’ she said sharply, cutting me off. Her cheeks flushed red, but she held my gaze as I watched her, waiting for her to go on. ‘Robert is brave but he can also be foolhardy. He is a good horseman but he has few battles behind him. He will need your help. I want you to see that no harm comes to him.’
I wanted to explain to her that in the confusion of battle, with the enemy all around, it was impossible to keep watch over others. If her brother could not hold his own, there was little I could do to help him. But she would not understand that.
‘I will try, my lady,’ I said instead.
She did not look altogether pleased with that, but it was all the answer I was going to give her.
‘In Eoferwic my father asked you to give us your protection,’ she said. ‘Now I ask that you do the same for him, and for Robert. I have seen with my own eyes your skill at arms. And I have heard from my father how you fought at Hæstinges, how you saved your lord’s life there. I want you to serve them with the same conviction and honour as you served him.’
Honour, I thought bitterly. After what had happened these last few days, I had little enough of that left.
She was gazing at me expectantly. There was something of her father in that look, I thought: a confidence in the way she bore herself; a strength of will that I admired even as it frustrated me.
‘Will you swear it?’ she asked.
‘What?’ The question caught me by surprise and it took me a moment to recover my wits. ‘My lady, I gave an oath to your father – an oath made upon the cross. I will do everything I can—’
‘I want you to swear it to me,’ she said. She came closer, holding out her right hand, slender and pale, towards me. Around her wrist a silver band shone in the light from the window.
‘There is no need,’ I protested.
‘Swear it to me, Tancred a Dinant.’
I stared at her, trying to work out whether she was speaking seriously. But her eyes were steady, unflinching, as she drew herself to her full height before me.
Still she held out her hand, and I took her palm in mine. Her skin was soft and warm against mine, her fingers slender, her touch light. My heart quickened as I knelt down before her, clasping my other hand loosely over the back of hers.
‘By solemn oath I swear that I will do my utmost to aid your father, and to bring him and your brother back safe to you.’
I looked up, waiting for her to say something, holding her hand between mine, our gazes locked together. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, throbbing behind my eyes, which were suddenly hot, and growing hotter still for every beat of my heart. Soon I would have to look away, I thought, but I could not, for those eyes kept drawing me in, closer, closer.
Slowly I rose to my feet, reaching up to her temple, brushing her hair, like threads of silk, behind her ear. Her cheeks, usually milky-pale, were flushed pink, but she did not shy away at my touch, did not turn her eyes from me, and though she opened her mouth she made no protest. I could feel her breath, light but warm, upon my face, and suddenly my hand was sliding from her temple, running down the side of her neck, to the small of her back, feeling the curves of her body, so new and unfamiliar, and I was holding her to me as she placed her arms upon my hips, reached around to my back.
I leant towards her, and then at last our lips touched: softly, hesitantly at first; but the kiss quickly grew in intensity as I felt her breasts press against my chest and I held her tighter—
She broke off, wresting herself free of my embrace, twisting away. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t.’ She turned towards the wall, towards the tapestry, and I couldn’t see her face, only her hair trailing across her shoulders and her back.
My heart was beating fast, my throat dry, and I swallowed. ‘Beatrice,’ I said, resting my hand upon her shoulder. It was the first time that I had called her by her name.
She shook my hand off. ‘Go,’ she said, her voice raised as if in anger, though I wasn’t sure what she could be angry about. She did not look at me.
‘My lady—’
‘Go,’ she repeated, more forcefully this time, and this time I did as she asked, retreating across the chamber, watching her back, feeling an emptiness inside me, and I wished for her to turn, but she did not.
I closed the door behind me and, as I did so, I found myself determined that it would not be the last time I saw her. That whatever happened at Eoferwic, I would make it back alive.
Thirty-one
THE SKIES WERE still heavy as we began our northwards journey. I did not see Beatrice again, and when I glanced towards the shutters on the up-floor as we left, they were all closed.
Just as we were readying to go, Wigod presented us with a bundle of cloth wrapped around a spear. It was mostly black, but as I unfurled it I saw that it had also stripes of yellow decorated with golden trim at regular intervals along its length.
‘Lord Guillaume’s banner,’ the steward said. ‘Take it. Use it. Bring it safely to him.’
‘We will,’ I replied. ‘And when you see Ælfwold, tell him we’re sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘Just tell him,’ I said. ‘He’ll know what we mean.’
With that we had ridden away, leaving Malet’s house behind us and climbing up the hill towards the Bisceopesgeat. We passed the place where I had been attacked that night, and the church of St Eadmund where I had seen the man I’d thought was the chaplain. Already it seemed so long ago, even though it was only a little over a week; the memory was growing hazy, as if I had but dreamt it. But all that was behind me now, I reminded myself, and so, soon, was the city itself.
It took us four full days to catch the king’s army, by which time we had put, I thought, around a hundred miles between ourselves and Lundene. In every town we passed through, we heard stories of trouble out in the shires, of halls being burnt, of peasants rising against their lords. News of the northern rebellion was commonplace now, and everywhere the English were becoming restless, their confidence growing as they heard of their kinsmen’s successes at Eoferwic.
The sun was dipping below the trees on the horizon when finally we came to the top of a ridge somewhere north of Stanford, and there looked down across the valley before us, and a sea of tents. There were hundreds of them arrayed there on the plain – not since the night before the great battle at Hæstinges had I seen so many men together in one place.
Truly it was a sight to behold. The wind was rising and by each fire flew the banner of the lord who camped there. Some had animals or fantastic beasts embroidered upon them – I saw amongst them boars and wolves, eagles and dragons – while others were simply divided into stripes with their owner’s colours. And at the centre of the camp, by the tall pavilion that was the king’s own tent, flew the largest banner of them all: the glistening gold embroidered on scarlet field that was the lion of Normandy.
How many men there were I could not judge, though certainly their numbers had swelled since we had left for Wiltune. Two thousand men had accompanied Lord Robert to Northumbria, but it seemed to me tha
t this host was even larger. Naturally not all of those who had gathered would be fighting men, for each of the lords would have their various retainers and servants: men to bring them food and wine, to look after the horses, to polish their mail. And there were craftsmen too, working at fires and at anvils, with hauberks hanging from posts outside their tents: armourers, I thought, working to repair broken mail. But it was, nonetheless, a significant host. I only hoped it would be enough.
I signalled to Eudo, who had been carrying the banner whilst we were on the road, and he passed it to me as I handed the reins of my destrier to him. Carefully I unfurled the cloth; then, holding the shaft in my right hand, I spurred my weary horse into a canter and rode along the ridge, giving the banner flight. The black and gold soared proudly in the wind, the bright threads glittering in the low sun. I waved for the rest to follow, then started along the stony track that led down the hill towards the camp.
Men looked up from their fires as we approached, and some even called greetings, but most took no notice of us. Indeed they had little reason to, for we could have been any number of things: scouts sent out to explore the country, or a foraging party, or messengers dispatched with the king’s writ to the halls of nearby lords. But I had thought that the sight of the black and gold might inspire some recognition at least, being as they were the colours of the man on whose behalf this whole army had been raised.
We wove in and out of the shadows of tents, past packhorses hitched to carts, along tracks that were already muddy with the passage of hundreds of feet. There were pits dug into the ground behind every tent, and the stench of shit filled my nose.
‘Keep looking for the vicomte’s son,’ I told the others. ‘He should be here.’
We rode past men carrying bundles of spears, and others rolling barrels that might have held ale, or else salted meat of some kind. In the shadow of a lone oak tree, knights practised with cudgels and shields, and a few with swords; their blades flashed in the low sun. Further ahead, a small stream ran through the camp, and men were collecting water in cups and pitchers, or else giving their animals drink.
Eventually we caught sight of the banner we had been looking for: the twin of the one I held. It flew high, not far from the king’s pavilion, which meant that Robert Malet was held in high regard.
Of the king himself there was no sign; the flaps had been drawn across the entrance to his tent and there were two of his retainers posted outside, preventing anyone from entering. No doubt that meant he was in council with one or another of his barons. I’d never faced him in person, though I had often seen him from a distance: at his court in Westmynstre at Pentecost last year; and of course on the field at Hæstinges.
We made our way to the black and gold, beneath which six tents had been set up around a fire. Robert was indeed there, along with his men, who at first glance I guessed numbered around twenty, as well as his manservant: the thin one with the boil on his neck, who had been with him when we had first met.
Robert saw us approach, and he came over to greet us as we all dismounted. Again I noted he was clad all in black: an affectation that I hoped did not hinder his ability to fight, which was the reason we were here, after all.
‘Your business at Wiltune went well?’ he asked me after we had embraced.
‘Well enough, lord,’ I replied. For a moment I thought that he was about to enquire further, but he did not. How much did he know, I wondered, about the business with Eadgyth and Harold’s body?
He introduced us to his men, and in particular to a burly, broad-shouldered man whose name he gave as Ansculf. He was the captain of Robert’s household knights, and was evidently a man of few words, for he did little more than grunt when he saw us. He smelt of cattle dung and I noticed that he was missing two of the fingers from his shield hand, as well as part of his ear on his other side. But so far as I could tell he seemed experienced; there was a certain confidence about him that I recognised, for it was the kind that came only when a man had seen many hardships, many battles, and weathered all that could be thrown at him.
We left our horses with those of the rest of Robert’s men, driving thick stakes into the earth between the tents and the stream and tying them to those. There was grass enough for the packhorses, but I made sure that mounds of grain were laid out for the destriers, and they stood around those, eating contentedly.
Robert’s men were roasting what looked like a haunch of deer over the fire when we came back. It was a big slab of meat and the fire was yet small, but then one of them arrived with a bundle of sticks and began to build it up, and soon I could feel the warmth upon my face.
‘What news is there from Eoferwic?’ I asked Robert.
‘Not much,’ he said grimly. ‘The castle still holds, so far as we know, but the rebels continue to press at its gates.’
‘Any word on the enemy’s numbers?’ Wace put in.
Robert shrugged. ‘Four, five thousand. Maybe even more. No one knows for sure. More are joining them every day, or so we hear. Men from all over the north: English, Scots, even some Danes as well.’
‘Danes?’ I repeated. I remembered what Malet had told me, about the invasion he believed was to come this summer. Was it possible they had arrived already, and we hadn’t heard about it? ‘You mean King Sweyn is with them?’
‘Not him,’ Robert said. ‘Not yet, at least. These ones are adventurers, swords-for-hire, though there are certainly enough of them. We hear that half a dozen ships’ crews have gathered beneath Eadgar’s banner, some of them from as far afield as Orkaneya and Haltland.’
The Danes were fearsome fighters, wherever they came from. And even a mere six ships could mean anything between two and three hundred men.
‘All the northern lords have allied with him, as far as we’ve heard,’ Robert went on. ‘Gospatric of Bebbanburh, his cousin Waltheof Sigurdsson, and many more besides. The old families are uniting under Eadgar’s banner, all of them proclaiming him king.’
Another usurper, I thought. As if the English had already forgotten the end that had befallen Harold. But this was not a thing to be taken lightly; since Hæstinges we had not faced a host of this size. Until now the risings we had encountered had all been local ones, and easily put down, the enemy weak and disorganised.
This was different. As I looked at Robert, I saw the unease in his eyes. He was thinking about his father, about whether we could save him. But I was uneasy for a different reason, for I had seen how well defended Eoferwic was, surrounded by its high walls and easily supplied both by land and by ship. Even if we laid counter-siege on one side of the river, the city as a whole could not be cut off. And so the only way we could break the English siege and save Malet was if we forced the enemy to do battle with us: for our host, led by King Guillaume, to face that of Eadgar, until only one remained.
And on that, I feared, hung not just our own fates, but that of England itself.
For the next few days progress was slow – at least for those of us riding close to the vanguard, since every few hours we had to stop to allow the baggage train in the rear to catch up. Still, the country was easy and we must have made more than fifteen miles each day.
More of the king’s vassals joined us as we marched, and each of them brought men: not just knights, but spearmen and archers too. They were not large bands – often as small as five men, sometimes as large as fifty – but they were all welcome. And so slowly the army grew, and I found my confidence returning, my anxieties subsiding. Not completely, for the fact was that most of these men had come fresh from their halls, from the comfort of their feasting-tables and the leisure of the hunt, ill prepared for the rigours of campaign. But as we came closer to Eoferwic, ever more of their time in camp was spent in training, and each evening the sound of steel upon steel rang out across the hills.
The land was slowly shaking off the grip of winter, and the days were noticeably warmer than they had been of late. The wind no longer held the same chill, and when we rose in the mornings
there seemed to be less frost upon the ground: all of which helped to lift the mood while we were on the march. Even within our small group I found I was speaking more easily with Philippe and with Godefroi, the business at Wiltune almost forgotten, the tension that had once been there diminishing. Radulf alone remained distant, but at least he was no longer as hostile as before, and I was content with that. For in truth this was the first time in a long while that I found myself happy. I was at last where I belonged: not mired in suspicions of conspiracy, in talk of promises made and then broken. Not amidst men and women of the cloth, but here, among warriors, men of the sword. This had been my life since I was thirteen years old, and it was my life still. My lord might be dead, but I was not, and as long as I lived I knew it was my purpose to fight.
Of events ahead of us we heard little more, until on the fifth day after we had joined the army the king sent out his scouts to see what they could learn. They returned that evening with the news that Malet still held out, for they had seen the black and gold flying from the castle tower. But it was small relief, for the rebels’ numbers were swelling still; it was said that more than five hundred from the fyrd of Lincoliascir had gone to join them. But if that was right, then they were the only Englishmen from south of the Humbre who had chosen to do so. The rest had refused to ride out for either side, unprepared on the one hand to march against men who were their kin, but on the other unwilling to defy a king who was their lawfully crowned liege-lord, chosen by God. Most of all I suspected they feared reprisal if they happened to choose the wrong side, and so by joining neither they hoped that they would escape punishment altogether. At the very least they were denying Eadgar men he might usefully employ, and that could only be a good thing.
The enemy had their own scouts, of course, and every so often we would spy the dark forms of horsemen upon the hills in the distance, watching us, though they quickly fled into the woods whenever a party was sent out to intercept them. The ætheling knew, then, that we were coming.
Sworn Sword Page 34
