I looked up and saw Robert, face clenched in desperation as he swung at the head of one of his attackers. He missed by a heartbeat: his foe ducked low and thrust his spear up, striking Robert low on his sword-arm, below the sleeve of his hauberk, and he yelled out in pain as his weapon slipped from his grasp. The Dane started to come at him again, jabbing the point towards his breast, but he had not seen me. I slammed my shield into the side of his helmet, and he lost his footing, falling under my mount’s hooves.
‘Back!’ I shouted, hoping Robert would hear as the wind gusted from behind and I beat down upon the shields of the men before me. ‘Get back!’
Robert’s horse reared up and still the enemy pressed forward. It only needed for one thrown spear to catch him in the chest, and he would be dead. I had to get him away from there.
‘Lord,’ I said, trying to rouse him from his pain. Blood was flowing freely, staining his sleeve, but there was nothing that could be done about it, and he would lose more than his sword if he stayed here any longer. The Danish line still held, while more knights were coming to join the fray. They would hold the enemy back for a moment, but not for ever.
I called to Wace, who had found himself in space. Eudo was with him, and Philippe, and several others I did not know but recognised from Robert’s conroi.
‘Hold them off,’ I said, then without waiting for Wace to reply I turned, reaching over with my right hand and grabbing Robert’s reins, tugging on them at the same time as I dug my heels in.
A spear thrust up at my flank but I managed to fend it off with my shield, willing my horse faster. Men streamed past us, their spears draped with pennons I did not recognise, so soaked were they with the blood of our foes.
‘Hold the enemy off!’ I shouted at them, glancing at Robert beside me. He was leaning forward in his saddle, his face creased in pain. His horse’s eyes were white with fear.
I found the same alleyway we had emerged from, drawing to a halt by the gable end of a merchant’s great hall, far enough from the enemy that we would be safe, for now at least. Others of his conroi had seen that he was injured and were riding to join us. I shoved my shield towards one of them; he took it without a word.
‘Show me your arm, lord,’ I said to Robert.
He shook his head. ‘It’s all right,’ he replied through gritted teeth, but I knew it was not, or he would still be fighting.
I took hold of it, peeling back the sleeve of his tunic, thankful for the faint light of dawn. He had been struck on the forearm; a long cut ran most of the way between his elbow and his wrist. The wound did not look deep; certainly I had seen far worse. Had it been his shield-arm he might have been able to carry on, but it was his sword-arm, and that made all the difference.
Others from his conroi were beginning to gather round, and among them was Ansculf. He still had his cloak wrapped around his shoulders. ‘Are you hurt, lord?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Robert, but the grimace on his face betrayed him. ‘I need a sword. I need to fight.’
I turned to Ansculf. ‘Give me your cloak,’ I said.
‘Why?’
I had neither the patience nor the time to explain. The screams of the dying echoed in my ears; the battle was still being fought, and we were needed there. ‘Just do it,’ I told him.
He unclasped it and handed it to me. It was not all that thick, but it would have to do. I drew my knife from its sheath and began to hack at the cloth, until I had a strip long enough that I could bind it around Robert’s wound. He winced as I did so, and tried to draw his arm away, but I held firm until it was tied. A monk or a priest might have done better, but it would serve for now to stop the bleeding.
A great roar went up, and I turned, fearing the worst. I was expecting to see our knights in flight, the rebels surging forward, their confidence renewed by Robert’s injury. Instead the Danish shield-wall was breaking and now they were in disarray, as our men and the king’s pressed their advantage, driving into their midst.
‘Stay with him,’ I told Ansculf. I signalled for my shield, passed the long strap around my neck and worked my forearm through the leather brases. I cast my gaze quickly over Robert’s conroi, or those at least who were there: more than twelve but fewer than a twenty. ‘With me,’ I shouted to them as I rode to their head.
‘These aren’t your men,’ Ansculf shouted after me. ‘You can’t just—’
‘Let me lead them,’ I said, cutting him off. ‘You make sure Robert’s safe. Get him away from the battle.’
I knew I had no right to ask such a thing, but my mind was racing, the blood running hot in my veins, and I could not stop myself. This was the chance I had been waiting for ever since Dunholm: the chance to prove myself, to atone for my lord’s death and make everything right.
Ansculf’s cheeks flushed scarlet with anger as he stared at me, but he said nothing, no doubt stunned by my nerve. In any case we had no time to argue, and so before he could answer I lifted my sword to the sky, digging my spurs in as I called again, ‘Conroi with me!’
‘Tancred!’ he yelled as I rode away, but I ignored his protests, glancing behind only to check that the rest of Robert’s men were following.
I led them back through the narrow alley, on to the main street, where the Danes had realised the fight was turning against them and so were fleeing. Of course they were paid warriors, not oath-sworn, and like all such men they were cowards: their only concern was for their purses and they had no wish to fight on till the last.
Beneath us the street lay thick with blood, thick with corpses. The stench of shit and vomit and fresh-spilt blood hung in the air. Not fifty paces away amidst the rush of men I glimpsed the raven banner, and beneath it the man whom I took to be the Danes’ leader. He was built like a bear, with fair hair down past his shoulders, and a beard that was stained with blood. On his arms he wore silver rings, and he bore a long-handled axe. He was bellowing to his men, waving down the main street in the direction of the river.
Men scattered from our path, both Danes and Normans; our own spearmen had come out from their wall to give chase to the enemy. I lifted my sword high for all Robert’s men to see, and spurred my horse into a gallop. There were barely a dozen men with me, whereas the Danish leader had more than thirty, but I knew it would be enough.
‘Kill them!’ I shouted. The street sloped down towards the river and I felt a fresh burst of speed. I found myself laughing as I saw the Danes in front of me, turning at last as they saw the danger coming from behind. Their leader roared in desperation as he rallied his men, but then they did something I did not expect, for all as one they came charging at us.
Whether the battle-rage had taken them, or whether they just wished for a noble death, I did not know; nor did it matter. One came at me, screaming, his face streaming with tears, and I raised my shield to fend off his spear, leaving him for Urse to finish as I arced my sword down into the path of another. And then I was turning, searching for the raven banner, for the Danes’ leader.
I did not have to look far, for at that moment he came at my flank, wielding his axe in both hands, hacking down upon my shield. The force of the blow sent a shudder through my arm, but the blade slid off its face, and as he readied himself for another strike, I thrust my elbow out, bringing the point of my shield up and into the side of his face, sending him backwards. Blood streamed from beneath his nasal-guard, spilling across his beard and his thick moustache, dripping on to his mail hauberk, but he did not seem to care. His eyes were blue fire as he came at me again, and again, and again, each strike ringing off the boss of my shield, each one pressing me further back. His friends were gathering around him, but I knew that if I could kill him, the rest would break.
He lifted his axe for another assault and I saw my chance, pressing my left heel into my horse’s flank. The animal turned sharply, bringing my undefended side to face him, and I saw the gleam in the Dane’s eyes as he lifted for his next swing, but my sword was quicker, driving up and into his shou
lder. He reeled back, and as he did so I plunged the blade into his chest, driving the point between the links of his mail into his breast. I twisted my sword and he let out a gasp, and as I pulled it free he fell forward, already dead.
To one side was the raven banner, smeared with scarlet, and I saw Urse as he ran its bearer through, driving his lance into the man’s back. The banner fell to the ground under the hooves of Urse’s mount, and a roar erupted from the men behind me as it was trampled into the mud. The rest of the Danes were running.
‘Fight us, you sons of whores,’ someone shouted, and as I looked up I saw it was Eudo. He hacked at another of the enemy, his sword-edge ripping through the man’s arm, just below the sleeve of his hauberk. The bloodlust was in his eyes. ‘Fight us!’
Everywhere knights were giving chase: whole conrois darting down narrow ways, cutting the enemy down from behind, and I glimpsed the golden threads of the king’s lion banner glimmering in the half-light as he and his knights rode down a group of Danes. Some of our spearmen had stopped to strip corpses of their helmets, their mail, their swords and even their boots, and others were fighting them for the same things.
‘To arms,’ I shouted to them as I rode past. ‘To arms!’ For if they thought that the battle was won, they were wrong. From the east I could hear the battle-thunder, more distant than before, but present still. The rest of the enemy were rallying.
I sheathed my sword while I retrieved a lance from the chest of a fallen Dane, checking first that the haft was still intact, the head still firmly fixed. I lifted it to the sky. ‘Conroi with me!’
Eudo broke off from his pursuit to join us. His hands and the head of his lance were covered in blood, and his face bore a wide grin, which faded as he drew alongside me.
‘Where’s Robert?’ he asked between breaths.
‘He took a blow to the arm,’ I said. ‘He’s with Ansculf.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘He’ll live.’ And so he would, as long as Ansculf kept him from the fray, at least.
With Eudo were Philippe and some half-dozen more of Robert’s knights. Of Wace and Godefroi and Radulf there was no sign, and I could only trust that they were still fighting elsewhere.
As the ground began to fall away beneath my horse’s feet, I could see the river, sparkling under the brightening skies, with the bridge spanning it. And upon the bridge were men in helmets and gleaming mail, marching towards us, under a banner of purple and yellow stripes, and their shields were painted in the same colours.
The colours of the ætheling.
My fist tightened around the haft of my lance. Eadgar. The man who called himself king; the leader of the rebels himself. The man who was responsible for the death of Lord Robert at Dunholm.
There he was, in the middle of the column, beneath the purple and yellow, with his gilded helmet that marked him out: a clear sign of his arrogance. Surrounding him were his huscarls, his household troops, with their axes slung across their backs, their scabbards swinging from their belts, their shields held before them.
I had pulled to a halt while the rest of my conroi gathered: almost twenty knights in all, including most of Robert’s men, though a few others who had become separated from their own groups were now joining me. I glanced to either side, as always checking to see who would be with me in the charge. On my left was Eudo; on my right, Philippe, and beneath his helmet I saw the same solemn look I remembered from when I first met him, though the youthful eagerness was gone now, replaced by a determination which I had not seen in him before.
The first of the enemy were almost across now, and following them was a column hundreds strong. I glanced over my shoulder; behind us all was confusion. By now some of the other lords had seen the ætheling marching, and they were hesitating, uncertain whether to rally around the royal banner or to attack straightaway. But I knew that if we were to head the enemy off, we could not afford to delay.
‘For King Guillaume and Lord Robert!’ I said, trying to catch the attention of as many of the other lords as possible as I spurred my horse into a gallop once more. ‘For Malet, St Ouen and Normandy!’
And as the cry was taken up by those around me, I promised myself again that I would be the one who sent Eadgar to his death.
Thirty-five
‘WITH ME!’ I roared, lowering my lance so that it pointed towards the enemy as I rode knee to knee with Eudo and Philippe. ‘Stay close; watch your flanks!’
We rode towards the dawn: some twenty knights and more, and I was at their head, leading them, leading the charge. Blood pounded in my ears, keeping rhythm with my horse’s hooves. Around a hundred of the enemy had now crossed the bridge, but these ones were lightly armed, with only spears and shields and helmets, and many with even less than that. They saw us bearing down upon them, and straightaway came to a halt. My limbs, which had been starting to ache, suddenly felt fresh; my spear and shield were light in my hands. For I knew that these were not trained warriors, but men of the fyrd, the peasant levy.
‘Scildweall!’ I heard one of them cry. He alone was dressed in mail, and I took him for a thegn. The call was passed down their line as they brought their shields together: the faces painted in purple and yellow, the iron bosses shining, the rims overlapping. ‘Scildweall! Scildweall!’
They thrust their spears out towards us, the points shining silver in the dawn, as yet unbloodied. Above them, the sky was ablaze, the clouds lit with streaks of orange and yellow, and I thought of the mead-hall at Dunholm: of the flames rising up, engulfing the timbers and the thatch; of Lord Robert who had been inside; of the look of despair that had been on his face that last time I had seen him, branded forever in my mind.
I gritted my teeth, lifting my shield to protect my horse’s flank. The shield-wall wavered, the men glancing at one another. Already I had sighted the first one that I would kill, and as we closed upon the enemy I met his eyes and saw the fear that lay within. He froze where he stood, his spear-haft falling limp in his hands as he stared at me, open-mouthed, and then I was upon him. Too late he raised his spearpoint to fend me off; too late he remembered to cover his head with his shield as I buried my lance in his neck.
Beside me hooves were battering down upon limewood, crushing legs and skulls, and the enemy line was crumbling as we forced them back. Their thegn bellowed to them, but whatever he was saying, it was in vain as they fell before us, our blades ringing with the song of battle. More men were coming to join us, pennons flying, adding their strength to the charge, and all of a sudden we were driving the enemy back towards the bridge.
From where came a wall of huscarls, their spears and their axes defiant, even as before them the ranks of the fyrd were failing.
‘Eadgar cyning,’ they shouted, all as one. ‘Eadgar cyning!’
Had I paused then, I would have seen how many they were and how well armed, and known that for us to ride towards their shining blades would be to invite death, for we had no hope of breaking them. But the battle-rage had taken me, and I saw victory at hand, knowing that if we could get to Eadgar and I could kill him, then we could win the battle there and then.
‘On!’ I said, willing my horse faster. Hooves clattered upon stone as we arrived five abreast upon the bridge. ‘On! On!’
I lifted my lance above my head, drew my arm back and hurled it towards the first line of huscarls, as beside me Eudo and Philippe did the same. The enemy raised their shields to protect their heads, but in doing so they left themselves exposed from below, and at that same moment we came, swords drawn, riding hard, and I was thrusting my blade forward into their hauberks, cutting at their undefended legs. Some of our lances had sunk themselves into their shields, weighing them down, and as they tried to pull the shafts out we were cutting into them, bringing our sword-edges to bear.
But for each one that I killed, another came to take his place. Just as before, once the impact of the charge began to fail, then they began to press us back, the first row bringing their spears to be
ar even as those behind reached over them with their long axes, the blades sharp enough, I knew, to sever a horse’s neck in one blow.
‘There are too many,’ Eudo yelled, though I could barely hear him over the crash of steel, the screams of men and of horses. ‘We need to fall back!’
A spear thrust up from my right, narrowly missing my mount’s head, and I brought my sword down upon my foe’s hand, slicing through the finger-bones before dragging the point up his ventail into his throat. I clenched my teeth and heaved my blade into the path of the next Englishman, missing by a hair’s width as he ducked low. He lifted his head and then I saw his helmet with its gleaming cheek-plates, and the rim and nasal-guard, shining gold like the sun. It was Eadgar.
He charged, leading his men from the shield-wall, just as the bright disc of the sun broke above the houses on the far shore. The light glinted off the enemy’s mail and off their blades, and for a moment I was blinded. Dark figures swarmed below; in desperation I slashed my sword at where I thought they were, and found only air.
‘Tancred!’ I heard Eudo shout, though I could not see him.
My mount screamed and rose up on its hind legs, kicking at the shadows darting about beneath. I leant forward in the saddle, trying to keep my balance, to keep him under control, as there came a flash of steel from below. He screamed again, and this time he collapsed forward, and I was tossed from the saddle with my foot still caught in the stirrup.
Air rushed past me, but not for long as I came crashing to earth. The wind was knocked from my chest, and I tasted blood in my mouth as I looked up. A shadow towered above me, his sword and helmet glinting. I blinked, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw Eadgar’s face: that familiar thin-lipped scowl that had tormented me ever since Eoferwic.
His eyes narrowed as he looked down at me. ‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘You’re Malet’s dog. The one who made a fool of me.’
‘You killed my lord,’ I spat back at him. ‘You killed Robert de Commines.’
Sworn Sword Page 38
