The Splintered Kingdom c-2

by James Aitcheson

  Ten

  It rained that night, rained so hard that the gutters outside the houses overflowed and the winding streets of Scrobbesburh ran like rivers, carrying dirt and fragments of straw mixed with cattle shit. The drops bounced off the cobbles in the market square; they pooled in the cart-tracks along the shambles, in one place forming a vast lake that we had no choice but to ride on through, our horses’ hooves kicking up mud and the putrid remains of whatever animals had been slaughtered there that day. All the while the wind lashed at the town with furious gusts, threatening to tear the thatch from the roofs, to lift trees from their very roots. Branches creaked as Wace and Eudo and I passed beneath them, the three of us riding in single file through the narrow ways towards the castle and the timber hall huddled within the protection of its walls.

  Almost one hundred barons had already gathered there by the time we had seen to our horses and entered, our cloaks and tunics sodden, our trews clinging to our legs and our hair plastered against our heads. The musty smell of damp cloth mixed with sweat hung in the air. A peat fire was smouldering in the hearth while in the middle of the floor stood a charcoal brazier. Several men were gathered around them, trying to dry themselves. Others sat on benches around the edge with wine-cups in hand, making subdued conversation, no doubt sharing the latest rumours they had heard while they waited for Fitz Osbern and Earl Hugues to appear.

  Some of those faces I recognised from previous campaigns or else from times when our paths had crossed at the king’s court, even if I did not know them by name. But there were many more I hadn’t seen before, and that was no wonder, since by then it seemed that almost the entire March was in Scrobbesburh. Certainly all its foremost men were in that hall: young and old, seasoned warriors and richly dressed nobles, sword-brothers and rivals alike. A low murmur filled the air, lifting to the rafters along which mice scuttled, flickers of grey in the gloom, disturbed by the rain and by the presence of so many men. Though not much larger than my own hall at Earnford, in decoration it was far grander, with tapestries and hangings upon the wall in stripes of white and pear green: the colours of the castellan.

  I looked for Robert, but perhaps he had been called upon to confer privately with Fitz Osbern and Earl Hugues, for I could not see him. Servants hustled through the throng, bringing hot food out on wooden platters from the kitchens and laying it down on the long tables in front of the hearth, to a chorus of cheers from the men who were standing nearby.

  ‘I can’t remember the last time I saw so many barons in one place,’ I said.

  ‘Neither can I,’ said Eudo, who had managed to find a pitcher from somewhere. He took a swig and then passed it to me. I lifted it to my lips, letting the smell of barley fill my nose before drinking deeply. It was better ale than I had enjoyed in a while, and stronger stuff too than the kind that we usually had in Earnford.

  ‘Leave some for the rest of us,’ said Wace.

  I swallowed. ‘Here,’ I said, holding the jug out to him. ‘Take it.’

  No sooner had he done so than I spotted a hint of movement towards the front of the hall. Anxious for a clearer view, I edged my way through the crowd. On the far side behind the dais hung long embroidered drapes, all but concealing a doorway to an antechamber, and from between those drapes several figures now stepped. The hall fell quiet as first came Fitz Osbern, in an expensive-looking tunic of blue cloth trimmed with golden thread, with his wife on his arm, a lady of considerable size with a turned-up, piggish nose and a fierce look in her eyes. Behind them followed the fair-haired and broad-chested Hugues d’Avranches, striding in with a self-confidence that I often saw in young warriors. Next was the castellan Roger de Montgommeri, a small man with a fidgety manner and narrow eyes, and last of all came Lord Robert, dressed in black as he always was, with Beatrice at his side.

  I hadn’t seen her in a week. Of all places this was the last in which I had expected to find her — this council of barons — but there she was, wearing a dark green gown in the English style, loose-fitting with bunched sleeves, and a necklace and bracelets of silver. Fitz Osbern motioned for both ladies, for Robert and the other nobles to be seated on the chairs set out on the dais, and she smiled politely. Her eyes passed over the crowd, and it seemed that they lingered on me, if only for a heartbeat. Her expression was serene, her manner relaxed.

  Fitz Osbern himself sat in the middle of the dais, on what one could only describe as a throne: high-backed with wide armrests, with intricate animal-like designs carved into its dark wood, polished so that the surfaces gleamed in the soft glow of the hearth-fire and the rushlights in their iron stands.

  ‘Welcome,’ he said. There was little warmth in his voice, which carried the tones of one well used to authority. ‘I thank you all for coming to Scrobbesburh, though naturally I wish that the circumstances were happier. As you know, I have called you here because of the threat we face from the Welsh and the English across the dyke. A threat that grows greater by the day as Bleddyn and Rhiwallon muster their forces; one that as far as the kingdom is concerned could not have come at a worse time.’

  He paused, making sure that he had the full attention of everyone, allowing them a moment to dwell upon the significance of his words. ‘By now I am sure many of you will have heard tell of King Sweyn’s movements across the sea in Denmark. Fewer, perhaps, will know what is taking place in the north, where the followers of the?theling are once again rising and this time sending messengers across the kingdom to stir up rebellion.’

  ‘What about Eadgar himself?’ someone called out, though I could not spot who and it was not a voice I recognised. ‘Has he dared show himself yet, or is he still cowering behind the shield of the Scots’ king?’

  At that there was laughter. Following his last defeat, it was said that he had slunk into the bleak wildlands beyond Northumbria that were known as Alba, whose king was his brother-by-marriage and no friend of ours. Indeed he had lent the?theling many men and ships to support his endeavours before, and would probably do so again.

  ‘Of his movements we know nothing for certain,’ Fitz Osbern answered mildly, fixing a cold stare upon the man who had interrupted him. ‘From what we gather, however, there have been envoys sent across the German Sea between him and the Danish king. We suspect, although we remain unsure, that the two may be in alliance.’

  A murmur of disquiet went up around the hall and Fitz Osbern raised a hand to still it.

  ‘There will be a chance for you all to speak in time if you so wish,’ he said. ‘But first listen to me. As I am sure you are all aware, we have received an offer of help from an unexpected quarter: the brothers Maredudd and Ithel, sons of the late King Gruffydd, who in return for bringing four hundred men to our cause seek the restoration of their lands-’

  ‘I’d sooner rot in hell than do any Welshman a favour,’ another man shouted from the back of the hall. Nor was he alone in his feelings, since several of the nobles around him added their voices in support. One, more enthusiastic or perhaps simply more drunk than the rest, raised his fist into the air, startling a passing servant-girl, who dropped the jug she was carrying. It fell with a crash to the floor, sending a spray of wine across the man’s cloak.

  ‘Quiet!’ Earl Hugues rose to his feet, his young face red with fury. ‘Otherwise I will have you expelled from here, and see to it that your lands are confiscated forthwith.’

  Slowly the murmurs subsided. Red-faced and close to tears, the girl knelt upon the floor, trying to gather up the pieces of the broken jug from amidst the soaking rushes, and she was soon joined by some of the other servants as the lords cleared a circle around them.

  ‘Let me remind you that Lord Guillaume is speaking,’ the Wolf added. ‘You would do well to pay heed to what he has to say, unless you want to find yourselves at the wrong end of the enemy’s spears.’

  Despite his youth, he had a certain presence about him. In fact in many ways he reminded me of Eadgar, who was around the same age: a couple of years younger in fact,
for the?theling was said to be only eighteen. Both were solidly built and so far as I could judge shared a similar character, bold of speech and unafraid of confrontation in a way that belied their cunning.

  ‘Thank you, Hugues,’ Fitz Osbern said, though I sensed he did not entirely appreciate the younger man’s intervention. The hall began to settle once more as the servants clearing up the remains of the wine-jug disappeared back into the kitchens.

  The Wolf inclined his head politely, with a solemnity that would have befitted a grey-bearded archbishop performing the holy sacrament, not a man of twenty. On the other side of the dais I noticed Beatrice lean across and whisper something in Robert’s ear. Whatever it was she said, it caused a smile to break out across his face, though he did not say anything in reply.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Fitz Osbern went on, ‘the princes Maredudd and Ithel have come seeking our help, and I intend to offer it to them. Not only are they enemies of those who would destroy us and everything we have fought these past four years to gain, but they are also enemies of the usurper, for it was Harold Godwineson who slew their father.’

  He waited in case there was any further dissent, but this time none was forthcoming.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘the only question left is about the best means of taking the fight to the enemy across the dyke. To that end I have deliberated in council with these men sitting here with me, and with the Welsh princes also. At our reckoning we have now between us an army three thousand strong with which to defend the March.’

  I glanced uncertainly at Wace and Eudo, who had found me in the middle of the crowd, and they returned the same look. It was a significantly smaller host than we’d had at Eoferwic last year.

  ‘These three thousand, lord,’ said a man in a scarlet tunic, a stout figure with a thick beard. ‘Are they all fighting men?’

  The question was worth asking, for not all of those who travelled with a host were warriors. As well as knights, spearmen and archers every lord brought several members of his own household: servants such as the twins Snocca and Cnebba I had brought with me, grooms and stable-hands, shield-carriers, leech-doctors, chaplains, armourers and bladesmiths to fix broken hauberks and shattered swords. While many of them could probably hold a spear and stand in the shield-wall if called to, that was not where their skills lay, and they could not be relied upon.

  The hall fell silent for the first time as we waited for Fitz Osbern to answer. But he did not speak, not to begin with at any rate, instead exchanging glances with the other men on the dais.

  ‘Are they all fighting men, lord?’ repeated the bearded man.

  If Fitz Osbern took offence at the prompt, he did not show it. ‘No, Berengar,’ he replied flatly, his gaze unflinching. ‘No, they are not.’

  All at once the barons were up in arms; those who had been sitting on the benches at the sides were on their feet. The Wolf was shouting, demanding silence, while Robert stood with arms outstretched in a calming gesture. But Fitz Osbern simply sat there upon his throne, with the composure and patience of a king before his subjects, waiting for the uproar to die away once more.

  At a guess that meant we had no more than fifteen hundred spearmen at our disposal, around half that many knights, and perhaps two hundred archers. I turned to Eudo and Wace, who were standing beside me. ‘How does he expect us to fight off the enemy with so few?’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t,’ Wace suggested. ‘Maybe he’s waiting for reinforcements to arrive from Lundene.’

  ‘I doubt King Guillaume will be able to send him any,’ Eudo said. ‘With the Danes about to sail in the next months he’ll need every man he can muster defending the coast along the German Sea.’

  That was where he and Wace would have preferred to be, too, I didn’t wonder: close to their estates that not only provided the source of their wealth but were also their homes, as Earnford was mine. Instead they could only hope to God that no harm came to them, and trust that if the Danes did come the king could repulse them swiftly, before they could wreak any significant damage.

  ‘How then, lord,’ said the one called Berengar, ‘do you propose we defend our manors against an enemy that some are saying have mustered a greater host than anyone since the usurper himself?’

  ‘Our spies have been tracking both Rhiwallon and Bleddyn in the last few weeks while they’ve travelled from place to place, mustering support amongst their people,’ Fitz Osbern said. ‘They believe the enemy have no more than fifteen hundred men ready to march.’

  ‘Your spies be damned!’ Berengar spat upon the rushes. ‘If you believed that then you would not have brought us here from all quarters of the March. What about those raiding-parties that are already afield, that have been harassing our lands for months? Do your spies know how many they number?’

  I waited for the moment when Fitz Osbern’s fury would spill over, when he would order his knights to remove this man from the hall, but it never came.

  ‘No, they don’t,’ he said calmly. ‘But they know a lot more than you, Berengar, so believe me when I tell you this. And believe me, too, when I tell you that the next time you open your mouth out of turn, I will not be so forbearing. Hold your tongue from now on, unless you wish to see it cut from your mouth.’ He looked around at the rest of us. ‘Dare I ask whether any of you have more to add, or may I now speak?’

  As I saw it, though, Berengar’s only mistake had been to let his temper get the better of him. His point was well made, yet Fitz Osbern had failed to answer it. He would not have gathered us here in this hall if he truly thought we faced a host of only fifteen hundred.

  ‘I wish to say something,’ I called out, almost without realising it. I found myself striding forward, forcing my way through to the front of the crowd. Men grumbled as I pushed them aside.

  ‘Tancred,’ Robert said warningly, half rising from his chair. I was not about to listen to him, or anyone.

  ‘Lord,’ I said, addressing Fitz Osbern directly in spite of the disquiet rippling about the hall. Suddenly I was aware of everyone’s gazes resting upon me. Blood pounded in my skull and my heartbeat sounded through my entire body, but I would not back down now. ‘Many of us here hold land along the dyke. Our manors will be the first the enemy lay waste. How are we supposed to defend the whole length of the borderland with so few men?’

  A hush fell across the hall, but he did not answer, not at first. Instead he looked at me, frowning as the torchlight reflected off his balding pate. ‘I know you. Or at least, your face is familiar, which means we have no doubt met before.’ He glanced at Robert. ‘He is one of your vassals, I assume.’

  ‘Yes, lord,’ Robert answered. ‘This is Tancred a Dinant: the man who led the band that opened the gates to us at Eoferwic, who faced Eadgar?theling single-handedly upon the bridge and almost killed him.’

  ‘Tancred,’ Fitz Osbern repeated, as if mulling it over. ‘The Breton. Of course, I remember now. Your exploits are well known to me. As I recall, you used to be sworn to the Earl of Northumbria before his death last year.’

  ‘I was,’ I replied, though I did not see how that was important.

  He paused as if in thought, leaning on one of the throne’s gleaming armrests and resting his chin on top of his fist. ‘You say that we do not have the men to defend the entire March, and I think that you are right. Nonetheless, here in Scrobbesburh we are less than three days from Hereford, and two at most from Ceastre. Wherever the enemy decide to attack, as soon as they cross the dyke we will hear of it. When that happens, we will march straightaway and come upon them in force before they even know it.’

  ‘In the few days it would take us to catch up with them they could have ravaged half the March, burnt our halls and butchered our livestock,’ I countered. ‘You would let them do that while we sit here on our arses?’

  Fitz Osbern narrowed his eyes. ‘Do I take it that you have something better in mind?’

  It was not my place to argue with him, and so far he had indulged my interruption, but
I could sense he was tiring now. If I wanted to make myself heard, I would have to be quick about it.

  ‘Yes, lord,’ I said, meeting his gaze. ‘I say we attack them, and attack them now.’

  For a moment no one spoke, either unable to believe what I had just said or else stunned by my lack of respect. Outside the doors, the rain could still be heard pounding down upon the bailey; the thatch of that great hall rustled and the wind whistled as it passed through the cracks in the timber walls, causing a cold draught that the hangings could not keep out, which made the torch-flames gutter.

  ‘Attack them?’ someone said at last, and as I turned to face him I saw that it was Berengar.

  ‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘If they’re still waiting for their full force to gather, then at the very least we should be harrying them, not waiting for them to come to us.’

  ‘Enough, Tancred,’ said Robert. ‘This is not the time-’

  Fitz Osbern raised a hand to silence him. ‘I would hear what he has to say. What do you suggest we do?’

  This last was directed at me. I had not thought this far. But I could feel the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes upon me, and a hundred sets of ears were waiting to find out what I would say next.

  ‘Speak!’ a man said, and I didn’t know whether he was encouraging or goading me.

  Another chimed in: ‘Perhaps he’s lost his voice!’

  At that there was laughter. Usually I did not much care for being mocked, but I resisted the urge to challenge those men, for it gave me the moment I needed to think.