The Splintered Kingdom c-2

by James Aitcheson

  ‘I suggest a double-pronged campaign,’ I answered as the laughter began to die away, raising my voice so that everyone could hear me. ‘We separate our host into three: one part to remain here, guarding Scrobbesburh, while the other two cross into Wales, raiding north and south of where the enemy have their camp, distracting them and forcing them to do battle before they’re ready.’

  That provoked a murmur. It was often said that only a fool chose to divide his forces, and indeed it was a risky strategy, for each part was then weakened and thus easier to defeat individually. But those who had seen as many battles as I had knew that often that risk could turn to advantage, since few commanders were ever so adventurous as to attempt such a strategy, and as a result the enemy rarely expected it.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Berengar. ‘We don’t have to put up with this nonsense.’

  I stared at him, uncomprehending, since I’d thought that we were of one mind in this. His comrades roared in agreement, while others jeered and hurled insults at me, saying that I knew nothing, calling me reckless and a worthless son of a whore and many other things that I could only partly make out.

  ‘We divided our forces at Eoferwic,’ I pointed out, having to shout to make myself heard. ‘It brought us victory there.’

  With luck that ought to make Fitz Osbern listen. He was the one who had led the second assault on the city, and had made it work, too. In so doing he’d turned what had been a desperate struggle into a rout for the?theling and his host. And it seemed that many present had also been in that battle, since from the back of the hall at last came some cheers of support, which quickly spread as Wace and Eudo added their voices to the din, and suddenly the entire hall was rising, lending their support to my cause or else shouting in protest, and in the centre of it all I found myself smiling.

  Fitz Osbern conversed with the Wolf, who was sitting at his right hand, though I could not hear what was being said, and then Robert added something to which the other two nodded. I glanced at Beatrice, who until now had merely sat and listened, showing not so much as a flicker of a reaction. Now she was smiling too, no doubt amused at the sight of so many full-grown men squabbling like children.

  Fitz Osbern rose to his feet, bringing the council to order at last. ‘We shall now discuss this matter in confidence,’ he said, gesturing at the men sitting to either side of him. ‘Tomorrow I will send further word, but in the meantime you may return to your men and tell them everything that has been said here tonight.’

  Had I lost or won? I stood, confused, as the other lords made for the great doors at the far end of the hall, grumbling amongst themselves. I was about to follow when I heard Robert calling my name.

  I turned. ‘What, lord?’

  ‘You will come with us.’

  His face was stern, his mouth set in displeasure, and a sinking feeling overcame me. Presumably this was my punishment for having spoken so rashly. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed Berengar smirking, but his satisfaction was short-lived.

  ‘And you,’ Robert said to him sharply. ‘Fitz Osbern wishes to speak with you both.’

  This time I was the one to smirk at him, and he returned a cold stare, as if this were somehow all my fault.

  ‘We’ll see you back at the camp,’ Wace called, to which Eudo added with a laugh: ‘If Fitz Osbern doesn’t eat you alive, that is.’

  I shot them a sarcastic look, but no retort came to my tongue. Robert was beckoning for us to follow him and the other great lords through the embroidered drapes behind the dais, and I had no choice but to leave Eudo and Wace.

  Beatrice was standing by the curtain. ‘That was foolishness if I ever saw it,’ she said, falling into step beside me. Her admonition was betrayed by her smile, and that cheered me a little, though not quite enough to bring one to my own face, since I knew that behind that smile lay hope. Hope that could only lead to hurt, for I could not return what she felt.

  ‘At least I entertain you,’ I answered stiffly as we ducked beneath the hanging drapes into the small antechamber behind the hall.

  She must have noticed the coldness in my manner for she regarded me with a questioning look.

  ‘The hour is growing late,’ she said. ‘I should retire. Hopefully our paths will cross again soon.’

  ‘I’m sure of it, my lady,’ I replied in as neutral a tone as I could manage.

  She bade a quick farewell to her brother, making her apologies to Earl Hugues, the castellan Roger and Fitz Osbern before taking her cloak from her maidservant who must have been waiting: not Papia this time, I noticed, but a plumper girl with dark features and a sullen look about her.

  And then she was gone. I felt a stab of anger at myself. I hadn’t meant to seem unfriendly, but what else could I have said?

  Fitz Osbern bade his wife a good night and then gestured for us to be seated. A round table stood in the middle of the chamber with several chairs arranged around it. Berengar took one, as did I, making sure that I sat opposite from him where I could keep a close watch over him. No doubt he was thinking likewise, since his narrow eyes were fixed upon me.

  ‘What?’ I asked, but he said nothing.

  Fitz Osbern was still standing, his hands planted firmly on the table in front of him. ‘Now,’ he said to myself and Berengar. ‘Under other circumstances I would reproach the two of you for your outbursts. However, since there are more pressing matters at hand, on this occasion I am willing to forgive such indiscretions, providing that you listen to what I have to say.’

  He paused, making sure that we had heard, before addressing everyone: ‘I believe a suggestion was put forward for a twin-pronged campaign against the Welsh. What we must all agree upon is how we should proceed from here, and how our forces are best to be divided.’

  For a moment I was taken by surprise. I had assumed that my proposal was to go unheard.

  Berengar was the first to speak. ‘I don’t believe this, lord. Why are you listening to him? What right does he have to dictate how our host should be disposed?’

  ‘None at all,’ Fitz Osbern replied. ‘But I do. I am persuaded of the plan’s merits and that, as far as you are concerned, is all that need matter. I will gladly listen to any alternative proposals if you have them, but as I see it our best approach is this: for one smaller party to move quickly from the south, the aim being to penetrate deep into Powys and raid far and wide across their country, to seize cattle and burn their crops and so deprive them of resources, and to otherwise divide their attention. Meanwhile a second, larger host will march into Gwynedd to the north, descending upon the enemy while, with any luck, they are distracted.’

  ‘How many men do you intend to send on each of these expeditions?’ asked the castellan, Roger de Montgommeri: the first words I had heard emerge from his lips all evening. He spoke slowly, but not in a dim-witted way; rather in a calculating manner, which lent him a certain presence in spite of his less-than-imposing stature.

  ‘No more than a thousand and a half in the northern party, and five hundred in the southern,’ Fitz Osbern answered. ‘Among the latter will be the brothers Maredudd and Ithel together with a contingent of their own men. They will have their kingdoms eventually, but before they do, they must first prove their worth to us. Their knowledge of the land will prove invaluable besides.’

  ‘Which means you plan to leave around another four hundred in reserve this side of the dyke,’ said the castellan, frowning slightly as if musing aloud.

  ‘I believe that ought to be sufficient to defend Scrobbesburh if required.’

  Sufficient to hold the castle, probably, but whether it would be enough to prevent the enemy from taking the town, I was less certain. Still, it seemed unlikely that the Welsh would march upon Scrobbesburh itself, since they would surely need to rout both of our other forces first, or else they would leave themselves with an enemy in their rear.

  ‘And who do you suggest should lead these attacks?’ asked Robert.

  The question was meant for
Fitz Osbern but it was Earl Hugues who spoke first. ‘I will head the northern advance,’ he said, glancing about the table as if daring anyone to defy him. ‘Gwynedd borders upon my earldom; it is my responsibility if it is anyone’s.’

  ‘I have no objection,’ said Fitz Osbern. He would, I suspected, be more than glad to send the Wolf hunting elsewhere — far enough away at least that the younger man would not be constantly barking at his heels. ‘As for the command of the other raiding-party, I invite any of the rest of you to put yourselves forward if you so wish.’

  There was silence, and I could see why. Should the plan succeed and the Welsh be defeated, the honour conferred upon the men commanding each raiding-party would be considerable. And yet of the two, this one carried by far the greater risk, since it would be marching into the enemy heartland, many miles from any castle or other fastness, far even beyond the safety of the dyke. Not only that, but such a small band could easily find itself exposed with little hope of retreat, and in such a situation one’s very life might well be forfeit.

  And yet if I’d learnt anything in my years it was that life was rarely without danger in one form or another. Oftimes the best thing a man could do was embrace it.

  ‘I will lead them,’ I said.

  Eleven

  Only after I’d spoken did it strike me how self-important those words made me sound, and how foolish too. Next to me Robert was frowning, shaking his head slowly. Once more, all eyes were upon me.

  ‘You?’ Berengar asked. ‘What makes you think you can command such a force?’

  ‘Peace, Berengar,’ said Fitz Osbern from the head of the table. ‘I can think of no one better suited for the task.’

  But Berengar would not listen. He rose to his feet, his expression one of indignance and disgust. ‘You would have him lead this raiding-band?’

  ‘I see no reason why not,’ Fitz Osbern said mildly, as if the matter were of little account, and the idea that anyone else should take charge were ridiculous.

  ‘Surely someone with more experience is needed for an undertaking such as this,’ Berengar said. ‘What has he done to merit this?’

  To tell the truth his doubts were well placed, though he could not have known it. Never before in all my years of campaigning had I ridden at the head of such an army. Under my old lord I had commanded a whole conroi, and sometimes more than one; when his horse was killed beneath him during the feigned flight at H?stinges I was the one who had rallied his men, all threescore of them, and held off the enemy hordes who pursued us. That was not quite the same thing, admittedly, yet even so I had no doubt that I was capable.

  ‘Do you have someone better in mind?’ Fitz Osbern asked Berengar. ‘Perhaps you would be willing to take charge of the expedition yourself?’

  Berengar opened his mouth as if to protest, but then obviously thought better of it and shut it again. I could see he was torn: on the one hand was the promise of honour and fame, while on the other was the knowledge that should he fail, whatever reputation he had would be tarnished for ever. He gazed down at the table, hardly blinking, his lips set firm.

  Fitz Osbern was not about to let him back down so easily. ‘Well, what is your answer?’

  ‘Lord. .’ Berengar said, and I could see from the frown on his face that he was having to choose his words carefully. ‘If I may say, this whole idea is foolishness. You would send close to two thousand men out into the wilds beyond the dyke, into country that few Frenchmen have ever dared set foot in. If those men are lost, what then?’

  ‘With every week that passes the Welsh are gathering their strength,’ Earl Hugues put in. ‘If we simply wait for them to come to us then there is no guarantee that we’ll be able to hold them off. Were you not the first to point that out?’

  Fitz Osbern nodded, for once it seemed agreeing with the Wolf. ‘Certainly this will be no easy task, Berengar, but I think you rather overestimate the enemy. Since you will not put yourself forward, though, it is of little consequence.’ He turned his attention to me. ‘I believe that Tancred has experience enough. Indeed for the hero of Eoferwic — the man who led the charge against Eadgar?theling, who dared to fight him in single combat — I imagine that the command of a small raiding-party such as this should be a straightforward proposition.’

  It seemed I would be forever branded with that feat, despite the fact that it had been borne not from courage but from stupidity, even if I were the only one who understood that. Nevertheless, I sensed a challenge in Fitz Osbern’s words; one that was difficult to back down from. It was only due to his sufferance that I’d been allowed to speak at all this evening. Now I was being presented with the chance for honour and glory greater than any I had won before. Yet if I withdrew my offer then I would be seen as a coward and would lose all the respect I had worked so hard to gain.

  ‘It is your choice,’ said Fitz Osbern, perhaps sensing my hesitance. ‘Should you wish to decline then I am sure I can find other men who would be only too willing to carry out this task.’

  His manner suggested indifference, but I knew he meant it not as a reassurance but as an incitement. There would be no other opportunity like this for some time, if ever. A year spent out here on the Marches had not dulled my yearning for battle. Far from it: the hunger raged inside me and my sword-hand itched with the prospect of adventure.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Tancred,’ Robert warned. ‘Remember, you are under no obligation to accept.’

  ‘Robert is right,’ said Fitz Osbern, his eyes boring into me. ‘You do not owe me anything.’

  Nevertheless my mind was set. This was my chance to take the attack to the enemy, to help put an end to the ceaseless raids which had troubled Earnford and everywhere else along the borderlands; a chance, too, to see the black hawk soar proudly as it had not done in over a year, and to lead conrois beneath its wings. Knowing all that, there was only one answer I could give.

  ‘I will do this, lord,’ I said.

  Again a flicker of a smile crossed his face, which surprised me, for Guillaume fitz Osbern was not a man generally known for his humour. Still, his was not a friendly smile but rather one of satisfaction, as if he had expected nothing less from me. As if he had somehow known that I alone of everyone in this chamber would be willing to accept this responsibility, perilous as it was.

  A smile that somehow told, in a manner I could not quite understand, of quiet victory.

  We made ready to march the next day as soon as first light graced the eastern skies. The last thing Fitz Osbern wanted was for the enemy to get wind of our strategy, which meant that the sooner we could strike, the better. Across the camp men were waking, fires were being lit, horses were being fed. All this I watched from the other side of the river, by the barrow mound that I had chosen as our mustering point. The morning was chill, the wind rising, and I pulled my cloak more tightly around me, folding my arms in front of my chest as I paced about with Serlo and Pons and Turold, waiting for the rest of my party to assemble.

  In all I was to be given command of half a thousand fighting men: a conroi of forty from Fitz Osbern’s household, as well as countless lesser lords together with their followers, many of whom I recognised for those who had lent their voices in my support the previous night. Included in that number were half the troops brought by the exiled Welsh brothers Maredudd and Ithel. As armies went it was far from the largest I had ever ridden in, but then our purpose was not to face the enemy in open battle if we could possibly avoid it. Instead we would travel quickly, laying waste as widely as possible, with any luck distracting the enemy while Earl Hugues’s host marched upon them in force from the north.

  That, at least, was the plan; we would soon see how successful it proved. Nonetheless, I had confidence in the Wolf in spite of his age. No sooner had Fitz Osbern dismissed us all from his council than the earl had come over in person to wish me luck.

  ‘You are a brave man,’ he told me. ‘Few would dare accept such a risky enterprise. I wanted to let it be kno
wn that you have my respect.’

  To hear such words from one so young seemed strange, and were he not already one of the kingdom’s foremost barons and an accomplished leader of men, I might have laughed. Instead I fought against the urge, knowing that it would do me no favours.

  ‘Thank you, lord.’

  He clasped my hand. ‘God willing, one day we will ride together. You can tell me the stories of your exploits then. With luck there will be many more to tell once this is over.’

  I managed a smile. ‘I look forward to it,’ I said, though at the same time I wasn’t sure if I quite meant it. There was something that unnerved me about him, though exactly what was difficult to say. Was it his brashness, his self-assurance? Perhaps, but then those were traits shared by many men who lived by the sword. Was it that he reminded me of what I had been like at the same age?

  That was the previous night. Now the sun would soon be rising, and when it did I wanted to be ready to march. Not far from where I was standing our Welsh allies were busy striking camp, though I had sent word that they should leave behind whatever they did not need, which in most cases meant everything except for their clothes, a few provisions, their armour and their weapons. I wanted us to travel as light as possible, for then we could cover more ground, and for the same reason I had ordered that there were to be no camp-followers who might slow us down.

  The Welsh brothers had spotted me by then, and now they strode over to greet me. Both of them spoke French — enough at least that they could make themselves understood — which was just as well, since I knew barely any Welsh and I was of no mind to start learning now.

  ‘You’re the man we have heard so much about, then,’ Maredudd said after we had made our introductions. He was the taller of the two and, I guessed, the older, although in truth it was hard to tell. His cheeks were freckled and, unlike most Welshmen I had met, his top lip was unadorned with any trace of a moustache. ‘The Breton.’