Conquest 03 - Knights of the Hawk

by James Aitcheson

  ‘And Hereward was content simply to bend his knee and let your uncle assume the leadership?’

  Godric shook his head. ‘For days he refused even to meet him or speak to his envoys. Had his been the only decision that mattered, I think he might have turned us away.’

  Perhaps he was less clever than I had supposed. ‘Are you telling me he was willing to deprive himself and the rebellion of twelve hundred men?’

  Had he done so, then the course of this war might have been very different. One thing was certain: we would not still be here now.

  ‘He dreams of glory,’ Godric explained. ‘He hates your people for stealing his lands and those of his countrymen, for despoiling the kingdom. He wants his name to pass into legend as the man who won England back for its people.’

  At that I laughed so hard I almost choked, and Pons and Serlo, riding ahead of me, both shot me bemused looks over their shoulders. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘So his retainers say. They claim that St Æthelthryth, whose remains are buried beneath the church at Elyg, appeared to him in a dream and charged him with protecting the Isle and with destroying King Guillaume.’

  ‘And he believes this?’

  ‘He seems to. He certainly thinks highly enough of himself. Every time I see him at Elyg he is parading himself like a king. He wraps himself in fine-spun cloaks trimmed with otter fur, and everywhere he goes he is accompanied by a retinue dozens strong.’

  I shook my head in disbelief, although as ridiculous as it sounded, men had been known to convince themselves of far stranger things.

  ‘How did Morcar manage to persuade him to swear his allegiance, then?’ I asked.

  ‘He didn’t, lord.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  ‘It was Hereward’s own friends who convinced him. Siward Bearn, Bishop Æthelwine, Thurcytel and all the other thegns. Together they spoke to him and made him see that my uncle would make the better leader.’

  That was no small feat, especially considering that it had been Hereward who had led this rebellion from the beginning. To hand it over to someone else’s command – and, worse, to have those he’d previously considered among his staunchest supporters conspire to wrest the leadership from him – must have seemed a tremendous insult.

  ‘Pride,’ I murmured. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’

  ‘What, lord?’

  ‘That’s why he continues to burn a swathe through the marsh country. He’s proud. He wants his name to be known. Now that Morcar has taken his place, he feels he has to prove himself, and this is how he does it.’

  I imagined the fire raging inside his heart: a fire sparked both by the enemy besieging him, and by his own countrymen for having undermined and betrayed him. He could just as easily have sent his sworn swords out to wreak the same destruction, but instead he chose to risk his own hide and lead these raids in person: so that he could show himself to be doing something of worth, and give enemies and allies alike cause to respect and fear him.

  He and I were more similar than I’d realised. We both strove for recognition for our deeds, and struggled against the weighty oaths that bound us. Both of us had at one time led whole armies into the field, yet now found ourselves in somewhat humbler circumstances, lacking the respect we craved and which for a while at least we had commanded. But pride could be a dangerous thing. It could make a man blind to reason and at the same time sow the seeds of his own destruction.

  ‘If what you’re saying is true, and he sees himself as the man who will drive us all back across the Narrow Sea,’ I asked, ‘why is it that we haven’t heard of him before now? Where has he been these past five years?’

  Godric shrugged. ‘No one knows.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He and his retainers claim he fought both at Hæstinges as well as under Eadgar Ætheling’s banner, but no one who was there on those campaigns remembers seeing him. Some say he took ship with a band of Danes shortly after the invasion and has been raiding across the German Sea, and others that he stayed in England, where he roamed the forests, waylaying travellers on the roads and growing rich on the spoils.’

  The feared Hereward was little better than a bandit, then, albeit one with pretensions to greatness. Not that that made him any less dangerous; the fires burning in the distance were testament to that. I continued to watch the silent smoke rising, its tendrils coiling around one another and turning the blue skies raven-black: his warning to us. I knew then that there would be no mercy, and that whether or not Morcar held true to his word, this was a struggle that we would be fortunate to survive.

  It was near sunset by the time we finally reached Alrehetha and the newly built guardhouse that stood watch over the marshes. The ground was too soft for any castle worth the name to be erected, and so in place of a mound and tower a simple ringwork had been erected, not unlike the hill forts that the ancient folk had left behind them and which we often saw on our travels around the kingdom. A stout palisade ran the length of the circuit, atop low earthen banks, at the foot of which lay broad ditches, in some places as much as fifty feet wide, into which the fen-water had been channelled, so that any would-be attacker would first have to swim beneath a hail of arrows before beginning his assault.

  Not that we expected any such attack. The enemy had nothing to gain and everything to lose by sallying from the Isle. Defending the opposite shore of the marsh, running along a ridge of higher ground, stood stout ramparts and palisades, behind which the enemy were no doubt watching and making ready to repel our assault. Between them and us lay two miles of gold-glistening fen, and so I couldn’t judge the condition of those defences or of the men who held them, but even without seeing them at close hand I knew it was a hard task that we faced. I wondered how many men the enemy had posted there, and whether they feared the battle to come, as we did, or whether they believed in the power of St Æthelthryth to lend strength to their sword-arms and, in Hereward, to give them someone who would deliver them victory.

  In the morning I ventured down to the marsh’s edge together with Robert, Eudo and Wace to see for ourselves the bridge about which so much had been said, and upon which rested any hope we had of capturing Elyg. To call it a bridge was, to speak honestly, to give it a grander name than it deserved, for it wasn’t a single structure but many, linked together to form a continuous path from our shore, by way of a few patches of dry ground that stood proud of the fen, to the Isle. Where the marsh was shallowest, dykes had been built up from gravel and earth before being overlaid with turf, or else sturdy posts had been driven into the marsh-bed to support timber causeways. Across the deeper parts, meanwhile, rowing boats, barges and makeshift rafts made from barrels had been lashed together, and then wooden planks secured across the top of them, so that they formed pontoons perhaps thirty or forty paces in length. These were then linked with rope and chain so that together they made a kind of floating road.

  ‘Will it hold?’ Eudo asked as we led our horses out along those pontoons, towards the largest of the islets, which stood roughly midway between the two shores. ‘All it needs is for one of those boats to start leaking, or for a few of those posts to give way, and the whole thing could sink into the marshes, and us with it.’

  ‘It’ll hold,’ Robert said, although he did not sound entirely convinced. Neither was I, as the timbers creaked beneath Fyrheard’s hooves. He was anxious, too, his steps tentative, but I rubbed his muzzle in reassurance and kept a firm grasp upon the reins. The last thing I wanted was for him to panic on first sight of the bridge and the water, and so it was important that he grew accustomed to them before I took to the saddle. Fortunately the causeways were wide enough for three and, in a very few places, four horsemen to ride abreast without difficulty. Even so, for now we went in single file as we approached the islet, where a stout mangonel was mounted on a square platform that also served as a watchtower, one of several that had been built along the length of the bridge. All sedge and undergrowth within twenty paces had been cut
and cleared, so that the enemy couldn’t try to set fire to the structure as before. Nevertheless, even a small band armed with axes could wreak considerable damage in a short space of time, which was why companies of archers had been posted, both here on this island and on those other watchtowers, to observe the marsh by day and by night and to dissuade the rebels from coming too close.

  Only when we grew a little closer did I realise that I recognised some of the faces among those archers, and one ruddy-cheeked face in particular. Hamo. He stood atop the watchtower, laughing with his friends while at the same time gnawing on a bone that looked like it had once belonged to a chicken or some other bird, but when he spotted us approaching he tossed it into the bog.

  ‘You owe us, Robert Malet,’ he shouted from behind the parapet. ‘Do you hear me? You still owe us for the part we played in your little expedition.’

  ‘You’ll have your money in time,’ Robert called back as we neared the foot of the tower. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘As soon as King Guillaume pays me.’

  ‘That’s no good to me or my men. Don’t forget that we risked our necks for your sake.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear what he said?’ I asked. ‘You’ll have your money in time.’

  ‘You have my oath,’ Robert said sternly. ‘In return, I ask that you have patience.’

  Hamo spat across the parapet; his spittle landed a few paces in front of us.

  ‘Words,’ he said, sneering firstly at me and then at Robert. ‘That is all oaths are. But a man can’t live on words. I want what was promised to me. I want my share of the reward for the capture of that English runt. I know who he is, remember, and how much he’s worth, too, so don’t think for a moment about trying to cheat me. Where is he now, in any case?’

  We’d left the English runt, as Hamo called him, back at camp in the care of some of Robert’s household knights, who were spending the morning in the training yard that they’d marked out, honing their skills ahead of the battle to come, practising with wicker shields, oak cudgels and spear-hafts from which the heads had been removed. As we’d left they’d been busy teaching Godric some simple stances, cuts and thrusts. From what little I’d seen he was an enthusiastic learner, if not an especially quick one. Clumsy on his feet, he often lost his balance, which resulted in him opening up his guard and ending up on his face in the dirt, much to the laughter and cheers of the others. Not that he seemed to mind; rather he took it all in good humour, each time raising himself with a sheepish grin before resuming his stance. Now that the threat of imminent death no longer hung over him, he seemed less afraid in our presence. And he showed determination too, which was important, for it took years of practice to make a warrior, if indeed that was his ambition. Whether he would ever fulfil it, I wasn’t sure. I’d seen boys three years younger more proficient at arms, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d barely picked up a blade in all the time he had spent under Morcar’s tutelage. But as I’d watched him stumble backwards, arms flailing, before finally landing on his arse in a puddle, I found myself in a strange sort of way warming to him. Ungainly he might be, but there was something in him that reminded me of myself at that young age, though I couldn’t quite work out what that was.

  ‘Why should it matter to you where Godric is?’ Robert asked.

  ‘He lives, though?’ Hamo asked in return.

  ‘Yes, and he is under our protection.’

  The big-bellied man gave a curt laugh. ‘Your protection? Since when did we start offering shelter to the enemy?’

  ‘Since King Guillaume ordered it,’ I cut in, tiring of this exchange. I was trying to decide whom I disliked more: Hamo or Atselin. ‘Now, do you like the taste of sharpened steel? If so, keep talking and I’ll ram my blade down your throat. Otherwise leave us in peace.’

  That shut him up. After a final sneer in our direction, he turned away from the parapet towards his comrades, who were still sniggering, although whether at our exchange or at some private joke, I couldn’t tell.

  We continued on our way. Even now, men were working on various sections of the bridge: revetting the dykes with timber to hold the earth more firmly in place; and repairing parts that had slipped away into the bogs – tipping gravel and stones into the breaches, and then shovelling soil on top of that foundation and packing it so that it was even and firm.

  ‘This is a foolish idea,’ Eudo said, shaking his head as we passed those labourers. ‘If these banks are already collapsing under their own weight, think what will happen when a thousand mailed knights are riding over them.’

  ‘It’ll hold,’ Robert repeated. ‘The king has summoned his best engineers from Normandy to oversee the work. They have knowledge of these things. We have to trust in their expertise.’

  Eudo returned a grim expression.

  ‘Robert’s right,’ I said. ‘If the bridge were to collapse and we lose this war because of it, then their lives will be forfeit. They won’t fail.’

  I could only pray that their work was finished before we made our assault, which could now be only a few days away at most. Thus far there had been no word, only rumour, but restraint was not a quality that men often ascribed to King Guillaume. He would be hungry for battle, eager to let his fuller run with the blood of those who dared defy him, and for that reason many, myself among them, suspected it would not be long.

  Soon we came to what was, for now at least, the final stretch of the bridge, for it came to an abrupt end a few hundred paces short of the Isle. In front of us stretched a wide, glistening mere.

  ‘And how are we meant to cross the rest of the way?’ asked Wace as he scratched at his injured eye. ‘Does he mean us to swim?’

  ‘The plan is for our foot-serjeants, spearmen and archers to lead the attack,’ Robert explained. ‘They’ll cross the fen in punts and rowing boats and hold the enemy at bay while the last few boat-bridges are drawn into position. Once they’re secured, the way will be clear for the rest of us to begin the assault proper.’

  Eudo snorted. ‘Is there no simpler way of doing this?’

  ‘If there were, don’t you think someone would have suggested it by now?’ Robert replied tersely.

  We gazed out across the marshes in silence. On a ridge of higher ground perhaps a quarter of a mile to the north rose the enemy’s ramparts, twice as high as the ones surrounding our own guardhouse, I reckoned. Arrayed atop them were banners in all colours and sizes and shapes, with designs that at this distance I couldn’t make out, all flapping resplendently in the breeze. Beneath those banners were hundreds upon hundreds of glinting shield-bosses and helmets, men in mail and men without, their spearpoints gleaming, in a line that stretched the entire length of the wall. Watching us.

  ‘All I know is that I don’t want to find myself in the leading conroi,’ I said. ‘If those boat-bridges aren’t properly secured, whoever arrives upon them first is going to find himself a watery grave.’

  Even now I recalled only too well the screams of those who had perished when the original causeway collapsed, as the weight of their mail dragged them beneath the murky waters. Fyrheard only needed to lose his footing or to panic for the briefest of moments, and I might find myself sharing the same fate.

  I glanced at the others. Their faces bore grim expressions, and I could tell they were all of the same mind. All except for Robert, that was, who alone would not meet my gaze.

  I knew him well enough by then to be able to sense when something was amiss. ‘What is it, lord?’

  ‘I ought to have told you sooner.’

  ‘Told us what, lord?’ asked Wace.

  ‘I spoke with the king earlier this morning,’ said Robert, shaking his head. ‘I did my utmost to try to change his mind, but he wouldn’t listen—’

  He broke off and turned away to look out across the glittering marshes.

  ‘Whatever it is, say it,’ I said impatiently, even though I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know.

&nbs
p; ‘Very well. This is what I have learnt.’ He glanced at each of us in turn. ‘As reward for your good service, and for your efforts in delivering Godric to him and bargaining with Earl Morcar, the king has decided to grant us the honour of leading the army across the bridge.’

  Eudo swore under his breath. Wace shook his head, as if denying what we were all hearing. I just stood there, powerless to speak or move or do anything at all, feeling numb as a chill crept across my skin and worked its way into my bones. I had always hoped that when my end came, it would be a noble one: that I would die with sword in hand and battle-joy coursing through my limbs, fighting to the last for a cause that I believed in. This way, however, we were as likely to perish from being swallowed up by the swamp as upon the spears and swords of the enemy.

  I spat upon the ground. ‘This is no reward. He might as well string us up and leave us to hang!’

  ‘Haven’t we done enough already, lord?’ Eudo asked.

  ‘Even assuming that we make it across the bridge without injury,’ Wace said, ‘we’ll have the enemy ramparts to contend with, and then their shield-wall, with no possibility of retreat if things go badly. We’ll be dead three times over before we get the chance to lay a scratch upon them.’

  ‘I do not pretend to understand the king’s mind,’ Robert said. ‘Would that things were otherwise, but these are his wishes.’

  ‘This is how he repays us?’ I asked, doing my best to restrain my anger. ‘Were it not for us, he would now be facing almost certain defeat. Provided that Morcar holds true to his word, we still stand a chance of winning this campaign and finally bringing an end to this rebellion.’

  ‘He realises that,’ said Robert. ‘And he is grateful—’

  ‘He has a strange way of showing it,’ Eudo muttered.

  ‘Let me ask you this, lord,’ I said. ‘He has more than a thousand knights at his disposal, and yet out of all of them he chooses us. Why?’

  ‘Because he has seen what you can accomplish. Because you have all three of you proven your worth in his eyes. And because he believes there is no one better to spearhead the attack and break the enemy lines than the men who opened the gates and fought the ætheling at Eoferwic; the same men who last year ventured into the heart of the enemy camp at Beferlic, who risked their hides to save mine and those of my kin, who helped to rout the Danes and force them to make terms.’