The Splintered Kingdom

by James Aitcheson

  Several of the men fixed me with cold stares and spat on the ground when I approached.

  ‘You,’ one said, rising to block my way. Broad-shouldered and brusque in manner, I recognised him for Ansculf, the captain of Robert’s household. ‘What do you want, Tancred?’

  We had met several times, the first of those being a year earlier. I had not liked him much then, and I liked him even less now. As always a thick smell of cattle dung clung to him, though I had never worked out why that was. He was some years older than myself, and he resented me, as he resented Eudo and Wace, for having been rewarded so generously after Eoferwic while he still remained landless, without the honour that a manor of his own would give him. This I knew because he had told me as much on more than one occasion.

  ‘I want to speak with Robert,’ I said. ‘Let me pass.’

  ‘You’re not welcome here. It’s because of you that Urse, Adso, Tescelin and the others lie dead.’

  I bridled at his tone. Of those three names only the first was familiar, and I tried to remember which one Urse was; after a moment his round, piggish face rose to mind.

  ‘Because of me? What do you mean?’

  ‘Leave him, Ansculf,’ called Lord Robert. He strode towards me, his expression tired and hollow. ‘I will speak with him myself.’

  But Ansculf was not going to back down readily. ‘Lord, this man—’

  ‘Enough,’ Robert said sharply. ‘Tancred, come with me.’

  I followed him until we were out of easy earshot of his knights, although they kept casting sneering glances in my direction and I could still catch parts of their conversation. They spoke loudly of how my mother was a whore and the daughter of a whore besides, and how they had heard that I preferred the company of men to women: all of it doubtless meant for my ears, to provoke me.

  ‘They are angry,’ Robert said dismissively. ‘Their sword-brothers are dead and they need someone they can blame.’

  ‘Then they should blame the men who struck the blows that sent them to their graves,’ I said. ‘What do their deaths have to do with me?’

  The words came out more petulantly than I had meant them, and I saw that they had stung Robert. For a moment he looked as though he were about to turn on me, but after a moment’s hesitation he simply shook his head.

  We kept walking until we had come to the wolf banner, which had been planted in the ground at the edge of one of the pasture fields. An audience had gathered around Hugues d’Avranches by the time we arrived, and among them I recognised many of the barons who had been there in the hall at Scrobbesburh, their faces red with anger as the young earl tried to shout them down, demanding order.

  They fell silent as I approached, and one by one turned to fix their gazes upon me.

  ‘At last he decides to show his face,’ one of them called. ‘The Breton for whom so much Norman blood has been spilt.’

  I felt as though I were on trial, accused of some misdemeanour of which I remained ignorant.

  ‘What?’ I asked, but no one seemed willing to answer. The Wolf gazed back at me, stony-faced and stern despite his youth, as if somehow I ought to understand already. As if I were stupid for not being able to see it.

  ‘He is no less a Norman than any of you,’ Robert said. ‘So unless you have anything useful to say, you would be wise to keep those tongues inside your heads.’

  One of the barons shoved me in the shoulder as we made our way through the crowd. Even so many hours after the battle my blood was running hot. The pain of defeat was still fresh, and that small slight was enough to bring my anger to the surface once more. Without pausing to think I shoved him back. In an instant he had drawn his knife and I mine as we faced each other.

  ‘Put away your weapons,’ the Wolf barked. ‘This is not the time for squabbling.’

  ‘I’ll sheathe mine as soon as he apologises,’ I said, staring into the cold blue eyes of the one who had laid his hands upon me.

  ‘Apologise?’ he snorted. ‘To the man on whose account some of my best knights lost their lives? It was your own foolhardiness that led you into the enemy trap. It would have been far better if we had left you and your Welsh friends to your fates.’

  ‘If you had left us?’ I asked, frowning. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  I glanced at Robert, but he would not meet my eyes.

  ‘I didn’t have to come and rescue your wretched hide,’ Earl Hugues said. His voice was hoarse, but there was no mistaking his frustration. ‘You weren’t supposed to meet the enemy host at all. If you hadn’t blundered into their ambush, we could have forced them to meet us on ground that suited us.’

  ‘Why did you come, then?’ I demanded. ‘Tell me that. If there was no advantage to be had, why did you commit your men at all?’

  ‘Because of your lord.’ He gestured at Robert. ‘He convinced me to meet the enemy in battle, to take the fight to the brothers Rhiwallon and Bleddyn. You would not be standing here now were it not for him, so have some respect and be thankful that you and your companions still live while so many do not.’

  His fiery gaze burnt into me, but I held it. Eventually he turned away, shaking his head. A hush fell; no one dared to speak.

  Lord Robert was the one to break the silence as he said: ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We return to Scrobbesburh and make ready to face the enemy there,’ the Wolf replied.

  ‘You’d have us retreat?’ I asked.

  ‘We haven’t the strength to fight another battle,’ the Wolf replied. ‘On the other hand the enemy’s confidence will have grown in the wake of their victory. As the news spreads, even more men will flock to their banners. Soon they will march again.’

  ‘One of their kings lies dead, struck down on the field,’ I said. ‘If ever there was a time to strike, it is now, before they have the chance to rally and bolster their numbers.’

  ‘Look around you, Tancred,’ said Hugues, an exasperated glint in his eyes. ‘Look at the faces of the men. How many of them do you think have the heart for another clash with the enemy? Many have lost friends and brothers and most are half-starved besides. How well do you think that they’ll fight on empty stomachs?’

  To escape the battle we’d had to abandon most of the heavily laden sumpter ponies that carried our packs, in which had lain the bulk of our provisions. Only by cutting loose the straps to relieve them of their burden had we managed to save even a few of the animals. My own horses were among them, I was relieved to see, rescued by the ever-dependable Cnebba and Snocca, both of whom had been fortunate to escape with little more than scratches and bruises, torn tunics and dirt-streaked faces.

  ‘We raid, just as we did before,’ I said, growing more desperate. ‘Send bands out to forage. As soon as the men are rested and their bellies are full we can ride once more. We still have most of our spearmen left, all of them fit to fight.’

  I glanced about, hoping to rouse the enthusiasm of the other barons, trying to meet the eyes of those who had supported me back in the castle hall not so long ago. It was in vain. In silence they stared at me, arms folded in front of their chests. A few began to walk away, though whether in disgust or out of embarrassment for me, it was hard to tell. I sensed that my cause was a losing one, yet for some reason I could not stop myself.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, raising my voice, ‘we can ride once more, surprise the enemy within their own camp—’

  I broke off when I saw Robert shaking his head as if in warning. Defeated, my spirits sank. For the first time since the battle I felt empty, my limbs devoid of all vigour.

  ‘Return to your men,’ the Wolf called as the barons dispersed. ‘Eat what food you have, rest while you can. We march within the hour.’

  I was making my way back when the Welsh princes’ chaplain, a man by the name of Ionafal, saw me and called me over to where his countrymen were gathered. The priest had just finished hearing Maredudd’s confession and had given him the sacrament from a flask he carried inside his robes. His lord was not
long for this life, he told me; if I wanted to speak with him then now was the time.

  Amidst the confusion of our flight from the battle and everything that had followed, I had all but forgotten him. When I arrived, his pallor was worse than any I had ever seen, as if all the blood had drained from his face. He could not stop shivering, though the day was far from cold. His men had offered up their own cloaks, wrapping the furs around him. He was of an age with myself, but at that moment he looked much older.

  ‘Tancred,’ he said when he saw me. His voice came out at no more than a whisper, and he could barely keep his eyes open, but at least he recognised me.

  Now that I was here, words deserted me. ‘You fought well,’ I said. ‘You and your brother both.’

  ‘Not well enough,’ he said, and managed a smile, though it quickly faded as tears came into his eyes. ‘If we had, then Ithel would still live, the usurpers would both lie dead and we would stand victorious.’

  I gripped his hand in reassurance. His palm was moist with sweat, his skin burning with ague.

  ‘You have been a steadfast ally, Tancred, and I thank you.’ His face creased in pain and he began to cough: a dry, hacking sound that signalled he did not have much longer.

  ‘Rest,’ I said to him. ‘Save your strength.’

  His retainers were crowding close around us, and I made way for them. Better that they were the ones with whom he spent his final moments: his loyal hearth-companions, the ones who had chosen to follow him into exile rather than bend their knee before the usurpers, who had been with him all these years. Besides, I had seen too much death that day, and had no wish to witness any more. Not since Hæstinges could I recall so many having fallen so quickly.

  I’d not known the Welsh brothers long, and yet somehow I had come to feel a sort of kinship with them. Yes, they were ambitious and headstrong, as men of high birth often are, and forthright with their opinions. Nevertheless, in many ways it was because of those things, rather than for their fearlessness or prowess at arms, that I had come to respect them, not least because I recognised many of those same traits in myself.

  Which was why, when the news eventually came that Maredudd had passed away, a deep-rooted chill came over me, a chill that made its way into my bones and gripped my very soul. For I knew that it could so easily have been me.

  We travelled quickly in spite of the difficult terrain. For all that he had said about the men being too tired and hungry to fight, Earl Hugues pushed them hard.

  More than once that day we saw bands of enemy advance riders trailing us, though they rarely came any closer than a couple of miles. They moved quickly, being lightly armed with only helmets for protection. The Wolf and Robert sent conrois out to pursue them, hoping that they would kill or capture a few, but they never did. The enemy were too quick, either disappearing into the cover provided by the dense woods, or else, if they found themselves in open country, splitting up into smaller groups and scattering in all directions so that our men could not follow them. But then those bands had no intention of meeting us directly. They meant only to harry us, to keep us always looking over our shoulders, and in both of those aims they succeeded. And so each time our conrois returned empty-handed.

  In all that time the Wolf said nothing to me. In fact he spoke little to anyone, instead choosing to press on ahead in the vanguard, single-mindedly setting the pace. His face, when he did show it, was a picture of fury. No doubt he was wondering what he would say when eventually we reached Scrobbesburh. For he was the one who would have to give the tale of our defeat to Fitz Osbern, and I did not envy him that task.

  Darkness still reigned by the time we rode through the town gates the next morning. We’d marched on through the night, despite the fact that many were close to exhaustion, almost dead on their feet and in their saddles, kept going only by the threats and curses of their lords. A messenger had been sent ahead to bear the news to Fitz Osbern, who was not there to meet us when we arrived but, we were told, was waiting in his chambers at the castle. Almost straightaway the Wolf and Lord Robert were summoned to see him, but there was no word whether he wanted to see me too.

  ‘No doubt he will wish to hear from you in time,’ said Robert, ‘but for now it is best if you wait, and in the meantime try to get some rest. God only knows we need it.’

  ‘You’d have me keep quiet while the Wolf blames me for what happened?’

  ‘Naturally Earl Hugues will be allowed to present his story, but I know Fitz Osbern better than most; he will listen to me if he listens to anyone. He’ll see that it was not your fault. You could not have known that the Welsh would be lying in wait.’

  ‘The Wolf doesn’t see it that way,’ I said sourly. ‘He is an arrogant, spoilt runt who only cares for himself. The only reason anyone listens to him is because his family has wealth to spare.’

  Robert fixed me with a stern look. ‘I understand that you’re angry,’ he said. ‘None of us wishes things had happened this way. But you will do yourself no favours by making an enemy of Hugues.’

  ‘I’m angry because many men were killed yesterday,’ I said, speaking through gritted teeth. ‘One of my own household knights was among them, and both Maredudd and Ithel too. Good warriors who did not deserve to die.’

  With that I turned and walked away. There was nothing more to be discussed. Nor for that matter did I wish to speak to anyone else. I needed time alone, to gather my thoughts and work out what I would say when eventually Fitz Osbern called me to face him.

  I managed to rest, though not for long, since dawn was only a few hours away. At sunrise I climbed a knoll looking out across the camp to the west and the distant hills that glowed as the first rays fell upon their slopes. Somewhere beyond them Bleddyn and Eadric were lurking; before long they would be marching, and what might happen then only God could know.

  I was still sitting there, lost in thought, when Beatrice found me. She came alone, save for her maidservant Papia, who was waiting with her horse a short way off.

  ‘I suppose your brother sent you,’ I said without so much as offering a greeting.

  She did not bridle at my rudeness, as I might have expected, or at least if she did she was careful not to show it. If truth be told I had not slept well, and my ire from the previous night had hardly diminished.

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ she said. ‘When I heard what happened I thought you might wish to talk to someone. I found your men sharpening their swords but they didn’t know where you had gone.’

  ‘You came looking for me?’

  ‘Would you prefer that I hadn’t?’

  I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or thankful, but settled for the latter. For once I was glad to have some company. Had I been back in Earnford there would have been Leofrun to comfort me, or else I could have spoken with Father Erchembald. Here, though, surrounded by all these strange faces and by so many men who seemed to bear grudges against me, I felt alone in a way that I had not known before.

  ‘No,’ I said at last. ‘I’m glad you came.’

  She seated herself on the damp grass next to me, folding her skirts neatly beneath her. ‘Earl Hugues has taken his leave of us, you’ll be pleased to hear.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  He had departed shortly before I had risen, so early in fact that few had seen him go. There was trouble in Ceastre, where the townspeople had risen against the Wolf’s steward. The story was that his knights had beaten and imprisoned the city’s port-reeve and cut off his right hand when they found he had been allowing merchants to use the old silver in the market: the coins that bore the name of Harold the usurper. Blood had been spilt on both sides as the townsmen fought the knights in the streets, and now the garrison was trapped in the castle, under siege and in desperate need of relief. Whether that was the whole reason for his leave-taking, or whether there had been some quarrel between the earl and Fitz Osbern during their meeting last night, no one knew.

  ‘As Robert tells it, there was some disagree
ment between you and the earl,’ Beatrice said.

  I gave a laugh, though I did not feel much cheered. ‘That’s one word for it, I suppose.’

  ‘You must be relieved to see him gone.’

  In all honesty my feelings were mixed. In spite of my dislike of him, he’d brought men to our cause, and I was only too aware of the difficulties his sudden departure brought upon us. For with him he had taken more than half his knights, and nearly as many foot: a little less than four hundred spears in all. Four hundred that we could not afford to spare.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, and it was the truth. ‘I don’t trust him, and yet without the men he commands, what chance do we have of defending Scrobbesburh?’

  ‘There is talk that some of the other barons might desert. Having seen the Wolf ride away to defend his possessions and his home, many are now thinking of doing the same.’

  I made a noise of disgust and shook my head. Nothing was going as it should do. This realm that we had fought so hard these last four years to forge was falling apart, breaking into splinters.

  ‘Can you blame them?’ she asked. ‘Like you, they have lost some of their ablest and most faithful retainers, their best warriors. If they stay and fight, they stand to lose even more.’

  ‘And yet if they don’t, they simply make it easier for the enemy, who will overrun their manors anyway just as soon as they’ve defeated the rest of us here.’

  The words, and the bitterness with which they came out, surprised even myself. After all, it wasn’t so long ago that I had shared their fears, been reluctant to leave the people and the place I had come to know so well. What had changed? Was it that I had now seen with my own eyes the threat we faced? Or was it because I sought redemption for the deaths of Turold, Ithel, Maredudd and all the others?

  ‘How can you be sure that the enemy will come, in any case?’ asked Beatrice. ‘By all accounts they suffered heavily too in the battle. One of their kings lies dead.’

  ‘Which is exactly why they will come. Bleddyn will want revenge for his brother Rhiwallon and all the rest of his countrymen, and he won’t rest until he’s taken it.’