Knights of the Hawk c-3

by James Aitcheson

  She had first been taken from me that fateful winter’s night at Dunholm, when the Northumbrians had ambushed us: the same night that my former lord, Robert de Commines, was murdered, burnt to death in the mead-hall. For over a year I’d thought her dead, but then at Beferlic last autumn I had glimpsed her alive and apparently well, as beautiful as I remembered, albeit a captive of one of the enemy’s leaders.

  ‘She’s gone,’ Eudo said. ‘Even if you did see her at Beferlic, you said yourself that she’s with another man now. She could be a thousand leagues away. What hope do you think you have of ever finding her?’

  He didn’t mean it unkindly, but even so his words hurt. He still believed I was mistaken. Indeed for a while I had wondered whether what had happened was merely some kind of waking dream, so unreal had it seemed at the time. But it wasn’t just that I had seen her; she had seen me too. Our eyes had met and she had just enough time to call my name before she was taken from me a second time as the enemy fled the burning town. How could I have imagined all that?

  No, I had to keep believing that she was still out there somewhere. Her captor, like Eadgar and King Sweyn, had managed to escape the slaughter that night. I could picture him as easily as if he were standing before me now: broad in the chest and with his hair, fair but greying, tied in the Danish style in a braid at his nape, mounted on a white stallion, with rings of twisted gold upon both his arms and a fiery-eyed dragon with an axe in its claws emblazoned on his shield. I didn’t know where he hailed from, or even his name, but through the winter and the spring I had paid spies to venture into the furthest reaches of Britain and bring me whatever they could learn about a Dane of that description and bearing such a device. Their help had cost me more silver than I could afford, but in my eyes it had been worth it, at the time if not in hindsight. In fact I might as well have tossed all those coins into the sea for all the good it had done me, since not one of those spies had brought me any useful information. The dragon and axe had recently been seen in Northumbria, some of them had told me, which was no help since I knew that already. Another claimed he had taken shelter at the court of the Flemish count, yet another that he had gone back across the sea with King Sweyn, and two more that he had travelled into the far north, to Ysland and the distant, frozen lands that lay beyond. Each one gave me a different name, and since none had been able to offer any more precise detail, I had sent them all away. They had gone to peddle their lies elsewhere, leaving me poorer and no wiser than before. But that did not stop me hoping.

  ‘If you want my advice, you should try to forget her,’ Eudo went on. ‘There are plenty of other women who’ll gladly help warm your bed. Women who won’t cost you as much, either.’

  He was, in his own way, trying to cheer me, not that it helped. He considered me a fool for wasting my silver on the tales of rogues and swindlers, none of whom he would trust as far the length of his sword-blade. But love makes a man desperate, and in those days my heart ruled over my head. Even though I had cared for and lain with other women since then, the truth was that I had never fully shaken her from my mind. Death had taken so many people who once were dear to me, and now that I knew that she was alive, I was determined to do everything possible to bring her back to me.

  ‘I’m going to find her,’ I said, sounding more confident than I felt. ‘I swear it.’

  ‘And how do you plan to do that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘Not yet. But somehow I will.’

  Eudo sighed and shook his head sadly, and silence fell once more. The rain began to spit down more heavily. I gazed out beyond the stern, making sure that the following boats were still behind us, and was just able to spy their shadows. Like us, Wace and the men under his command had tied scraps of cloth around their spearheads, and put on dark cloaks to cover their mail, so as to hide the telltale glint of steel. There were six of us in each boat, making eighteen in total, and I hoped that would prove enough. By anyone’s estimation it was a dangerous plan that I had in mind, but the greatest rewards often came to those who battled the greatest dangers. Anyone who lived by the sword knew that well.

  ‘There,’ said Baudri suddenly. I followed the line of his outstretched finger to where a clump of trees stood upon the slightest of rises above the marshes, a few hundred paces ahead of us and slightly to our steerboard side. ‘Towards that thicket.’

  Setting down the paddle beside me, I scrambled forward. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked, keeping my voice as low as possible.

  ‘Certain, lord.’

  Even in the darkness I could discern the grim look in his eyes. He wasn’t comfortable being out on the river by night, and I didn’t blame him, especially given how close we were to the enemy encampment. Indeed at first he’d refused to take us, but the sight of a pouch filled with coin, and the promise of more to come, had been enough to persuade him to lend his services. I only hoped that it turned out to be silver well spent, for I had precious little to spare. With each day that went by it seemed that I grew ever poorer.

  I nodded to Pons, who cupped his hands around his mouth and made a hoot like an owl’s so that Wace and the others in the following boats would know to stay close. It was important we didn’t lose one another now. After a moment’s pause the answering call came from both crews, and so, taking care to keep the sound of our paddles and punting-poles as quiet as possible, we carried on, making for that wooded rise: the islet of Litelport, which was the name of the small market town that had until recently stood upon it. It lay a little to the north of the larger Isle of Elyg, the two separated by a boggy channel less than an arrow’s flight wide at its narrowest point. The king had tried to occupy it in the early days of the siege, in order to establish a base from which to launch raids and to let our siege engines do their work, but the enemy attacked before he had been able to throw up any manner of earthwork or palisade. Repulsing his forces, they had laid waste the town together with its storehouses, jetties, slipways and the nearby steadings, preventing us from using it again as a staging-post.

  Until now, or so I wanted the enemy to think. No sooner had we landed on its shores, running our boats’ keels aground on the mud beside a row of blackened posts — all that remained of a landing stage — than we set to work. First we hauled our small craft up from the river’s edge into the thicket where they wouldn’t be seen, then while I set a grumbling Hamo and his men to gather firewood, the rest of us carried the tent-rolls and bundles of kindling and everything else we’d brought with us down to the islet’s southern side, where we could look out over the marshy channel in the direction of Elyg. From so far away and in the darkness it was, of course, impossible to make out anything of the monastery or the enemy encampment, but occasionally the mist would clear and in those moments I spied the glimmer of distant guard-fires, beside which sentries would be warming themselves while they watched out over the marshes. We would be lucky if we could draw any of them out, I thought, especially on a damp night like this. More likely the enemy would keep to their halls inside their stout palisades, where they could bed down by the embers of their hearth-fires and wrap themselves in thick cloaks of wool and fur. But I was determined not to give up yet. Not after coming so far.

  Working quickly, we laid and lit the fires, set up the tents around them, tossed bedrolls and coin-pouches inside and then across the ground we scattered leather bottles filled with wine, wooden cups, iron cooking-pots, handfuls of chicken bones and a few splintered shields that we had no use for, so that it looked as though there was a camp here. Hamo and his band of men brought armfuls of fallen branches down from the thicket and we cast them on to the fires, feeling the heat upon our faces as the twisting flames took hold and rose higher and higher, causing the green leaves to hiss as they shrivelled away to nothing. Great plumes of white smoke and orange-glowing sparks billowed up into the night, and even through the mist I reckoned they must be visible from the Isle. Once the enemy saw them, they would surely send a scouting-party to find out what was going
on. Like moths to a candle they would, I hoped, be drawn in. As soon as I was satisfied that the fires were burning brightly enough, we retreated to the cover of the thicket, within easy arrowshot of our false camp. Our snare was set and we could only wait now for it to be sprung.

  In truth I was relying on a certain amount of good fortune that night. The fires had to be great enough in size and in number that they would be considered worthy of attention, but not so great as to invite their entire host upon us. A band of ten to thirty men we could probably fight, but more than that and we would be fortunate to escape with our lives. And therein lay the problem. If the rebels had any sense, they’d realise we wouldn’t be so foolish as to place a camp in clear sight of their own stronghold. They would suspect that something was amiss and so either ignore us entirely or else send so many men that we would stand no chance against them. The longer we crouched in silence in the damp undergrowth, watching the pyres flare as the wind gusted, the more such doubts crept into my mind. Much as I tried to remain patient, it was hard, for as soon as it was light, our plan would be revealed. The moment the first grey glimmer appeared in the eastern sky, we would have to leave, or else risk becoming trapped. The nights were growing longer these days as summer faded into autumn, but even so, by my reckoning, we had only a couple of hours until dawn. A couple of hours for the enemy to show themselves.

  Tiredness pricked at my eyes like a thousand tiny pins. It seemed as if a week must have passed since we had left Cantebrigia, since we had met Hereward’s band by the edge of the fen, and yet it was only earlier that day. How long we must have waited there I do not know, but it felt like an age. Dawn crept ever nearer and I kept glancing towards the east, at the same time praying for night to keep the earth in its grip a little longer and for day to be delayed. Bowing my head, I closed my eyes, listening to the rising wind as it rustled the leaves above my head, feeling its touch upon my cheek as silently I implored the saints to bring us luck tonight. As if in answer there came the call of a moorhen, and I looked up to find the cloud clearing from the sky and the moon and stars emerging, casting their wan light upon the marsh-mist and the channel that separated the two islands.

  Where, at last, I saw the unmistakable glint of steel. A spearpoint, most likely. No sooner had it appeared than it was gone again, but it was enough to know that the enemy were on the march.

  ‘Make sure your men are ready with their bows,’ I whispered to Hamo, who was beside me. ‘Let fly as soon as I give the signal.’

  ‘They’ll be ready,’ he retorted. ‘Have no fear about that. Just make sure that your men do their part.’

  I didn’t care for his tone, but this was no time for us to argue. As much as we disliked each other, I needed him and he needed me. I was relying on his archers and their bows, since without them this ambush would not work, but equally it was in Hamo’s interest to help us, since if we died then there would be nobody left to pay him for his services tonight.

  ‘After you’ve weakened the enemy, I’ll lead the charge,’ I said. ‘You and your men will follow behind us. Do you understand?’

  I spoke slowly so that he did not mistake my words, addressing him as one might a child, and like a child he scowled. ‘Yes, lord.’

  I narrowed my eyes but said nothing more as I left him and his men to string their bows while I made my way along our line. I found Baudri crouching behind a fallen tree just a few paces from the edge of the copse, within clear sight both of the campfires and of the channel.

  ‘Do you see them?’ I asked. I could discern nothing amidst the night’s shadows, but his eyes were better than mine.

  ‘I see them.’ He squinted into the gloom. ‘Two dozen of them, by my reckoning. Possibly more than that; it’s hard to tell.’

  ‘Four of them to every three of us, then,’ put in Wace, who had been listening.

  Two dozen. More than I would have liked to face, although it was about what I’d been expecting.

  ‘We’ve faced far worse odds before, and still we live,’ Wace pointed out, possibly sensing my anxiety.

  He was right, of course, although we’d rarely done so out of choice; usually when the only alternative was certain slaughter. Wace knew as well as I did that this was a battle we didn’t have to fight. If we threw ourselves into this fray, then good men might lose their lives who did not deserve to. Enough people had died because of me in recent years, and I didn’t want to add to that tally if I could help it. We still had time to return to our boats and leave with our sword-edges unbloodied and ourselves unscratched; all I had to do was give the word. But then I’d have shown myself for a craven in front of not just my friends and my own oath-sworn hearth-knights, but also Hamo, who would quietly rejoice in my failure and, no doubt, make sure that all the other mercenary captains heard tell of it the moment we arrived back in camp.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Wace asked, no doubt sensing my hesitation and perhaps some of the thoughts running through my mind.

  Wace was more even-tempered and less hasty than either myself or Eudo, and I could always rely on him to give me sound advice. If he had any misgivings about our plan, or considered it a risk not worth taking, he would tell me. I trusted his judgement, and he trusted mine.

  He and his knights were looking at me, waiting for my instruction. I felt the weight of expectation upon my shoulders. But we could hardly retreat now. Not after we’d come so far. I would not flee from this fight as I’d fled from Hereward.

  ‘We keep to the plan,’ I said. ‘But remember that the quicker we do this, the better. We’re stronger in numbers than we are if each man fights alone, so stay close to one another. That way we’re all more likely to make it through this with our heads still attached to our shoulders. I don’t want to be dragging anyone’s corpse back with me to Brandune.’

  ‘Nor I,’ Wace added. ‘So listen carefully, and heed what he says.’

  The wind gusted suddenly, rustling the branches above our heads, and from somewhere out in the darkness came the piercing kew-wick of an owl. Otherwise all was quiet.

  ‘Not a sound,’ I murmured to Wace. ‘Stay still, and don’t show yourselves until I say. We go together.’

  He nodded, and proceeded to pass the same message down the line. I knew well what the battle-rage could do to a man. Too many times in my life had I seen able and well-respected knights, many of them sword-brothers of mine, charge alone from their ranks on to the bosses and blades of an enemy shield-wall, abandoning reason and long years of training in a desperate moment of folly, deaf to the warning cries of their comrades, their heads filled with the bloodlust and with visions of glory. More than once I’d come close to doing the same. I didn’t want any of the men with me that night to end their lives that way, and so I gave them this reminder, regardless of whether or not they thought they needed it.

  Our fires still burnt, although not as fiercely as before. The wind, slight thought it was, was changing direction, blowing now from the south and sending thick swirls of smoke and ash towards us, making it difficult to see much farther than the circle of tents we’d set up. I raised a hand to cover my mouth, aware that any sudden noise now might give us away. Before long I began to make out what sounded like voices above the crackle of the flames, and shortly afterwards, through a gap in the grey tumbling coils, I spied the dark forms of men moving amongst the shadows of trees and reeds down by the channel, making their way, I guessed, by some of the secret paths that led from the Isle. They were about a hundred paces away now, which meant they were nearly within bowshot.

  ‘Wait,’ I said to Hamo, who was reaching for his arrow-bag. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I know,’ he replied irritably. ‘Do you take me for a dullard?’

  ‘Just make sure your men know it too.’

  A few members of his company — the younger and less experienced ones, from what I could see of their faces — were already nocking black-feathered shafts to their bows. The last thing I wanted was for their impatience to get the better o
f them. At this range the best we could hope for was one or two lucky kills, whereas what I wanted was to sow terror in the enemy’s hearts. To do that we needed to draw them in, where they would make easier targets. As soon as they saw those silver-tipped shafts bearing down upon them, they would know they’d walked into a trap, which meant that the longer we could delay our attack, the better.

  Cautiously they climbed the rise towards the tents and the campfires. Steel helmets shone in the dancing orange light. Few of them possessed mail that I could see, but instead wore lighter corselets of leather. From their belts hung sheaths for blades both long and short, while a few also hefted stout axes and broad-bladed spears. They looked a disparate lot, but that did not necessarily make them any less dangerous. They held their shields in front of them, moving ever more slowly as they approached, glancing all the time to left and right and behind. One shouted out an order in English, gesturing at his fellow warriors to keep close to one another. I’d hoped Hereward himself might come so that I’d have a chance to atone for my failure to kill him before, but this man was neither as lofty nor as imposing in stature. Nevertheless I guessed from his wargear that he was not only the leader of this scouting-band but also someone of considerable importance. His helm’s cheek-plates and nasal-piece were inlaid with gold, while glistering scarlet and azure stones were set into his scabbard. His hauberk shone, and he wore mail chausses in the manner of a Norman knight, all of which suggested he was a person of considerable means, and probably, although not necessarily, a more than competent fighter too.

  ‘I want their lord alive and unhurt,’ I murmured to those either side of me, and urged them to pass the message on. ‘Kill or maim the rest, but leave him for me.’

  They were nearly at the camp we had set up, a little more than fifty paces away: so close that I could almost smell them. The enemy had spotted the empty cooking-pots, the discarded wine-flasks and everything else we had laid out, and now their leader sent three men ahead to search the tents.