Knights of the Hawk c-3

by James Aitcheson

  ‘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 arr
ives 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.

  ‘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.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ I asked, feeling the blood starting to boil in my veins. ‘Did you commend us for this task?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Robert said, recoiling at the insult. ‘Do you really believe I’d do such a thing? I entreated him as best I could, and almost thought at one point that I’d persuaded him to give the honour to someone else. But then his clerk spoke up.’

  I thought at first that I must have misheard him. ‘His clerk?’

  ‘The monk. The one with the squint, who accompanied him when he came to question Godric, if you remember.’

  Atselin. Heat rose up my cheeks. It felt as if there were firebrands behind my temples, under my very skull, burning me from within. Without willing it my hands had balled into fists.

  I remembered how hot his temper had flared the last time we had met, before leaving Brandune, though at the time I’d thought nothing of his threats. Only now, when it was already too late, did I finally understand. He’d been planning this, biding his time, waiting for the reason and opportunity to bring about my downfall.

  And I had delivered both to him.

  ‘What did he say?’ I heard myself asking. My voice sounded somehow distant, as if it no longer belonged to me.

  ‘He merely reminded the king of your deeds, as I’ve told you,’ Robert answered. ‘He seemed to know a great deal about you, and indeed had nothing but the highest praise for all your accomplishments. Is he a friend of yours?’

  ‘No,’ I said, knowing that to admit the truth would only invite rebuke, and I was in no mood for that. I saw now so clearly everything to which pride and frustration had blinded me. I should have guessed, somehow, that the monk would be whispering in the king’s ear. I should have heeded rather than scoff at his warnings. I should have known better than to bait him and stoke the fires of his enmity. And yet, as so often, once my blood was up I could not restrain myself.

  It was not Atselin who had done this. I had brought this fate upon myself. And not just myself, but my sword-brothers too. Because of my pigheadedness we all would suffer, and if this attack went badly then their blood would be on my hands. I would have as good as killed them by my own sword, and the guilt would burden me for ever.

  ‘When do we begin the assault?’ asked Wace, oblivious, as they all were, to these thoughts raging within me.

  ‘Tomorrow, at dawn,’ Robert replied. ‘At first the king wanted to attack by night, but he was persuaded to wait until it was light so that we would be able to see more easily the way across the marsh, and that fewer men would lose their lives needlessly.’

  He had some sense, then, which was more than I could claim. If I hadn’t been so desperate for adventure and a chance to free my sword-arm — if I hadn’t grown so fixated with recovering the respect that once I had commanded, the fame from which I’d fallen — I wouldn’t now be standing on the verge of losing everything.

  ‘The enemy will be ready for us,’ Eudo pointed out. ‘They’ll see us coming and have more than enough time to form up in their ranks.’

  ‘That cannot be helped,’ said Robert. ‘Besides, we only have to hold out until Morcar turns his spears upon his countrymen. When that happens, our task will become much easier.’

  ‘We, lord?’ Wace asked. ‘Do you mean you’ll be riding with us?’

  ‘Why not? You’ve risked your skins often enough on my behalf in the last few years. It’s only right that I return the favour. I will not shirk my duties any longer. If I don’t show willingness to place myself in danger, how can I expect my vassals and followers to do the same on my behalf?’ He didn’t wait for us to answer, but went on: ‘Besides, so long as Morcar keeps his promise, we will all make it through this alive.’

  ‘I still don’t trust him,’ Eudo muttered.

  ‘Neither do I,’ Robert replied. ‘But what choice do we have?’

  To that none of us had any answer. For a while longer we stood in silence, looking out towards the enemy ramparts, and I wondered how we would make it through this battle. Eventually, however, Robert mounted and turned back towards the guardhouse where the smoke of blacksmiths’ furnaces billowed and our banners flew.

  ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We have only the rest of this day to prepare ourselves. We should make the most of the time that we have.’

  Straightaway he turned to ride back across the bridge, his destrier’s hooves clattering upon the timber roadway, and he was closely followed by the others. The sun wasn’t lacking in warmth that morning, but nevertheless I still couldn’t rid myself of the ch
ill, which by then had worked its way into every inch of my body. I gave one final glance at the marshes and the Isle, then swung myself up into the saddle and spurred Fyrheard into a canter so as to catch up with them.

  After weeks of waiting and wondering and hoping and despairing, it was finally happening.

  Nine

  I remember that night so clearly. I remember every such night before a battle, for always there is a keenness in the air, a mixture of anticipation and dread, of restlessness and anguish that is never voiced but is shared amongst all present, and that, once experienced, is never forgotten. And yet that night was different, for in all the seasons since first I rode under my lord’s banner into the fray, never had I felt such trepidation as I did in those few hours.

  Even long after the sun had set and the clash of arms had faded and the soft-spoken Latin of the priests giving absolution had ceased, I found myself unable to settle. I wasn’t alone. Despite having spent most of the day in the practice yard, and notwithstanding our drooping eyelids and our heavy limbs, still none of us could sleep. There was nothing more for us to do: our blades were sharpened; our helmets and hauberks polished until they gleamed; our destriers fed and groomed. And so we sat cross-legged, huddled in our cloaks beneath the stars, and watched our cooking-fire dwindle while we recounted stories of battles past, of women we had known, of the marvels we had seen on our travels, of things that had happened when we were young and still in training, of fine weapons and horses, of sword-brothers long since fallen, of the various dreams and desires to which we all clung; and we revelled as much in the listening as in the telling.

  We were men of all ages: seasoned fighters like myself, my friends and the Malets’ other vassals; a few young warriors of Godric’s age or thereabouts. For some this would be their first battle, while others had long lost count. But we were all equals that night, for when morning arrived and we rode out across that bridge, our fates would be bound together. Only Lord Robert wasn’t there, having preferred to spend the night by his father’s bedside. Still Malet succeeded in clinging to life, albeit barely. He could no longer raise himself from his bed without help, let alone walk or ride even the most docile of horses, and so a covered cart had been found in which he and his chaplain had travelled from Brandune. I had caught a brief glimpse of him, but that had been enough. His pallor was as grey as ash, like a fire that was all but spent; the faintest of sparks remained in his eyes, which were now mere hollows. His face was gaunt, his wiry hair straggling past his chin. Soon there would be nothing left of him, I thought.