Knights of the Hawk c-3

by James Aitcheson

  The chamber was windowless and filled with a powerful, sharp stench of burning tallow, which came from stout candles placed all about. I remembered Father Erchembald, the priest at Earnford and a dear friend, once telling me how the smell helped guard against pestilential vapours, and that was why he recommended keeping one burning whenever someone was laid low with fever or other sickness. But no amount of tallow smoke would save Malet from whatever malady it was that afflicted him. Not now. He looked so thin, and so frail, not at all like a man of fifty, but one twenty years older. He lay upon a bed beneath a bundle of woollen blankets, with his head resting upon a pillow, so still that at first I thought Robert’s man had been mistaken, and that I was too late, but then his eyelids trembled, and I saw his chest rise and fall. He was not gone quite yet, then.

  A host of familiar faces were crowded into that small space. On one side of the bed were Robert and the chaplain, Dudo, who knelt by Malet’s right hand with a bowl of what looked like pottage. On the other were Malet’s wife, Elise, her usually stern expression broken by the tears flooding down her cheeks, and Beatrice, her fair hair glimmering in the flickering candlelight. She smiled sadly when she saw me. At her side stood a dark, thin-lipped man I didn’t recognise but guessed must be her new husband. They must have all arrived earlier today, even while, on the other side of the bridge, the battle for the Isle and for Elyg was under way.

  Robert rose and came to greet me, clasping my hand. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘Where did you go? One moment you were with us, and then you and your men had disappeared. What happened? Is Wace with you?’

  This was no time to give a full account, and so I told him simply, ‘Hereward is dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ he asked. ‘You know this for sure? How?’

  ‘I know because we pursued him and his band across the marshes and met them in battle. I saw his corpse with my own eyes.’

  He blinked, as if the news were too incredible to take in, then turned back towards the bed where the elder Malet lay. ‘Did you hear that, Father? Hereward is dead.’

  His father stirred and gave a rasping cough.

  ‘Here,’ said Dudo, and offered him an ale-cup. ‘Drink.’

  Malet shook his head as the cough subsided, and drew the blankets closer around him. No fire was lit, but it was nevertheless far from cold in that room. Beneath my hauberk my arms were running with sweat. I wished I’d thought to return to my tent first and leave it there, and at the same time to exchange my tunic for the spare one I kept in my pack. Although I had dried in the hours since the fight with Hereward, the damp marsh-smell still clung to my clothes.

  ‘Who is it, Robert?’ Malet croaked as his eyes flicked open. ‘Who comes here?’

  ‘It’s Tancred, Father.’

  Malet sighed. His eyes closed again. Long moments passed before finally he said, ‘Leave us.’

  His voice was hardly strong enough to sustain a whisper, but in the silence it was clearly enough heard. At once all eyes were on me. I found myself besieged by Dudo’s unfeeling gaze, by the thin-lipped man’s indifferent regard, and by Elise’s hard, spiteful stare. She had never liked me, from the moment our paths had first crossed. Only Beatrice’s eyes held any sympathy, although she made no protest on my behalf. Not that I blamed her. Her father had spoken and his wishes were to be respected. I had done everything I could, and yet even in his dying hours the old man couldn’t find it within his heart to finally lay to rest this quarrel of ours.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tancred,’ said Robert. ‘But perhaps it would be for the best if-’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I muttered, and looked around the chamber, meeting the eyes of each of the Malets in turn. I was thinking about saying something more, but the only words that came to mind were ones that I dared not utter in my lord’s presence, and so I kept my tongue inside my head as I made for the door and grasped the handle-

  ‘No,’ said Malet. ‘No.’

  I halted with my fingers wrapped around the twisted rods of iron, and glanced over my shoulder.

  ‘What is it?’ Robert asked.

  Malet’s chest rose and fell several more times before he was able to muster the strength to speak again. ‘I don’t mean that Tancred should go,’ he said at last.

  Robert frowned. ‘Then I don’t understand.’

  ‘I mean the rest of you must leave.’

  ‘Guillaume,’ Elise pleaded. ‘You have no need to waste your strength speaking to such a worthless creature. What more do you have to say to him?’

  ‘I will spend the strength I have left how I choose,’ Malet said. ‘And I would speak to Tancred alone.’

  Elise looked despairingly first at Robert and then at Beatrice, evidently hoping for one or both to lend her their support, but none was forthcoming.

  ‘Come, Mother,’ said Robert. ‘We should go, and let Father say what he must.’

  Elise pointed at me, her cheeks red. ‘How can you defend him, Robert? You know how he betrayed your father. He is nothing but a perjurer!’

  ‘Peace, Elise,’ Malet whispered, while Robert was still struggling for words. ‘What has passed, has passed.’

  Elise’s eyes bored into me. ‘Guillaume told me how you broke your oath to him when you were in his service. But even if he has forgotten, I have not! It sickens me how you prosper while our house and our name is brought ever lower. May you be damned!’

  ‘Mother-’ Beatrice began, but Elise was not listening. She rose and pushed past us, hastening from the room. I heard her footsteps disappearing down the passage.

  ‘Let me speak to her,’ Robert said, and darted out after her.

  Beatrice’s husband held out a hand to help her to her feet, and then they too made to leave.

  ‘I knew you would come,’ Beatrice said when she passed me. She took my hand in hers, just for a moment, and I felt the warmth there. I had loved her once, or thought I had, and she had loved me. Those feelings had faded now, but in their place had arisen an understanding and friendship that I valued far more.

  Her husband regarded me with that same indifferent expression as before, as if appraising me in some way, but said nothing. Apart from Malet, only his chaplain remained.

  ‘Perhaps it would be wise if I stay,’ Dudo suggested as he fingered the carved wooden cross that hung from his neck.

  ‘If I have need of you, I will have Tancred send for you,’ Malet said.

  ‘Lord-’

  ‘Do not argue, please. I am too weak for that.’

  The priest pursed his lips and bowed in deference to his lord’s wishes. He did not look at me as he went, closing the door behind him.

  Now that the chamber was empty of people, I saw how sparsely furnished it was. A threadbare rug covered the floor, while in one corner stood an iron pail filled with water, in which floated a scrap of cloth.

  Malet raised pale fingers, beckoning me closer, and I knelt down by his bedside.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Tancred.’ He managed the faintest hint of a smile, but there was pain in that smile and it was short-lived. ‘I’m glad you came.’

  ‘You are, lord?’ I asked, surprised and confused in equal measure.

  ‘I am. Dudo told me yesterday evening that you wished to speak with me.’

  ‘He did?’ Wonders never cease. The toad had delivered on his promise after all.

  ‘He urged me to summon you, but I, in my stubbornness, refused. I have since been regretting that decision.’

  ‘You changed your mind,’ I said. ‘Why?’

  Malet did not answer straightaway, but gave a deep sigh. ‘There are things that privately I have long wished to say, but which I have been reluctant to admit openly.’

  He was speaking in riddles. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Pride,’ he said. ‘I have always been too proud. You would agree with that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No, lord,’ I said, a little too quickly.

  Malet smiled again. ‘Just because my end is n
ear, Tancred, don’t presume that you must tell me what you think I want to hear. I know what’s in your mind. Robert thinks the same. And you are right, both of you.’

  I didn’t know what to say to that, and so I bowed my head.

  ‘It is a strange thing, pride,’ he murmured. ‘We are taught that it leads to disgrace, and that anyone who is proud of heart is an abomination to God. These things are true, aren’t they?’

  Both proverbs were ones that I recognised. They had been favourite sayings of the prior at the monastery where I’d grown up.

  ‘So the Scriptures tell us,’ I replied neutrally. Not for the first time, I felt as if he were testing me. ‘But they are not meant to bind us, only guide us. There is no shame in taking pride in one’s work and deeds, so long as that pride is not excessive. There is always a middle path to be found.’

  ‘And yet it is not always so easy to follow that path, is it?’ He breathed deeply, and I heard a rasp in his throat. ‘That is why it has taken me so long to say what I will tell you now.’

  He held out a pale hand, and I took it. His skin was dry, like the parchment in the gospel books I had sometimes copied from during my studies as an oblate.

  ‘I have been mean-spirited, and undeservingly so, given all that you have done in my name and that of my kin. For that I am truly sorry.’

  I felt a tear forming in my eye and tried to blink it back. My throat was dry and I swallowed to moisten it.

  ‘You served me well, Tancred, for the brief time that you were sworn to me, difficult though it was for me to acknowledge that when we parted ways. And you have served Robert well, too.’

  ‘He is a good lord,’ I replied.

  ‘He is becoming one, certainly. God knows he can be pig-headed at times, much like myself. Still, at least he understands how to win respect. He will do well for himself, and for those who follow him, in the years to come. Better than I have done, at any rate. But he needs loyal men around him.’ He made a feeble attempt to squeeze my hand. ‘I ask that you remain faithful to him. That is my one wish.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You know that I will.’

  ‘Do I have your oath?’

  I laughed, not with frustration but with amusement. I had lost count of the number of times I’d sworn pledges of one sort or another to various members of the Malet family.

  ‘You have my oath,’ I assured him.

  He rested his head back upon the pillow, closed his eyes and coughed again, after which he gave a flick of his hand, and I realised he wanted the ale-cup brought to him. Cradling the back of his head with one hand, gently I lifted it to his lips. He sipped at it and his mouth twisted in distaste.

  ‘Whatever this infusion is that Dudo has prepared, it is supposed to be good for me. Or so he insists,’ he said when he had finished and I had set the cup back down on the stone floor. ‘But the taste of it is foul.’

  ‘I thought it was ale.’ I raised the rim to my nose and sniffed at it, but could smell nothing offensive about it, nor much at all, save for the faintest trace of honey.

  ‘Ale?’ he asked. ‘Alas not, though I have often asked for it. That, and some of the Rhenish wine I used to enjoy. But he will not bring me any. Such things are bad for the balance of my humours. So I am told, anyway. Is that likely, do you think?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, lord.’

  ‘You could bring me some, perhaps.’

  ‘I could, but Dudo wouldn’t thank me for it.’

  ‘Come,’ Malet said. ‘He does not have to know. He has done all he can for me. I promised myself that I would live to see this day, and with his help I have done so. The battle is over. The Isle has fallen. And now you come with news that Hereward is dead, too?’

  ‘It is true, lord.’

  Malet settled down beneath the sheets. ‘Then I have nothing more to live for,’ he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper now. No doubt the effort of speaking had tired him. ‘I am ready to face my Lord.’

  He closed his eyes. I laid his hand back upon the blankets and watched for I knew not how long as his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. Eventually, once I thought he was sleeping, I got to my tired feet and made to leave, moving as lightly as possible across the stone flags so that my footfalls and the chink of my mail did not disturb him.

  I’d barely taken three paces when I heard him say: ‘Before you go, there is one more thing.’

  I turned. ‘What is it, lord?’

  ‘I have had Dudo draw up a will.’

  Sensing what was to come, I said, ‘Your forgiveness is all-’

  He raised a finger to forestall me. ‘Please, while I still have breath left in my chest. You would have learnt of this in time, in any case, but I wanted you to hear it from me first. I have made provision for you and Wace and Eudo. As you know, I have little enough land or silver at my disposal, but nonetheless I wish to leave you a token of my gratitude. To that end, each of you is to receive two of the finest destriers from my stables, and three palfreys, too. I know that you will make good use of them.’

  I didn’t know what to say to that. ‘You are too generous,’ I said once I’d recovered my voice.

  ‘There is more, if you will listen. After all, were it not for you, Tancred, I would have perished at the hands of the Danes and would never have lived to see this day. To see the conquest of England complete. For you I have a particular gift.’

  ‘I want nothing more,’ I said, and surprised myself with how honestly I meant it.

  ‘I have already made up my mind, so there is no use in disputing with me. Do you see the chest in the corner?’

  An ironbound box stood up against one wall. Wondering what sort of gift he had in mind, I went to it.

  ‘In here, lord?’

  He nodded weakly. ‘Open it.’

  I flicked open the catches and then, finding that it wasn’t locked, lifted the lid.

  Inside, lying atop stacks of dry, crinkled parchment, was a curved drinking horn, one of the largest I had ever seen, as long as my arm and more than a hand’s span in breadth at its rim. Silver binding ran around the rim, on which were engraved a fleet of dragon-prowed ships with sails billowing and decks filled with close-packed warriors. Another band ran around the middle on which was depicted a hunting scene, while the point was ornamented with a bird cast in gold.

  ‘Made from the horn of an urus,’ Malet said.

  I’d never heard of such a beast. ‘An urus?’

  ‘A creature like a bull, only much larger, which I am told is found in lands far to the east of here. This was a gift from my father on the day I came of age. I have not had much use for it of late; there has been precious little to celebrate in recent months. Now I want you to have it.’

  ‘Lord,’ I protested as I lifted it up, hefting it in my hands and feeling its weight. It was a heavy thing, far heavier than it looked, and polished smooth so that, even in the soft candlelight, it gleamed. ‘This is too much.’

  ‘It is less than you deserve.’

  ‘What about Robert?’ I asked. ‘Won’t he-?’

  I was about to say that as a father’s gift to his son, surely it was only right that it should be passed in turn to his heir.

  Malet must have guessed what I was thinking. ‘He will not mind. He has always said it is too gaudy for his liking, and he cares little for drinking, as you know. You will appreciate it more than he will. Please, take it now, with my blessing.’

  It was indeed a beautiful thing, more valuable, I didn’t doubt, than any other possession of mine save my sword and my mail, my helmet and my horses.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, although the words seemed insufficient to express my gratitude.

  ‘I trust you will take care of it, and I wish you luck in all your undertakings. God be with you always, Tancred.’

  ‘And with you, my lord,’ I replied.

  ‘As for that,’ he murmured softly, a note of melancholy in his voice, ‘we shall soon see. We shall soon see.’

&nbs
p; His eyes closed once more. Before long his breathing had grown heavy and I knew for certain this time that he was asleep. A strange feeling overcame me as I left that chamber, the drinking horn in hand, and closed the door behind me, knowing it was to be the last time I saw Guillaume Malet, the man to whom, though I had not always cared to admit it, I owed so much.

  Again that night I could not rest, and again I was not alone. Even as Pons and Serlo joined in the celebrations of those who had returned to camp, and Godric returned to his uncle Morcar on the Isle, I waited with Eudo and Wace and several of Malet’s other vassals, some of whom I knew by name and others I didn’t, in the yard outside the hall, where we warmed ourselves beside a charcoal brazier.

  Once in a while Robert would come out from the hall with furrowed brow to tell us how his father was faring. His strength was failing fast, he said; with every hour the life was going out of him. His breath was growing shallower, his pulse was weakening and he grew ever colder. The leech-doctors who had seen him did not think he would last until dawn. Already Dudo had heard his final confession and given him the sacrament. It would not be long.

  ‘We’ll wait, lord,’ I promised.

  And so we did. Even though we were all bone-weary from the battle and from the lack of sleep the previous night, we nevertheless stayed awake, hardly speaking a word, even as from outside the guardhouse the joyous cries and music of the revellers floated upon the breeze. A dog barked somewhere and mice rustled the hall’s thatch. We watched as cloud veiled the stars and we watched as the skies cleared again. We watched sparks from the brazier rise with the twisting smoke and dance around one another, flaring brightly for the briefest of instants before they vanished and became one with the blackness.

  Hours more passed, until eventually, in the grey half-light that comes before dawn, Robert emerged from the hall once more. He didn’t speak, nor did he have to, for straightaway we saw in his eyes the news that we had all been expecting.

  Guillaume Malet, his father, had passed away.

  Fourteen

  The following morning, King Guillaume came to make arrangements with Robert for the payment of the relief that would permit him to inherit his father’s barony, as well as to give his sympathies to him, Elise and Beatrice, though such gestures seemed to me rather false-hearted after the lengths he had gone to previously to strip Malet of his honour and his dignity. But he did at least give Robert leave to accompany his father’s body on its final journey to Heia, which was the family’s chief estate in England and was where he was to be buried.