Sworn Sword (31 page)

‘What news do you have of my father?’ he asked as soon as we had left the crowds behind us.

‘You haven’t heard?’

‘I’ve heard nothing since we sailed from Normandy yesterday,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

I stopped by the edge of the narrow street to make way for an oxcart which was coming up the hill. ‘The news isn’t good, lord,’ I said as the beasts plodded past us, clouds of mist erupting from their nostrils. I told him everything that Wigod had said the evening before: how the rebels had broken into the city, killed three hundred men and forced the vicomte to retreat to the castle. ‘So I’ve been told, at least,’ I said. ‘The king is even now gathering an army to march north.’

Robert looked to the sky, and then closed his eyes. His lips moved
but made no sound; no doubt he was saying some prayer. ‘When we left Saint-Valery yesterday morning, all we knew was that the city was still under siege,’ he said at last. ‘But my father lives?’

‘As far as I know,’ I said. ‘Your sister and mother too – they’re here in Lundene.’

‘They’re here?’ Robert asked, wide-eyed suddenly. ‘You know that for certain?’

‘I was the one your father charged with escorting them,’ I said. ‘I brought them from Eoferwic, along with your father’s chaplain, Ælfwold. They’re all at his townhouse.’

‘Ælfwold too,’ he murmured. ‘I haven’t seen him in a long while.’ He took a deep breath and turned to face me, clapping a firm hand on my back. ‘That is easily the best thing I’ve heard in the last few days. I owe you my thanks, Tancred.’

‘As I owe you mine, lord.’

‘Tell me,’ he said, smiling as we began to walk once more, ‘how long have you been in my father’s service?’

I counted back in my head. ‘Eight days, lord,’ I said, and for some reason felt embarrassed to say it, for it felt far longer. But it was true: it had been the fifteenth day of the month when the vicomte had called me to his chamber at the castle, and it was now still only the twenty-third.

‘Eight days?’ he asked, with a look of disbelief.

‘Before then I was sworn to the Earl of Northumbria, Robert de Commines,’ I explained, holding his gaze. My throat was dry. ‘That was until Dunholm.’

He nodded gravely for a moment, his brow furrowed. ‘Eight days ago I was minding affairs back at home in Graville. Even then the Northumbrian rebels seemed but a distant threat. Yet now I return here to find that my father’s very life is in danger. You see, Tancred, how quickly both our lives have been changed by recent events. There is much that we have in common.’

My fingers tightened into a ball. How could he compare his troubles to my own grief? At least Malet was still alive. But I remembered how I had been just as insensitive towards Beatrice and Elise back on board the ship, and so held my tongue.

We trudged on down the street. Snow slid in drifts off the roofs to either side, exposing the thatch beneath. Men and women approached us, trying to sell us bundles of firewood, or shrivelled carrots that were almost as pale as the snow, but I waved them all away.

‘It’s good to be in Lundene at last,’ Malet’s son said. ‘It has been a long journey. The moment I heard that Eoferwic was under siege, I began making the preparations to sail. We left Graville that same afternoon. That was three full days ago; bad weather prevented us sailing any sooner.’ He shook his head. ‘And all that time we could only wait, praying to God to preserve my father.’

It was not as long a journey as ours from Eoferwic had been, but I did not say it. If anything he should have been thankful that he hadn’t been delayed more than he was; February was not the best time of the year to make the crossing. I had often heard it said that the Narrow Sea was changeable: that what looked at sunrise like calm water could by midday turn into a maelstrom. And they were lucky, too, if they had missed the snow that had fallen here, since it would have been impossible to sail through such conditions.

We soon arrived back at the house. The same servant who had guarded the door on our arrival was there again now; he and Robert’s retainer led their mounts around to the stables at the back.

Inside, the rest of the knights had risen and were seated around the hearth as they broke their fast on cheese and bread. The chaplain sat at the table, sipping quietly from a cup as he squinted at a sheet of parchment. He looked up as we entered, almost dropping the cup in surprise as he saw Malet’s son. He threw out his arms as he got to his feet, and they greeted each other like old friends, speaking in both English and French, until Wigod came in and Ælfwold hurried to find the two ladies.

I sat down beside Wace and Eudo, taking off my gloves and warming my fingers by the flames.

Wace poured me some beer into a cup. ‘Who is this?’ he asked, nodding his head towards the newcomer.

‘The vicomte’s son,’ I said. ‘Robert Malet.’

‘I didn’t realise Malet even had a son,’ Eudo said.

‘Nor did I,’ I replied, and glanced up at Robert, who was speaking with the steward.

‘It’s certainly good to be back in this house,’ he said, gesturing animatedly at everything around him: at the hearth-fire, the wall-hangings, the ceiling. ‘The last time I was here was for King Guillaume’s coronation.’

‘I’ll admit I didn’t think it had been that long,’ Wigod said. ‘Two years is quite some time—’

He broke off at the sound of quick footsteps on the stairs. Beatrice came rushing down, dressed in a dark green gown, her skirts raised just above her ankles. She caught sight of her brother and straightaway burst into delighted laughter, running across and flinging her arms around him. Her mother was not far behind and soon joined in the embrace.

I turned away. I was not much used to families, and the sight of them all together was more than I wanted to see. Mauger, Ernost, Ivo, Fulcher, Gérard: they had been my brothers, in life as well as in arms; the closest to a family I had ever known.

You live by the sword
, Aubert had told me, back when we were on the ship, just after we had fled Eoferwic. Until now I hadn’t realised how truly he spoke.

Beatrice released Robert and stepped back, smoothing down her skirts. The gown she wore was cut for her figure, embroidered with yellow thread on the bodice and down each of the sleeves, and I could not help but notice the swell of her breasts beneath it.

‘When did you arrive?’ she asked her brother, wiping a tear from her eye.

‘We put in at Stybbanhythe at high tide, not an hour before dawn. I rode straight here with my manservant. He’s seeing to our horses.’

‘What about the rest of your men?’ Wigod asked. ‘Did you bring any over from Normandy?’

‘A full twenty of my household knights, their horses following in a second ship. They were all I could muster in the time I had before we left. I came as soon as I heard—’

‘And your brother?’ Elise asked, cutting him off. ‘Where is he?’

‘I left him to manage affairs at home in my absence. I thought it unwise that he should risk himself as well. One of us had to stay.’

‘You have heard, then, about Eoferwic and your father?’ Ælfwold said, now that he had returned.

‘Only since arriving here – Tancred told me all that has happened.’ He looked to the two ladies. ‘I hear he has been looking after you on the journey.’

Elise met my eyes. ‘He was,’ she answered, tight-lipped. In truth I had half expected to hear some word of thanks, now that we were in the presence of her son. I should have known better, though, for she said no more.

The priest looked puzzled. ‘Tancred told you?’ he asked Robert.

‘I found him up by one of the churches on the Bisceopesgeat hill,’ Malet’s son replied. ‘He was there with some of Ernald’s men. They were about to take him away, when I heard him mention my father’s name. That was when I intervened. Their leader was not best pleased.’

The chaplain gave Wigod a glance, then he looked sternly at me. ‘You ran into the town-reeve’s men,’ he said, plainly unimpressed.

I shrugged. ‘I’d gone to find my sword.’

‘They had accused him of fighting in the streets,’ Robert put in. ‘Though they had no one able to swear on it.’

The steward sighed and shook his head. ‘You should have waited until we had gone to the reeve ourselves.’

‘So it’s true, then?’ Robert asked.

‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘I was attacked last night, on the same street on which we met today.’ I sensed the stares of the two ladies upon me; of course they hadn’t been here last night when I came back. ‘There were two of them – one on horseback, the other on foot.’ I put a finger to my cheek, feeling for the line of dried blood, showing them where I had been cut. ‘It was one of them who gave me this. I was fortunate to get away with my life.’

I caught Beatrice’s gaze as I looked up, and saw a hint of concern in her eyes, though it was only the briefest of flickers before she bowed her head.

‘It is a serious matter,’ the steward said as he rubbed the bald patch on his head. ‘I was going to see the reeve myself this morning to report it. But now it seems that he already knows.’

‘I’ll deal with him if he comes,’ said Robert, shrugging. ‘I told his men that he could pursue the matter with me.’

‘You should be careful how you treat with him. To those who oppose him, he can be dangerous. He holds considerable influence with the king.’

‘My father is the vicomte of the shire of Eoferwic, one of the most powerful men in the kingdom.’

‘Even so,’ Wigod said, ‘it is better to have him as a friend than as an enemy.’

The hall fell quiet, the steward’s words hanging like smoke in the air.

‘Come,’ Elise said with a smile, and she began to walk towards the stairs. ‘We shall go to our chambers. You must tell us about the crossing, tell us what news you bring from home.’

Robert made to follow her. ‘I fear there is little to say, but very well. You must also tell me of your journey.’ He bent down as he passed me. ‘I would speak with you later,’ he said, his voice low as he spoke in my ear.

He straightened and walked away, and I wondered what he meant. I had already told him what the town-reeve’s knights had wanted with me. What more was he after?

I let out a yawn; I had hardly slept last night again. Indeed I could not remember the last time I’d had a full night’s rest with four walls and a roof around me, rather than under canvas, on the hard earth. It was longer than a week – that much was certain.

Eudo gave me a nudge. ‘Wake up.’ He picked up a loaf from on top of the hearthstones and held it out towards me. ‘Here, eat.’

It occurred to me that I had not yet eaten that morning, but I did not feel hungry. In fact the smell of the bread, fresh baked by the fire, made my stomach turn.

‘I don’t want it,’ I said, pushing it away.

He shrugged and began to eat it himself, pausing once in a while to pick some grit out of his teeth.

‘Are you going to tell us what happened, then?’ Wace asked.

‘For what it’s worth,’ I said. ‘There isn’t much to say.’ And I explained to them the events of that morning.

‘You shouldn’t have gone alone,’ Eudo said, frowning, after I had finished.

I heard footsteps behind me and looked up to see the chaplain standing there.

‘I’m not interrupting, I hope,’ he said.

I got to my feet. ‘What is it, father?’

He looked about at all six of us, the light from the fire playing softly across his face. ‘I wished only to say, given that the snow is unlikely to clear today, it might be best if we wait until tomorrow to leave for Wiltune.’

‘This message of yours isn’t urgent, then,’ Eudo said, his mouth full of bread.

‘It can afford to wait one more day,’ Ælfwold said. ‘But I want us to leave at dawn tomorrow.’

He stepped away, towards the door at the far end of the hall, gesturing for me to follow him. I frowned, not understanding what he meant, and glanced at the other knights, but they were talking amongst themselves, and so finally I followed him.

‘I sense there’s something troubling you,’ he said, once we were far away from the others.

He was right, of course, there were many things that had been troubling me of late. But I wasn’t ready to speak with him yet; after what had happened last night I still felt uneasy around him.

‘I’m just tired,’ I said.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘If you’re quite sure.’

‘I’m sure,’ I answered.

The Englishman didn’t look convinced, but he placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Remember that the Lord is always listening, if ever you wish to speak to him.’

‘I’ll remember,’ I said. With everything that had happened recently, I had managed to neglect my prayers.

‘That’s good.’ He let go and stepped away. ‘For now I must go
and discuss matters with Robert. However, if you wish, we might talk later.’

‘Perhaps.’ I didn’t think there was anything more I had to say to him. I felt another yawn building and did my best to stifle it.

He nodded. ‘Very well.’

He turned and crossed the hall towards the stairs, and I made my way back to the hearth, where the fire was still burning strongly.

‘What was that about?’ Eudo asked.

‘Nothing important,’ I said, and yawned as I sat back down on my stool.

‘Nothing to concern us, you mean.’ He was glaring at me, his face half in shadow from the firelight, his eyes unfriendly.

‘What?’ I looked at him for a moment, confused as to what he meant, but he said no more, merely returning a bitter gaze.

Wace stood up and I turned to him, breaking off the un comfortable stare. ‘We’re going to train at arms in the yard,’ he said. ‘Are you joining us?’

I shook my head. ‘Later.’ My limbs still ached from the night before, and I did not feel awake enough to be of much use, even in a mock fight. ‘I think I’ll try to sleep some more.’

Wace nodded, buckling on his sword-belt, then went to the door at the back of the hall. Radulf, Philippe and Godefroi all followed. Eudo was the last to go, pausing as if he were about to say something to me, but then he seemed to think better of it, and stalked out after them.

I sat alone, wondering what I might have done to cause Eudo offence, but couldn’t think of anything. Eventually I gave up, and for a while after that I tried to rest. The morning was wearing on by now, however, and the streets outside were filled with the sounds of animals and the shouts of men. At the same time I could hear the other knights in the yard behind the house, their laughter interrupted by the crash of oak against limewood.