Sworn Sword (47 page)

We set off, staying away from the main ways as much as we could, for if there was anyone about at this hour, that was where we would probably find them. In the distance, a dog barked, and its call was taken up by another. But of people there was no sign anywhere. A strange feeling came over me as we hurried through the silent streets, knowing that it would not be long before the rest of our army was here in force, before the sound of steel on steel was ringing out amidst the houses. My sword-arm itched even as I thought about it.

The moon was edging lower in the sky, almost touching the thatch of the houses by the time we saw the gatehouse ahead of us, its stonework lit by the soft glow of a brazier. In front of the gates were gathered several figures, all in shadow, all of them roaring with laughter, no doubt at some jest.

By the side of the street stood a stack of barrels, and I ducked behind them, raising a hand to the others, who were behind me. The barrels contained some kind of meat, only it seemed to have turned rancid, and some time ago as well. My nose filled with the stench of rotting carcasses, as bad as any battlefield I had known.

Breathing as lightly as I could, I crouched and peered through a gap between the barrels, towards the gatehouse. None of the
Northumbrians there seemed to have heard or seen us, and for that I thanked God. There were five of them warming their hands around the brazier, but atop the gatehouse, facing the country to the south, stood two more, making seven in all. They were dressed in what looked like leather jerkins reinforced with metal studs, and each of them carried a spear, while one, who was in mail, carried a sword by his side as well, and I took him for their captain.

‘What do we do?’ Philippe asked as he wiped still more dirt from his face.

‘Nothing yet,’ I said. ‘We wait for the signal.’

Again I looked to the east, and this time I was sure dawn was breaking: the blackness receding, turning to a deep blue. By now I was beginning to grow anxious. Had something gone awry? Had the attack been called off? If so, we had no way of knowing. All we could do was wait, and then if the attack did not come, try to get out the same way that we had entered the city. Except that as soon as it was light we would easily be spotted. At some point, then, we would have to decide: whether to stay or whether to go. It was not a choice I wanted to make, for if the whole plan failed because of us then we would have to bear the king’s wrath.

My head was filled with all these thoughts when suddenly it came, blasting out from the north. The sound of war-horns. Fitz Osbern was attacking.

The Englishmen by the gate looked at one another; one of the two atop the parapet called down to the others. All looked confused; if they had been expecting any assault that night, they were probably expecting it to come from the south, not from the north. Then the guard-captain shouted at one of his men, who scurried off up the main street into the town.

That left just six: one for each of us. I placed my hand on my sword-hilt as my heart beat faster. I felt a thrill such as I had not known in weeks, but I held back, waiting while the enemy returned to their brazier, waiting for the right moment, waiting until they had let down their guard—

‘Now!’ I shouted, rushing from the shadows, roaring as I pulled my blade free of its scabbard.

The first of them turned, wide-eyed in surprise, his spear held before him, but I knocked it aside with my shield and ran him through before he even knew what had happened. Blood spurted forth as I wrenched the blade free, and he fell to the ground. My first kill of the night.

The one in mail had drawn his sword and he came at me now, wielding it in both hands, bringing it crashing down, but I lifted my shield in time and the blade glanced off its face as I stumbled back. He was stronger than he looked, but not quick, and as he tried to raise it for another blow I lunged forward, crashing my shield into his chest. He shouted out some words I did not understand, as, already off balance, he fell to the ground, and as he struggled to get up I stamped down on his chest and drove the point of my sword into his face.

Up on the parapet the other two Englishmen were shouting, hurling down spears at us, and I turned just in time to avoid one as it plunged into the ground, sticking in the mud. Another five men in leather jerkins were rushing towards us from one of the side streets, even as Wace, teeth gritted, finished the last of the gate guards on his sword.

‘We’ll hold out down here,’ he shouted to me. ‘You and Eudo go for the ones up there.’

On either side of the gatehouse was a doorway, inside each of which I knew would be a set of stairs leading up. I glanced at Eudo, then ran to one side while he went to the other. My cloak was slipping, threatening to get in the way of my shield-arm, and I cast it aside.

I started up the wooden steps, only to meet one of the sentries rushing at me, his spear aimed at my head. I ducked to one side, almost crashing against the wall, managing to stay on my feet as I swung at his leg, but my blade found only air. He had the advantage for he held the higher ground, and though I could defend myself against his blows, I could not get any closer than the length of his spear.

He came at me again, growing in confidence as he charged down the steps, his shield covering his chest as he tried to drive the spear
towards my shoulder. I stepped back, encouraging him to press the attack even as I gave my sword-arm room. He fell for the ploy, thrusting further forward, but in doing so he had overstretched and left himself open. Before he could recover his balance, I lunged forward, driving my sword up beneath his round shield, towards his groin, twisting the blade as it went in. His eyes opened wide and a silent gasp escaped his lips, and as I stepped back he collapsed, his limp body tumbling towards the bottom of the stairs.

I left him there and hurried on up, coming out on to a wooden platform, as Eudo forced the other sentry back towards the outer parapet. The Englishman yelled as he was sent sprawling over, until he met the ground, and then his cries stopped.

From here I could see the whole of the city, from the bridge to the shadow of the distant minster. And I saw that Eoferwic was beginning to wake. Once more the enemy’s horns blew out from the north, and in the streets now I could see men carrying torches, many of them running towards the bridge, in the direction of that rallying call, others towards us. But in the fields and woods to the south I saw nothing but darkness, and I hoped the king and his army were out there, or else all this would have been for nothing.

‘Come on,’ I said to Eudo.

We sheathed our swords and hurried back down, taking care not to slip where the sentry I had killed had fallen. His bowels had emptied and the steps were slick with his blood and his shit.

The night was filled with the screams of the dying. Radulf sliced his blade across a Northumbrian’s throat; Philippe kicked the brazier into the path of another man, and as it overturned, spilling hot coals across his lower half, he ran him through. The rest of the enemy had taken flight, for the moment at least, but there were shouts not far off and the torchlight was drawing closer. Godefroi seemed to be nursing a wound to his shield-arm, though it did not look serious, while Wace had turned his attention to moving the great oak bar that held the gates in place, and we joined him. It was far heavier than I had imagined and straightaway I felt the strain upon my shoulders, but together we managed to lift it, setting it down on the ground before turning our attention to the gates themselves.

Godefroi gave a shout and I glanced across my shoulder, down the street. Little more than a hundred paces away a horde of Englishmen were rushing at us with seaxes and spears and shields: more than I could count at first glance.

‘Get these gates open!’ I said, pulling harder on the iron rungs that were set into the timbers, but even with two of us on this door, and three on the other, it seemed that nothing was happening. I saw the enemy growing closer, and knew that if we did not do this now, then the battle would be lost before it had begun. At last with a great grinding noise, the gate began to move.

‘Keep pulling,’ Wace shouted. ‘All the way!’

The grinding ceased and I felt the gate begin to swing open. Behind me I could hear the cries of the English growing louder, closer, but I did not dare turn my head as I concentrated all my strength. My arms burnt with pain, and I wanted to stop, but I knew that I could not. Gradually the gap grew wider, so that first one, then two men might pass through easily, and wider still, until we stepped aside and, with resounding crashes on both sides, the timbers struck against the walls of the gatehouse.

If ever the king needed a signal to begin his attack, that was surely it. We had done what was asked of us, and the gates to Eoferwic lay open.

But for now we had our own battle to fight, as the enemy in their dozens came like a torrent towards us, their faces white in the moonlight, the steel of their blades reflecting their fury.

‘Shield-wall,’ I shouted, gripping tightly the straps of my own shield. ‘Hold the gates!’

I retreated until I stood just beneath the arch of the gatehouse itself. It was a narrow space, wide enough for only three men to fight alongside one another, or six men split into two ranks. At the very least we could not be out-flanked, although as I saw again the enemy’s numbers, despair clutched at my stomach. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to see mailed knights charging from out of the night, but there was nothing, only blackness. And so it was upon us to hold out here. We had no choice, if we were to succeed.

Wace and Eudo lined up on either side of me, shields overlapping,
feet set to receive the charge, with Malet’s three men behind: all of them so close that I could smell their sweat, the blood of the enemy soaking into their mail. The sound of their breathing filled my ears.

‘Let’s kill the bastards,’ Eudo shouted as he banged his sword against his shield. ‘Let’s kill them!’

Not that we needed any encouragement, since they were upon us, the bosses of their shields crashing against our own. I staggered back under the force of the attack, but Radulf was behind me and our short line held firm.

Before me an Englishman bared his broken teeth, his breath reeking in my face as he tried to swing at my legs, but I met his blow on the point of my shield, trapping his seax, and brought my sword down upon the back of his bare head. He fell at my feet, though I had no time for celebration as another man stepped over his corpse to take his place in the wall. This one was taller, and had a helmet as well. He lifted his spear high and stabbed down, and I raised my shield to defend it, realising too late that I had left myself open from below as one of his friends thrust forward. I was lucky, for it was a weak strike which glanced off my chausses, but it could have been worse.

‘We can’t hold them,’ Radulf said. ‘There are too many!’

‘Hold the line,’ I shouted over him, drowning his voice out. ‘Stand firm!’

But I knew he was right, as together the enemy roared, and then all at once they began to push against our shields. We lacked the numbers behind us, and suddenly were being driven back, beneath the gatehouse.

‘Stand firm!’ I said again, but it was to no avail, for they had dozens of men and we did not have the strength to check them. I gritted my teeth, putting all my will into my shield arm, but even then it was not enough. We were losing ground, losing the gates, losing the battle—

The tall Englishman started to raise his spear, ready to stab down again, but this time I would not fall for the same trick, and kept my shield where it was, instead thrusting forward with my sword,
up and into his face. He was not expecting it, and as I struck his helmet he staggered back, dazed, into the midst of his comrades, and the enemy halted for a moment.

Once more the horns sounded: two sharp blasts that were the signal to rally. By now the English would surely be gathering against Fitz Osbern, and whatever advantage he might have gained by the surprise attack would soon be lost. Sickness swelled in my stomach. We had failed.

It was then I noticed that some of the enemy, at least among the front ranks, had stopped driving forward, but were just standing there, as if unsure whether to keep attacking or whether to flee. The horns came yet again, and this time I realised they were not coming from inside the city, but from behind us.

I risked a glance over my shoulder, between the heads of Radulf and Godefroi. Mail and spearpoints gleamed in the moonlight, and there were pennons flying, horses galloping, and as I turned back to face the enemy, suddenly I found myself laughing, my arms filled with renewed vigour.

‘Forwards!’ I shouted.

The enemy wavered. Those in the shield-wall at the front had noticed what was happening and were hesitating, but those at the back could not see and they were still trying to push forward. In such moments of indecision did the fate of battles lie, and I knew that we had to take this chance.

I charged, hoping that Eudo and the others would follow, swinging my blade into the shield of the tall man before me. The blow shuddered through my arm as the edge cut through the leather rim, digging into the wood. He gave a cry as he stumbled back, still holding on to the shattered shield though it was now all but useless, and I pressed the attack, ramming the point of my blade towards his chest. He tried to block but it was in vain, as the steel broke through the wood and found his heart.

The sound of hooves could be heard now, drumming upon the earth, and it seemed that more of the enemy had spotted the danger, for some of those further back were abandoning their comrades, turning and running.

Their shield-wall was breaking, and even though we were but six men, we were amongst them, tearing into their ranks, exulting in the joy of the fight, the glory of the kill, challenging those who remained to stand against us, to meet their deaths on our sword-edges. Then, almost as one, they fled, making for the safety of the side streets, for the bridge, for anywhere they could hide.

The gates belonged to us, and through them now came a column of horsemen, lances couched and ready to strike, riding at full gallop, kicking up dirt and stones as they went, and I saw on their pennons the familiar gold lion upon a scarlet field.