Sworn Sword (9 page)

Eventually they came back, Wace making for his horse and mounting up without delay. ‘I’ll see what I can find,’ he said to Eudo as he worked his feet through the stirrups and gripped the reins. ‘Rest here, but don’t light a fire. Give him water; keep him warm. I’ll return soon.’

Then he dug his heels in and galloped away down the hill. The sound of hooves was muffled against the mud, until it faded and once more there was silence.

‘Get some sleep,’ Eudo told me when Wace had gone. ‘I’ll keep watch.’

‘Where’s he going?’ I managed to say. It was a struggle even to get the words out: they seemed to grind against my throat.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Eudo said. ‘He’ll be back, and we’ll be in Eoferwic before long.’

I wanted to press him further, but I had so little strength. I lay back down, giving in to my tiredness. But I did not sleep, not truly. Instead I found myself slipping in and out of wakefulness: one moment staring up at the stars in the sky; the next back in Dinant, where I had spent so much of my youth, or in Commines that autumn long ago. Except that both places were different to how I remembered them, now nothing but grey wildernesses, empty of all life, the halls and houses ancient and crumbled, and though I tried many times to call out, no one ever answered.

But then at last I heard voices again. I opened my eyes. It was still dark, the night still cold. I turned my head and saw Wace, or perhaps I only imagined him. He stood beside his horse, with what appeared to be a wooden cart attached to its harness. And then there were arms beneath my shoulders and my legs, and I felt myself raised up, the ground disappearing from beneath me. I was being taken someplace I did not know, and I tried to struggle, but my limbs were weak and their hold strong, and I could do nothing.

Then there was something hard and flat beneath my back, and I was laid down once more. I tried to ask them what was happening, but could not find the words. I heard the same voices, and horses whinnying. I remembered Rollo, but then my head grew heavy and I gave in to sleep.

I felt myself jolted from side to side, drifting through broken dreams. Before long black skies changed to grey, and then from grey to white. About me on wooden planks were strewn loose stalks of straw, and I tried to cling to them, though they kept slipping from my fingers. The wind wrapped its icy tendrils about me, shaking me as if it had my entire body in its grip. I felt so cold, and yet at the same time my leg was burning: burning like nothing I had ever known.

The voices still murmured to one another, though I could not make out what they were saying. Later a shadow came across me and I saw a face leaning over, but his features seemed blurred, and
I did not recognise him, though for some reason I felt that I should have. He pressed a hand to my forehead and spoke some more, but whatever it was that he said, I couldn’t understand.

Then he was gone and the jolting began again. I closed my eyes and tried to rest, to escape the cold, to escape the pain. I no longer knew what time it was; always when I woke it was to unchanged skies. Then from above I noticed white flakes falling, dancing silently down to settle on my cloak. A few landed upon my face, and I felt the warmth drain from my cheeks as they melted.

‘Snow,’ someone said. Eudo, I thought, though he seemed somehow far away, and I struggled to hear him.

‘We have to carry on. If we keep moving we might reach Eoferwic by dawn tomorrow. It’s the only way we can help him.’

Forms danced about me in the darkness, shifting and changing like coils of smoke. Figures came and went, and I thought I knew who some of them were, but I could not be sure. For a long time I didn’t know where I was, but when the shadows cleared, I found myself riding through the streets, sword and shield in hand.

Dunholm was in flames. A roof collapsed, sending up sparks; of another house only blackened timbers remained. Our men were fleeing, running and riding past me in their scores. I fought against the flow, pressing on alone, up the hill towards the fastness and the mead-hall. That was where Lord Robert was, and I knew I had to get to him before it was too late. Nothing else mattered.

Rollo’s hooves pounded the dirt below. My ears were filled with the clanging of the church bell, the screams of the dying, the roars of the enemy. One Englishman after another came to challenge me, charging at me with spears and axes, and one after another they fell to my blade as I carved my path through them, riding them down. Blood sprayed across my sword-arm, but I did not feel it.

Before me stood the palisade that ringed the fastness, its tall timbers rising up to the sky. I spurred Rollo on, and then I was riding through the gates, with spears and arrows raining down to right and left. Ahead I saw the mead-hall, and in front of it, Lord Robert. He was on foot and on his own, and for every one of the
enemy he felled, two more came to face him as he was pushed back towards the hall.

I called out to him, but he did not hear me. My blade swung as I pushed through the enemy’s midst, but each time I looked towards Robert, he seemed ever further away, until eventually I could see him no longer. The mead-hall was ablaze and suddenly I was surrounded, fending off attacks from all sides. Beside me Fulcher was thrown from his saddle, Gérard dragged down and set upon, and I wondered where they had been, why they had not been with me when I had needed them.

And then without warning the pain rushed up on me, and I was on the ground, clutching at my leg, staring at the blood that was gushing forth. One of the enemy stood over me, grinning. He raised his spear high, ready to thrust down, to make the finishing blow. I stared back up at him despairingly as I tried to move, and found that I could not.

He gave a laugh of disdain, booming and hollow, before finally the steel point stabbed down and darkness engulfed me.

Seven

THE SUN WAS
in my eyes when next I woke, so bright that for the briefest moment I wondered if I had died and if this were heaven. But as I blinked the moisture from my eyes, raising a hand to shield them from the light, slowly the world came into view.

I found myself lying upon a narrow bed in a chamber barely larger than a horse’s stall. There was a single glass slit for a window, and the light was shining straight in, glaring off the whitewashed plaster. I must have slept a long time, for the sun was high, but even so I still felt tired. A fire crackled in the small hearth. Two stools stood beside the bed, and on top of one was a wooden cup. The rest of the room was empty; there was no sign of my mail or shield, or even of my cloak or shoes.

I did not recognise this place. The last I remembered, it had been night and we were riding along the old road, making for Eoferwic. I had collapsed, fallen from the saddle; Wace had gone away and then returned. But what had happened after that I did not know. I tried to think back, but it was like chasing shadows in the night: no sooner did an image come to mind than it slipped away again, melting back into darkness.

Only the battle came back to me clearly: the one thing I would rather have forgotten. Even as I lay there I could almost feel the thunder of hooves beneath me; I could see myself leading the charge as we drove into the English line. And I remembered the moment I had been struck, the flash of heat down my lower leg as the flesh was torn open.

My leg. Apart from a dull ache I could hardly feel it now. But my head was thumping, my limbs numb with tiredness, my mouth
dry. I coughed. A strange taste lingered upon my tongue – like leather, I thought, although how I could tell that I was not sure, since to my knowledge I had never eaten any.

I struggled against the sheets that were wrapped around me, trying to shake off the heavy woollen blanket spread across them. My bare skin brushed against the cloth; my clothes had been taken from me along with everything else. I felt for my cross, thinking they might have taken that as well, but thankfully it was still there.

I reached out for the cup, managing to get a fingertip to it, not enough to grasp it fully, and it fell with a clatter to the floor, spilling its contents across the stone flags. I cursed under my breath, and slid back under the sheets.

Sleep came once more, and it must have been at least another hour before I surfaced. The room was still bright, but the sun had moved, no longer shining in my face, and I could see that the door lay open.

A man was standing there, watching me. He was stoutly built, and clearly used to comfortable living. His hair, brown but greying, straggled across his shoulders, but he was otherwise clean-shaven. He wore the loose-fitting robes of a priest over brown trews; on a leather thong around his neck hung a green stone, polished and sparkling in the sun. His face was weathered, and there were more than a few wrinkles around his eyes; he was in his middle years at least, even if he couldn’t yet be described as old.

‘Ah, I see you are awake,’ he said with a smile. He glanced down, saw the cup lying on the floor. ‘I will fetch some wine for you.’

I said nothing, and he disappeared from sight once more. From the accent in his voice I could tell that he was English. And yet he had spoken to me in French. My mind whirled. Had I fallen into the hands of the enemy? But if so, why would they have let me live, still less try to talk with me?

The Englishman soon returned, bearing a flagon down the side of which rolled a single red droplet. ‘It is a great relief to see you awake and well,’ he said before I had a chance to speak. ‘In truth we didn’t know whether you would survive. The Lord be praised that you have.’

‘The Lord be praised indeed,’ I said. It came out as a rasp, and I coughed, wincing at the rawness of my throat.

He set the flagon down upon one of the stools, and sat down on the other as he picked up the cup I had knocked over. He poured wine into it and passed it to me with pudgy fingers.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Drink.’

I took the cup in one hand, taking care not to spill any, and lifted it to my lips, letting the sweet taste of the liquid roll over my tongue. I swallowed; it slid coolly down.

The priest was watching me carefully, and I suddenly wondered if the wine had in fact been poisoned. But surely if they had planned to kill me, they would have done so before now.

‘Where am I?’ I asked. My throat still hurt, though now less than before. ‘Who are you?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Forgive my rudeness. My name is Ælfwold.’ He extended a hand towards me.

I glanced at it, but did not take it. ‘You’re English.’

If he took any offence at the accusation, he did not show it. ‘I am, yes,’ he said. ‘Although it may interest you to know that my lord the vicomte is not.’

‘The vicomte?’ He’d used the French word, I noticed, rather than the English, which would have been
scirgerefa
, or shire-reeve: the man charged by the king with the government of a province and everything that entailed, from the collection of dues to the maintenance of law and even the raising of armies. ‘You mean Guillaume Malet?’

The priest smiled. ‘Guillaume surnamed Malet, seigneur of Graville-Sainte-Honorine across the sea and vicomte of the shire of Eoferwic. I am honoured to serve him as chaplain.’ He gestured around at the chamber. ‘This is his house.’

I took a deep breath as a wave of relief broke over me. We had made it; somehow we had made it. ‘This is Eoferwic, then?’

‘It is,’ he replied evenly, without so much as a flicker of impatience. ‘Considering everything that has happened, you have been tremendously fortunate. God’s favour shines upon you, Tancred a Dinant.’

I turned my gaze away, towards the floor. I did not feel fortunate.

‘We have all of course heard the story of what happened at Dunholm,’ the chaplain went on. ‘You should know that so far those returned from the expedition number fewer than three hundred, many of them knights like yourself.’

Fewer than three hundred, out of the army of two thousand that had marched from Lundene only a few weeks before. How was it possible to have lost so many, and all in one night? ‘I don’t believe it,’ I said.

‘Nonetheless, it is true,’ the chaplain said, his countenance grim. ‘By all accounts it was a massacre. You and your companions did well to escape with your lives.’

‘My companions?’ I asked. ‘You mean Eudo and Wace are here?’

‘I didn’t learn their names, but if they are the same two who brought you in, then yes, I believe they are staying in one of the alehouses in the city. They were both here for a short while yesterday.’

Yesterday, I thought, but my mind was blank. ‘How long have I been here?’

‘Since it is now the third day of February …’ He paused as if in thought, fingering the green stone around his neck. ‘… I believe three days and nights in all. Most of that time you have spent either unconscious or sleeping, and burning with ague besides, so hot that at times we feared for your life. On the few occasions that you did appear to wake, you were far from lucid.’ His eyes were solemn as he looked at me. ‘To have suffered such an injury, endured a journey of more than fifty miles, and then still live at the end of it all – well, that is something of a miracle. You are a resilient man, Tancred. You must thank your companions when next you see them, for they have done you a great service. You are blessed to have friends as loyal as they.’

‘I will thank them,’ I said. Indeed it sounded as though I owed them my life; I hadn’t realised until then how badly I must have been afflicted. Three days I had been here, and yet I remembered nothing of it.

‘Will you send word?’ I asked. ‘I would like to see them.’

Ælfwold nodded. ‘I will do my best to find out where they are staying, and despatch a messenger as soon as I can manage. Of course my lord would very much like to meet you too. He has heard a great deal about you, and I know he is interested in obtaining your service.’

I swallowed and looked away. I could not think of taking a new lord yet; Robert’s death still weighed heavy upon my heart. Under him I had led a full conroi of knights: men who knew and trusted me, who would follow my every instruction without fail. He had given me mail and sword and shield, had helped to make me who I was. But now that life was gone, stolen from me, and I did not know what to do.