The Last Conquest (36 page)

‘I agree,’ said Beaumont. ‘Let us move fast and strike! We shall crush him like a beetle.’

His seniors smiled.

Montgomery looked thoughtful. ‘There still remains the problem of their numbers. We do not know their strength.’

‘That is a chance we must take,’ said Fitzosbern. ‘It is the price we pay for the advantage of surprise. Harold is taking a far bigger chance by going for us with a tired and
depleted army.’

‘Yes, but how depleted? How do we know he has not made up his losses?’

Fitzosbern turned to Ralph. ‘Do you think he has recouped after that . . . bridge engagement at . . . um . . .’

‘Stamford, sir.’ Ralph considered. ‘I should say there was still a sizeable army. As for numbers—’

The Duke interrupted. He had long since learned to distrust any estimates of large enemy forces, even by his experienced scouts. Few scouts saw an army conveniently drawn up together in one
place; they were usually strung out on a line of march. Nor did the Duke want Ralph coming out with wild overestimates; it was bad for morale. One could sometimes gain more precise figures from
high-ranking traitors, but they were also suspect for obvious reasons. William sought instead useful information.

‘What sort of personnel?’

‘A lot heavy infantry, sir.’

‘That will be the housecarls,’ said Beaumont, showing off knowledge that everyone else already shared. ‘The élite of the army. Axemen. Professional, and hard as
nails.’

William ignored him.

‘Anymore?’

‘Like swordsmen?’ said Alan of Brittany, whose Bretons prided themselves on such skill.

‘Swords, yes,’ said Ralph, ‘but no separate sword detachments. And not much in the way of horse, so far as I could see. No bows either. A sprinkling of spearmen. As for the
rest, remnants mostly, armed with everything but the garden spade.’

Fitzosbern nodded. ‘Harold has made up his numbers by collecting whatever he can on the way, and he can not afford to be fussy. All the same, I should be surprised if he does not have a
goodish number of fyrdmen with him as well, and they are not armed with garden spades.’

‘Fyrdmen?’ said Beaumont, puzzled.

Giffard glanced in triumph at Montgomery. So the puppy did not know everything.

‘The fyrd,’ said Fitzosbern, ‘is the English annual military gathering – the host. You know – “the realm is in danger”. We have knight service; Harold
has the fyrd. It is rather more amateur than our system, and not so regular, and they are hardly in the first flush of youth. But it seems to work. At least the English have always made it work.
They pride themselves on their amateurism.’

‘It goes back long before Cnut,’ said Geoffrey de Montbrai, adding a touch of scholarship.

Bishop Odo, anxious to nullify any credit that might accrue to Geoffrey, and keen to show off his military knowledge, asked a question.

‘What sort of shape are they in?’

‘Hard to tell, sir,’ said Ralph. ‘Armies never look their best on line of march. But they are keeping up a good rate.’

‘Which brings us back to their estimated time of arrival,’ said the Duke, deciding that everything useful had been said.

He turned to Fitzosbern. ‘Fitz, I want scouts out towards the English night and day. Work them in relays if necessary. Work them singly if need be, and damn the risk. We must cover twice
the ground, all the ground. We must know if they keep up the present speed of approach. We must know if they come along the avenues.’

‘And if so, which one.’

‘Yes. See to it. Take Odo with you to brief them. I shall go through the drills again now for the knights.’

He waved a hand round the ring of his senior commanders, who wiped the last of the soap off their cheeks and thought of breakfast getting cold.

The Duke turned to Geoffrey de Montbrai. ‘Coutances – send word to de Clair that he must have his supply wagons ready to move by tomorrow night. Tell him to come here as soon as
possible. Send for all the archer and crossbow section leaders, and the senior armourer. Ask Ranulf how many men he needs for a security garrison—’

‘And divide it in two,’ said Geoffrey, grinning.

‘Yes. Yes. Appoint a commander. Turold of Vermandois will do – unless you can think of a better.’

Geoffrey stood up. ‘Turold would also be my choice, my lord. But may I remind you that I too have responsibilities at this time, as does my brother bishop of Bayeux. It will be a time soon
for the curing of men’s souls.’

William waved a hand. ‘I have an army of priests for that.’

‘Nevertheless, my lord Duke, they have to be allocated.’

‘Time enough for that tomorrow. Men will not begin to fear until the darkness before a battle, and that is not tonight. You told me yourself that attendance has been poor. But you can
arrange for yourself or Odo to say Mass for me tomorrow as usual.’

‘As your Grace pleases.’

‘See to it, Coutances. You are a man who can carry many instructions in his head. And it now needs your authority. After so many days of rumours and false alarms, it will take high rank to
make men move.’

Geoffrey bowed and left.

‘Oh – and find the Fleming Bloodeye,’ the Duke called after him. ‘It is time his money-men began earning their keep.’

At the end of the hall, Odo and Fitzosbern issued instructions to the assembled scouts, and divided them into watches. Men grumbled when they were assigned to night duty.

Ralph looked around for Gilbert. ‘Where is he?’

Bruno shrugged.

Just then Gilbert tumbled in through the door, and stopped abruptly when he saw Odo and Fitzosbern. His hair was awry, his face was grey, and there were shadows under his bloodshot eyes.

‘I – I am sorry, my lords. I was in a distant part of the camp and I had a sick companion to see to. I came as soon as I could.’

Odo raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, well, young Master Senlac.’

Gilbert writhed.

Ralph tried to come to his rescue. ‘He has a gift for late arrival, my lord. But the gift is often fruitful.’

‘Indeed?’ said Odo, ignoring the irony. ‘Always late in? Then he can be late out for a change. He is on the night watch.’ He looked directly at Gilbert. ‘Get to
your bed again; you look as if you have just left it.’

Fitzosbern pursued the idea rather more practically. ‘Rest well, then ride. We must have instant news of any change – speed, direction, apparent design. Understand?’

Gilbert nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘The minute you have anything, you return at the gallop.’

Fitzosbern looked at Ralph and spoke as if Gilbert were not there. ‘Can he manage a night reconnaissance by himself?’

Gilbert, his heart now pounding as hard as his head, waited dry-mouthed.

As Gilbert felt Ralph’s gaze, so Ralph was conscious of Bruno’s expressionless face.

The boy was pale with tension and pain. Whatever he had been doing for the last two days, it had not been pleasant. Probably finished up drunk with that old soak, Taillefer. Hardly to be blamed,
after the rejection he had suffered. And now, the lashing from Odo’s tongue.

He knew what Bruno was thinking – could almost hear it. He had listened once before, and it had hurt him as much as it had hurt Gilbert. For the life of him he could not do it again
– not kick him while he was down.

Could he manage a night reconnaissance by himself? Every scout in the army would be out there as well. The boy had to be given a chance.

‘I should think so,’ said Ralph.

And damn Bruno to Hell!

Fitzosbern grunted. ‘So be it.’

He turned to the other scouts. ‘Go now, and see to your horses. If you are on the night watches, you can obtain rations from Sir Baldwin de Clair. The first relay leaves at noon. The
second at nightfall. The third at midnight. The fourth at dawn. Report back in person to me or to my lord bishop Odo.’

Odo opened his mouth to say something sarcastic to Gilbert, but Fitzosbern placed a hand on his arm.

‘Come, my lord. The Duke’s council. We are needed more there.’

Odo contented himself with a lofty smile, and followed.

Gilbert glared after him.

‘You wait. You just wait – Bishop bastard Odo of Bayeux.’

Ralph nudged him. ‘Careful, careful. Mistress Arlette of Falaise may have neglected to marry the Duke’s father, but she did marry Odo’s father.’

Gilbert spat. ‘He is still a bastard.’

‘You can endure the edge of Odo’s tongue. Be thankful instead that Fitzosbern trusts you. His is the judgement to watch for.’

Gilbert softened. ‘Yes. Yes, I know.’

What was far more important was that Ralph now trusted him.

Ralph patted him on the back. ‘Go now. Get something to eat. And rest well; you look awful.’

Bruno favoured him with a comment. ‘And stay away from Taillefer; he is getting you into bad habits.’

Gilbert grinned, and put his hand to his head in mock agony.

‘Warn Sandor,’ said Bruno. ‘Tell him I wish to see him about Sorrel.’

‘When you ride out, remember what I have told you,’ said Ralph. ‘You seek information, not glory. Glory is for heroes.’

‘And heroes die,’ said Bruno.

Gilbert smiled. He looked about fifteen when he smiled like that. Ralph poked him softly on the jaw with his fist.

‘Look after that hauberk.’

Bruno came to stand beside Ralph. They watched Gilbert go.

Ralph, as usual, felt Bruno thinking.

‘Well, what else could I do? There is no harm at this stage, is there?’

‘Not to the army,’ said Bruno.

Ralph looked up sharply. ‘To him? No. Not even Gilbert—’

‘– “of Avranches”—’

‘– “of Avranches” – will fight the whole English army by himself in the middle of the night. With any luck he will not find them at all.’

‘And tomorrow?’

Ralph tucked his gloves into his belt. ‘Tomorrow – we can keep an eye on him.’

‘And when the battle comes?’

‘When the battle comes,’ said Ralph, ‘we hope Almighty God will keep an eye on all of us.’

Bruno grimaced.

‘Now,’ said Ralph, ‘shall we find Sandor? Let us see what he thinks about Sorrel’s front leg.’

Sweyn recognised the Norman horse before he did the rider. He came rushing into the house.

‘Father! The Normans!’

Gorm barely stirred. Sweyn tried shaking him. Gorm flung him off. Sweyn looked at Aud.

‘It is no use,’ she said. ‘You will not move him.’

She nodded towards the door. A slight flush had appeared in her cheeks. ‘Where are they?’

‘On the hill, by the wood.’

In the silence that followed, Sweyn began weeping in his fear.

‘What do we do?’

Aud glanced down at her father sprawled across the table. Even as she looked at him, he slid from the stool and slumped on to the rushes. His feeble attempts at rising sickened her.

She looked quickly round the house, deciding what she could take in a hurry. Sweyn followed her with his eyes, content to wait for her initiative. Now that Rowena was gone and her father was
helpless, Aud did not stop to think how odd it was that she should be taking the decisions. When she later recalled that time, she was surprised to remember that although she felt fear and
excitement, she did not sense panic. The flush was gone from her face too.

Having collected what she felt was vital, she flung Sweyn’s heavy cloak towards him and indicated Gorm’s travelling stick in the corner.

‘It is Father’s,’ said Sweyn in awe.

Aud glanced at Gorm, then back at Sweyn.

‘Take it.’

She motioned Sweyn to wait by the rear door. Fastening her own cloak at the neck, she crossed to the front entrance and looked carefully out.

Edwin was crossing the stream.

Aud was puzzled that her surprise and relief were tinged with annoyance, and it was not simply annoyance at Sweyn’s having misled her. Someone else had arrived to take decisions again.

Nor was she overjoyed at Edwin’s first question.

‘Where is Rowena?’

‘Gone. She has taken Edith and gone. She has left us.’

Edwin ignored the sneer in her voice. There was not time now for family squabbles. He tethered the horse.

‘Where did she go?’

Aud continued to look disdainful. ‘She said something about the King’s manors and Chichester.’

‘Yes,’ said Edwin. ‘I told her to go there. Why did you not go too?’

Aud turned about and stalked into the house. Edwin followed her. Aud pointed at her father, who had struggled to a sitting position.

‘He would not go. We felt we were safer here.’

‘Then why are you dressed for the road?’

‘We thought you were the Normans. How did you get away? Why are you riding a Norman horse? Where is Godric? Is he dead? Did they torture him?’

Trust Aud to turn to the most lurid possibilities. As her questions beat at him like tiresome windblown leaves, Edwin thought of Godric stumping along the trail behind him.

‘Go ahead,’ Godric had said. ‘Ride as fast as you can, but take care; there will be Norman patrols everywhere. And the English army must be closing by the hour.’

‘What about you?’ Edwin asked. ‘English patrols could be just as suspicious as Norman ones.’

‘You forget. I lived on trails for the first ten years of my life. I shall be delayed, but I shall not be stopped. Have no fear for me. Our fear is for those at the mill.’ He clasped
Edwin’s hand in his great paw. ‘Now ride. And tell Rowena . . .’

He searched for words.

Edwin smiled. ‘There is no need, my friend. It is enough for her to know that you are on the trail. She will understand.’

Edwin had been prepared to find them all there, or nobody. Finding the family split was upsetting. Aud was no help.

‘Why are you on a destrier? How did you steal it? Are you being followed?’

Edwin held up a hand. ‘Aud, please. It is a long story. Godric is well. He comes behind. Have you something to eat and drink?’

‘How close are the Normans? Should we not be going? Where will you take us?’

Edwin began to sense that feeling of unsatisfied demand that was always in the air whenever he was alone with Aud. He did his best to avoid the trouble that he could see was coming.