The Last Conquest (53 page)

With him rode his two half-brothers, Bishop Odo of Bayeux and Count Robert of Mortain. Odo still wore his episcopal robes. Immediately behind rode Sir William Fitzosbern, the Duke’s
deputy, his second brain, his other self. At his shoulder were the three senior battle commanders – Count Alan of Brittany of the left, Sir Walter Giffard of the centre, and Sir Roger of
Montgomery of the right.

Behind again, but close, came Robert of Beaumont, flushed and excited, followed by the pride of Norman vassalage – de Tosny, de Grandmesnil, de Warenne, de Montfort, de Mortagne,
Malet.

‘Look around you. Be seen!’ the Duke had commanded.

As they rode, they looked hard at the horsemen in the rear – vassals and knights and soldiers of fortune; in the centre, at the infantry – the Flemings and Bretons and Angevins and
Manceaux; finally, as they neared the front of the huge column, at the archers and crossbowmen and scouts.

Ragged cheering rippled along the lines as they passed. It changed to reverent silence as men saw what came behind – the holy gift of Rome, borne aloft by Count Eustace of Boulogne and his
aide, young Turstin of Bec. This was the Papal banner, the present of Cardinal Hildebrand himself. This was the Duke’s sign to all men that their mission – to punish the perjurer Harold
and depose the false archbishop, Stigand of Canterbury – was favoured by His Holiness and blessed by God. Those who died shriven this day would go straight to Heaven. Men muttered a prayer
and crossed themselves.

‘A saintly mission indeed!’ said Fulk Bloodeye when the command party had passed and men began replacing headgear. ‘Fight hard, murder the enemy and die full of Divine Grace,
and you will go to Heaven, and do the world a favour by leaving more to be shared among the rest of us . . .’

Florens of Arras chuckled, and took up the refrain.

‘. . . and we who remain will live a life of comfort, and riches, and send ourselves to Hell with our avarice and sloth.’

They heard the Duke’s marshals calling for closer order and silence. The foot soldiers near the front crowded forward. The cavalry behind, out of earshot, waited patiently and began to
give orders to grooms.

Fulk eased himself on to the tailboard of a supply wagon.

‘Time for a bite,’ he said.

He stretched behind him and pulled out a package of food and two leather flasks. He offered some ham, cheese and biscuit to Florens, who took it without a word. Matthew took only cheese and
biscuit. Fulk drank from one flask and passed it to Matthew. He tossed the other to Florens, who held it up and took a long swig. He wiped the spout with his palm, fastened it and passed it
back.

‘Good stuff,’ he said.

Fulk grunted with his mouth full, and stowed it away again.

Odd, thought Florens – you would think a man would be tempted to a drink just before a battle. He never was. It added to the uniqueness of him; his self-denials could be as disturbing as
his self-indulgences.

They all munched in silence.

‘What do you reckon?’ said Florens after a while.

Fulk shrugged. ‘Quite good.’

‘And if not?’

Fulk looked about him. ‘Here is as good a place as any.’ He turned to the cook. ‘Tether them in that copse over there. Get the wagon in there too, as soon as we deploy. Matthew
will help.’

The cook nodded.

Florens got up and brushed off the crumbs.

‘This could be the big one.’

‘Could be. Want to retire, do you?’

Florens looked doubtful. ‘Hard to break habits.’

Dietrich and some of the others came running back.

‘Any time now,’ Dietrich said breathlessly.

‘Probably,’ Florens replied.

‘Well, you heard what he said.’

‘No,’ said Florens, ‘but I can guess. He told you that we are all going into battle soon against a perjurer, and that God and the Pope and all the saints and angels are on our
side. We shall hardly need an army. He said he would share our dangers and conduct us to victory and riches and fame, and that if a man did not fight well he could expect only capture or disgrace
or death. He said we are trapped between the enemy in front and the sea behind, but he was sure we would all do well, because we are the greatest army in the whole wide world. Praise God, damn the
enemy, and down with that swine Harold.’

Dietrich gaped. ‘How did you know?’

Florens and Fulk looked at each other and laughed.

‘Just a little secret we share,’ said Fulk, with that gentle growl in his throat that made Dietrich shiver.

‘Now,’ he said, clapping his hands, ‘to your positions.’ He raised his voice. ‘Do as I tell you this day, lads, and I shall make you all rich men.’

‘Or lonely ones,’ muttered Florens to himself.

Wilfrid watched their own scouts labouring back up the slope towards them.

‘See that mud fly?’ he said to Edwin. ‘Heavy going. Damn good thing too.’

‘It will be wetter still either side of the stream,’ said Edwin. ‘All those rushes.’

Wilfrid sniffed hugely. ‘Aye. So they will get wet feet first, and when they get here, we shall give them a dose of cold feet too.’

Edwin looked up at the fierce eyebrows, the beak of a nose, the magnificent moustache, and felt a surge of confidence. It was surely no mere chance that his king had put him to fight beside a
champion such as this.

To his left stood the stolid rows of fyrdmen, balancing spears, flexing fingers, digging with heels to make firmer footholds. Further left again were ranged the extra shire levies, and all the
other rag and tag who had been scooped up by the army on its rush south from London. In front of them had been placed many of the shields of housecarls who stood in the third and fourth ranks and
further back. Between and in front of the shields were scattered whatever stakes they had been able to bring with them from the woods behind, some firmly rooted, others already lolling badly
– all in a crazy variety of angles and intervals. Some were still being sharpened at the last minute.

These yokels talked loudly, and swung a wild assortment of weapons. As they watched the housecarls prepare, they too decided it was a good idea to jab and poke at imaginary enemies to their
front. Even to Edwin’s unpractised eye it was faintly laughable, especially when he turned to his right and saw the real thing.

If the earth allowed it, the housecarls rammed the butts of spears upright into the ground beside them. Edwin bravely did the same, gazing in awe as Wilfrid and his fellows uncovered their
fabled axes. Up and down the line, these mailed giants walked and squatted and stretched, and flexed shoulders and swung arms. Then came the practice swings with the axe – forward and back
and cross and down – faces vacant with concentration until they were satisfied with tension and response and performance. Whetstones were stuffed into pockets. Blades were caressed and
breathed upon.

Gradually the line settled down.

Earl Leofwine rode the length of the left wing once more, making final adjustments of concentration and strength. Edwin noticed that a solitary archer had appeared from nowhere, and now crouched
furtively behind a shield at his side.

He felt a nudge from Wilfrid, who leaned down and whispered throatily in his ear, ‘One thing – he will not be short of arrows when the Normans get going.’

‘Do you think it will be long now?’ said Edwin.

Wilfrid glanced over his shoulder, past the stepped ranks of housecarls behind him, up to the top of the hill, where the scouts were making their last report. They pointed to Telham Hill, and
Edwin saw Harold shield his eyes against the sun to look in the direction they showed. The banner of the Fighting Man gleamed above him.

The King made a sign to his groom, who led his horse away to the rear.

‘Not long, I should say,’ said Wilfrid.

Edwin turned back to the front, straining his eyes to the top of Telham Hill. He found himself yawning, of all things.

Wilfrid glanced at him, and smiled.

‘Ever used these things before?’ he said, indicating the sheaves of spears.

Edwin thought of a score of boastful answers, but looked at Wilfrid’s sharp blue eyes and said, ‘Yes – a bit.’

‘Make every one tell,’ said Wilfrid. ‘If you miss, you can not run out and get them back. If you hit something, you will not have time to go and dig it out.’

‘I – I shall do my best,’ said Edwin.

Wilfrid patted him on the shoulder. ‘I dare say you will, son.’

Edwin’s face twitched in thanks.

‘Frightened?’ said Wilfrid.

Edwin swallowed. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. I like to fight beside a truthful man.’

All the same, Wilfrid would have preferred his cousin Oswy, now lying with a split skull in two feet of water under the bridge at Stamford.

Gilbert ground his teeth.

‘Did you hear what he called me?’

‘Keep your temper,’ said Ralph.

‘At a time like this, he can still manage to be sarcastic.’

Ralph pointed. ‘There is Senlac Hill. We have just reported the enemy’s dispositions on Senlac Hill. Odo would not be human if he did not recall the joke.’

‘It is not a joke!’

‘All right, all right, it is not a joke. But keep your temper. Lives will be saved today by cool heads, not hot ones.’

‘A fat chance we have, up here all day.’

Ralph was not listening; he was watching the deployment. Bowmen were already fanning out on the front slopes of Telham this side of the stream. Ralph smiled – Sandor’s
‘Sandlake’. Blocks of infantry were forming up on the brow, waiting for the word to follow. Behind them, the knights and senior commanders were changing mounts, and checking gear on
their war destriers. At the rear, baggage wagons and their drivers were looking for dry patches of level ground; marshals and other harassed staff were yelling at them to keep away from the horse
lines and other concentration areas.

The Duke had listened to Ralph’s report in his usual tense way.

‘Roughly what we expected, sir. Housecarls in the middle, several ranks deep. Fyrdmen either side and country riff-raff at each end. I think he has his headquarters round the tree on the
top.’

‘Any defence works?’

‘Shields, mostly. They have made a sort of wall out of them. Difficult to see anything at this range.’

‘It can not be very strong,’ said Odo. ‘They have not had the time.’

He rode resplendent now in mail. Not a stitch of clerical cloth on him.

‘It will provide protection rather than strength, sir,’ said Ralph. ‘Against the archers.’

‘Nevertheless,’ said the Duke, ‘I see no reason to depart from our general design. They can not have a shield for every man there. Those without will suffer.’

Ralph looked across once more at the English army, then down at the bowmen and infantry arranging themselves before him. The English would not look so ragged when you looked up at them from down
there. Already men’s eyes were being caught by a thousand gleams from spearheads and axes.

‘I said, “A fat chance we have,”’ repeated Gilbert.

Ralph came out of his reverie. ‘Your time will come. Many men down there at this moment would gladly change places with us.’

‘Then let them come and change,’ said Gilbert.

‘Be patient,’ said Ralph. ‘You wanted to be a scout. Now be one.’

Gilbert moved his horse restlessly. ‘So we remain here all day?’

‘If necessary – yes.’

‘And what do we do, pray? Get blisters on our—’

‘We learn, that is what we do. We watch, and we learn. If you ever stop learning in our trade, you stop living very soon.’ Ralph pointed. ‘Out there, today, you will see in
action two of the finest commanders alive. If you do not find something to learn from them, you are either blind or stupid.’

Gilbert grimaced. ‘But – all day?’

Ralph softened a fraction. ‘Have no fear; a lot can happen in a battle, and very quickly. When the first blow is struck it is like a stone tossed into a pond. The ripples will reach us all
on the edges – in time. And when they do, you will wish otherwise, I promise you. You will not have time even to offer a prayer for Adele.’

Gilbert winced with remorse; he had barely given her a thought.

Ralph stretched a hand and waved it to and fro in front of them.

‘Look before you. What do you see? Tell me honestly – what are you thinking?’

‘How quiet it is.’

‘Exactly. And perhaps slow?’

‘Yes – yes!’

Ralph nodded. ‘Just like laying out the pieces on a chessboard. Well, by the end of this day those pieces will be all over the place and the board itself may be overturned. You will see
and hear such confusion that you may be forgiven for thinking that the last day of the world has come. We shall become involved – that is almost certain. But it is the time and manner of our
involvement that is hidden from us. All I can tell you is, it will be a surprise. You must prepare for a surprise, and you must react as if you were expecting it.’

Gilbert stared. ‘You mean – we might lose?’

‘Oh, that? Yes, that is possible too.’

‘That is treason,’ spluttered Gilbert.

‘Not treason – common sense. Our two commanders are very evenly matched, I should say. If I were a Saxon, I should cheerfully follow Harold, and I should be standing up there now,
sneering at the Normans.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘Easily. Look at them. Now imagine yourself down there. Would you like to slosh through that stream, plod up that hill with mud weighing you down, and throw yourself against axes that can
cut a man in half?’

‘But – but they are the enemy.’

Ralph laughed. ‘They are not “the enemy”; we are. It is their land.’

Gilbert sighed. ‘Now you have thoroughly confused me. Why are we here then? How do we ever get started?’

‘Because all war is a form of madness. No battle can start without it. There comes an instant when men stop thinking of common sense and reason, and think only of killing and surviving
– sometimes not even of surviving.’

‘If that is all it is, how can you get a decision between equal commanders when everyone is going mad?’

‘Because there will come a moment – a hesitation, a gap, a weakness, a tension –
something
. Victory will go to the man who sees it and pounces.’