Sworn Sword c-1 Page 14

  ‘We need to turn back,’ said Philippe beside me. ‘We won’t get through this way.’

  I glanced back up the road we had come, at the countless dozens of men at our rear. ‘We’ve come too far,’ I said. ‘We have to go on.’

  I looked towards the castle, a shadow against the grey skies to the east, where it rose above the houses. That was where Malet would be coming from, if he was still going to meet us at the ship. If, indeed, he could get through. But then I spotted, riding hard from that direction, a conroi of horsemen, at least two score and probably more, with a banner flying high above them. A banner which even in the dim twilight I could make out: a red fox upon a yellow field. The symbol of Gilbert de Gand.

  For the first time in my life I had reason to feel relief at the sight of him. He and his men charged into the enemy’s flank, tearing into the crowd with lances and swords alike. Shouts went up from the gathered townsmen, only this time they were shouts of panic rather than anger.

  ‘For Normandy,’ I heard someone call; it could have been Gilbert himself, although I was not sure. ‘For St Ouen and King Guillaume!’

  The enemy were fleeing now — those, at least, who were not being cut down by the swords of Gilbert’s men or trampled under the hooves of their horses. Men ran past us on either side, no longer caring about us, thinking only of escaping with their lives.

  ‘On,’ I shouted to?lfwold and all the others behind me. I rode through their midst, knee to knee alongside Philippe, sword still in hand to fend off any who came too near, until suddenly we came upon Gilbert and his knights, who were pressing from the other side, and found ourselves in space once more.

  ‘You again,’ Gilbert said, drawing to a halt as he caught sight of me. ‘I seem to find you everywhere.’ He removed his helmet and wiped his brow with his sleeve. In the half-light of dawn he looked more gaunt than ever. A faint stubble covered his chin, and his mouth as always was drawn in distaste. ‘The enemy are marching,’ he said between breaths. ‘They’ll be at the walls before long.’

  ‘I know, lord,’ I answered as I sheathed my sword. ‘I’m escorting the ladies Elise and Beatrice to the wharves, on the orders of the vicomte.’

  He glanced up and saw them. Beatrice still looked white — even more so now as the skies grew brighter — though she had recovered enough to draw her hood back over her hair. Elise rode close by her side, one arm around her shoulders. The two were flanked by Radulf and Godefroi.

  ‘Malet clearly trusts you, though God alone knows why,’ Gilbert said, half muttering, as if he were speaking only to himself. He surveyed our party, and then turned back to me. ‘See them safely there. You will find that the road down to the river is clear.’

  ‘Thank you, lord,’ I said.

  He nodded in acknowledgement, then called out to the rest of his men: ‘With me! Conroi with me!’

  He raised his lance with its pennon aloft and set off at a gallop in pursuit of those who had fled, his knights following close behind him. Their shields of yellow and red flashed past and their mounts’ hooves drummed upon the earth, kicking up clods of earth as they went. For a moment I almost contemplated riding with them, even if that meant fighting under Gilbert’s banner. If the enemy were about to attack then I wanted to be there, avenging Robert and Oswynn and all the rest of my comrades. But I knew that was not my task, and it was with heavy heart that I watched them ride away.

  ‘Follow me,’ I said to the others. Carrying on the breeze came the townsmen’s chanting again; it might not be long before they returned. And there was the battle-thunder, unmistakable now as it rang out from the north: an almost unearthly din. The rebels were marching, the enemy were coming, and we could ill afford to delay.

  Workshops and storehouses and wattle-work fences passed by, close on either side: in some places we could barely ride two abreast. Before us now I saw the river, grey and slow-moving beneath the mist, which lay so thick that I could see nothing of the houses on the far shore. Rain continued to spit upon us, and it seemed to me that the clouds were becoming heavier, in spite of the lightening sky to the east. The bodies of Englishmen lay in the mud, on their backs or crumpled on their sides, eyes open as they had been at the moment of their death, and I tried to ride around them.

  And then all of a sudden the houses came to an end, and we had the river beside us as we came out on to the quayside. There were ships of all sizes, from simple fishing craft to wide-beamed traders, but then at the far end I spotted the longship I had seen a few days before. She was even more magnificent close at hand: a huge vessel, at least forty paces in length, I reckoned, with a black-and-yellow sail furled upon her yard. This, then, had to be Wyvern. It seemed a fitting name, for like the serpent she was long and sleek, and no doubt fast as well when out on the open water.

  On the quayside next to her stood the vicomte himself. He was dressed again in his mail, with half a dozen knights, the rest of whom were all still mounted. He said nothing as I approached; his face was solemn, his lips tight, his eyes on his wife and daughter. I swung down from the saddle and went to help the ladies as they too dismounted, signalling for Philippe to go to Elise even as I held out my hand to Beatrice. She took it after a moment’s hesitation, her fingers delicate yet firm in my own, and I saw her confidence returning along with the colour to her cheeks as she brought her leg across and gracefully slid down to the ground.

  Elise rushed to her husband and threw her arms around him. ‘Guillaume,’ she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘Elise,’ the vicomte said as he held her to his chest, and then he opened his arms to receive Beatrice as well. Lord, wife and daughter embraced together.

  A shout came from the ship, where a dark-haired man with a full beard was standing. The shipmaster, I guessed. He was directing men as they lifted sacks from the quayside, passing them across the gunwale to others who stowed them beneath the deck-planks.

  ‘Aubert,’ Malet called, and the man turned. ‘How soon can you sail?’

  ‘Shortly, my lord,’ he said, stepping up on the side and jumping down on to the wharf. ‘We’re almost finished loading supplies. Is everyone here?’

  ‘Not yet,’ the vicomte said. ‘We’re waiting for two more to arrive.’

  He was right; I had not yet seen Eudo or Wace. I only hoped that they had not been waylaid, for I understood what Malet was thinking. We might have to leave without them if they did not come soon.

  Two of the deck-hands came to fetch the bags from the ladies’ mounts, and from those of Radulf, Godefroi and Philippe. I helped them to unfasten the buckles that held them to the saddles, and to carry them, one in each hand, on to the ship. They were not heavy, probably containing little more than a spare set of clothes; they too must have been told to travel light. I climbed up on to the deck. It was some while since I had been aboard a ship; in fact the last time I had done so was during the crossing from Normandy, that autumn of the invasion.

  ‘Tancred,’ Malet called. His womenfolk stood beside him, speaking with?lfwold, who kept glancing up the road that led to the bridge, an anxious look on his face. Not far off, a war-horn blew; I could hear the clash of steel upon the wind, and I felt myself tense. I left the bags for one of the oarsmen to collect and jumped back down to the quay.

  ‘My lord,’ I blurted out, ‘this is not my place. I need to be here in Eoferwic, killing the men who murdered my comrades, who murdered Lord Robert-’

  ‘Tancred, listen to me,’ Malet said. ‘You will have your vengeance in time. But you must understand that my wife and daughter are more important to me than anything else in this world. I am entrusting their safety to your hands. Would you abandon them if they were your own kin?’

  ‘No, lord-’

  ‘All I ask is that you take care of them, and extend to them the same respect as you would your own womenfolk. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ I said, bowing my head. I knew that he was right: this was the service he had asked of me, and I could not g
o back on the oath that I had sworn to him. Revenge would have to wait.

  ‘As for the other matter, it is imperative that?lfwold reaches Wiltune safely. Remain watchful, and have your hand ready at your sword-hilt at all times, for you never know when you might have to use it.’

  ‘Of course, lord.’ I would hardly be fulfilling my duty otherwise.

  ‘These are uncertain times,’ Malet said. ‘I am relying on you, Tancred. Do not fail me.’

  ‘No, lord,’ I said. ‘I will not fail you.’

  I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see Eudo and Wace at the far end of the wharves. They rode at a canter towards us, and across the black hawks painted on their shields there were streaks of blood.

  ‘Are these the last two?’ the man Malet had called Aubert shouted from amidships. Already the oarsmen were taking their places on top of the wooden ship-chests that they used for benches.

  ‘They are,’ the vicomte said.

  The shipmaster fetched a long gangplank from beside the mast, which he laid across the gap between wharf and ship. ‘My ladies,’ he said. ‘If you would come aboard-’

  He was cut off as another horn sounded from the city: one short blast quickly followed by a longer one.

  ‘Lord,’ said one of Malet’s knights. He reined in his mount as, restlessly, it pawed at the ground; behind him his comrades were glancing about nervously. ‘We cannot delay any longer.’

  ‘No,’ said Malet. ‘No, we cannot.’ He made his way quickly to his horse, a bay with black mane and tail standing by the storehouses that fronted the quay.

  ‘Be safe,’ Elise called to him as he mounted up. ‘Please be safe.’ Once more she rushed to his side; this time he held out a hand to her and she took it. She seemed to have regained her composure, or else she was simply holding back the tears.

  ‘I will,’ Malet said as he gazed down upon his wife and Beatrice. ‘God be with you both.’ He withdrew his hand to grip the reins, and gave his horse a kick. It whickered as it started into a trot. ‘Farewell.’

  He waved to the half-dozen of his men who were waiting, then dug his spurs into the beast’s flanks and cantered away, past Eudo and Wace who were riding in the other direction. Not once did he look back.

  ‘The enemy are gathering,’ Aubert said. ‘We must go now if we’re to get away at all.’

  The shipmaster was right. Again I could hear men chanting, filling the morning with their battle-cries, and if anything it seemed that they were closer now.

  Wace and Eudo drew to a halt and quickly dismounted. Both looked drowsy still, their eyelids heavy; neither had shaven, and light stubble covered their chins. Like myself they had probably been sleeping when word had arrived. It was still not fully light, the river a grey smear broken by faint ripples where the rain fell, more heavily now.

  ‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ the priest said to them, a little sharply, I thought, given that we ourselves had arrived only a short while before.

  ‘We came upon some of the townsmen by the bridge,’ Eudo said as he unfastened his saddlebag. ‘The whole city is rising. You wouldn’t believe it.’

  ‘We saw,’ I said. ‘We had to fight our way through them from the vicomte’s house.’

  Four boys whom until then I had taken for deck-hands were seeing to the horses that we had brought, and I recognised them for some of the stable-boys I had met at the castle.

  ‘Wait,’ said Wace, when he saw one taking the reins of his horse. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘The vicomte has asked us to take them to the castle,’ the boy answered. In fact he looked to be almost a man grown, probably around sixteen or seventeen in years, although his voice had not yet deepened.

  ‘It is all right,’?lfwold said. ‘They’re Lord Richard’s men.’

  For a moment Wace looked doubtful. I understood: I would never have entrusted Rollo to someone I did not know. But he must have known that there was not a lot of choice; we couldn’t take them with us.

  ‘Go on,’ he told the boy. ‘Take care with him, though. He’s not used to others riding him; he’ll try to bite you if he has the chance.’

  The boy nodded, a little uncertainly, and climbed up into the saddle that Wace had left. The animal snorted and fidgeted, but the boy pulled firmly on the reins and kept him in check.

  Eudo waited until he was firmly seated, then passed his own reins up to him. ‘See to it that he’s well kept,’ he said sternly. ‘Otherwise you’ll have my sword to answer to.’

  A shout from the shipmaster caught our attention and we followed the priest and the two ladies across the gangplank. Aubert waved towards two of his deck-hands — one at either end of the ship — who unhitched the ropes from the mooring posts before rushing to their seats as the rowers pushed off against the wharf’s planked buttresses. On the other side, thirty oar-handles were fed through thirty rowlocks, until thirty blades broke the water, casting waves out into the river. They paddled backwards so that the prow pointed out into the midstream, and as the shipmaster began to beat his drum, larboard and steerboard fell into stroke, carving their blades through the Use’s murky waters.

  The four stable-boys were already almost out of sight as they led the horses in the direction of the castle. But behind us, upon the bridge by the other end of the quay, the mist was beginning to clear and through it I saw the shadows of men as they ran, like ghosts in the gloom, bearing a forest of spears and axes.

  ‘Look at that,’ I murmured to the other knights.

  There were dozens of them, perhaps even hundreds, roaring as they came, the light of their torches glinting upon the calm waters below. I felt my sword-hand itch again, and I wanted to ask Aubert to turn back, though I knew that I could not. Over the roofs of the houses between the castle and the minster I saw black smoke rising, and a glimmer of flames, and I heard, or thought I heard, men’s voices carrying on the wind: ‘For Normandy! For King Guillaume!’

  ?lfwold bowed his head. His lips moved as if in prayer and I wondered what he was feeling. He was Malet’s man, and so far as I knew had been for some time, but even if he had no especial liking for the rebels or for Eadgar, they were still his kinsmen. Was he praying for them or for his lord?

  ‘Row, you sons of whores,’ Aubert shouted, beating harder on the skin of the drum. ‘Row, if you want to get paid!’

  The oarsmen found their rhythm and the ship surged forward, cutting through the waters with all the sharpness and speed of a sword. Stroke followed stroke, and with each one the wharves, the storehouses, the whole city receded further into the mist. Somewhere in those streets, I thought, rode Malet with his conroi. In his hands rested the defence of Eoferwic.

  We passed by the castle, its palisade and tower rising in shadow high above us, and we stood there, not speaking to one another but simply watching while it grew smaller and smaller, until the river turned away to the south and even that great edifice disappeared from sight. Slowly the shouts and the battle-thunder faded into nothing. Before long there was only the sound of the drum and the oars upon the water, and then at last we were alone.

  Thirteen

  The banks slid past in the evening mist. Low willow branches swung lazily in the breeze, bare save for a few yellow catkins: little pinpricks of colour amidst the gloom. The first signs of spring, perhaps.

  The river was quiet, stately in its progress as it wound its way through the flat country. A fleet of ducks swam off our larboard side, watching closely with beady eyes as we overtook them. All that could be heard was the soft splash of oars against the water’s surface. How different it was from the crowded streets of the city; it was hard to believe it was just that morning that we had left. But night was nearly upon us again, and the darkening cloud hung low, threatening rain at any moment.

  Beside me, Aubert pulled on the tiller as the river curved towards the west and the last light, and the Wyvern’s high prow carved a great arc through the calm water. On the right-hand bank a village came into
sight, no more than a spire or two of smoke at first, but as we grew closer I was able to pick out firelight, and then a cluster of houses around a timber-and-thatch hall, a low rectangular shadow against the grey skies. I wondered who resided there: whether it was one of the few English thegns who still held land under King Guillaume, or — more likely — a new French-speaking lord.

  ‘Drachs,’ Aubert said to me as he pushed gently on the tiller. ‘South-east she runs from here, down to the Humbre.’

  A chorus of laughter erupted from the other end of the ship, where Eudo and Wace were playing at dice with the other three from Malet’s household. They seemed like good men, from the little I had spoken to them, and I did not doubt their sword-arms, though whether they had the temperament for battle, I couldn’t yet be sure.

  I’d joined them earlier, but soon found myself distracted, my mind wandering and confused. So much had happened so quickly and I needed the time to think. We had departed Eoferwic in such a rush and I still did not understand how I had come to be here, why Malet had chosen me for this task.

  Up ahead, the river’s course bent sharply left: so sharply in fact that it appeared to come back almost on itself. Aubert shouted to his rowers, and those on the left-hand side shipped oars, taking a few moments to rest their arms, while those to steerboard quickened their pace. The ship surged forward, taking the bend in a wide curve, and as the river straightened out, the pace slowed and the larboard oarsmen once more resumed their stroke.

  A gust rustled the reeds in the shallows and I caught a glimpse of shadows moving about on the right-hand bank. I watched, trying to make out more detail, but whatever it was, it remained hidden by the mist. A deer or some other animal, I thought.

  Aubert steered us away, back towards the middle of the river where the flow was fastest. I looked to the sky, where the moon was up, its milky light shining diffusely through the low, bulbous clouds. There had been wind, but it had lessened as the day wore on and the black-and-gold sail was now furled, the mast taken down. But the Use was high after the recent rains and the current was strong, and so we had made good progress.