Sworn Sword c-1 Read online

  The enemy receded into the distance, their ships continuing to dwindle until at last they disappeared into the night. Gradually the pace slowed and I began to breathe more easily as their shouts faded away to nothing, until all I could hear was the gentle creak of our own oars in their rowlocks, the splash of the blades as they entered the water, the slow beat of Eudo’s hand upon the drum. The men looked spent, hardly able to lift the blades any longer, their backs hunched over, their arms almost limp with exhaustion.

  Wace made his way to the bows, where he lifted the deck-planks and gave his hand first to Elise, then to Beatrice, as he helped them climb out from the hold. I noticed the flighted end of an arrow jutting out from one of the timbers; it was as well they had been hidden, or that same arrow could have struck one of them.

  I stepped over to the shipmaster and slapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘We owe you our thanks,’ I said, offering my hand.

  Aubert took it wearily, his palms chafed and raw. ‘I don’t need thanks,’ he said between breaths. ‘Let’s just hope we don’t meet any more of the enemy tonight.’

  I nodded. In front of us the channel was widening once more; the open river was almost upon us. If our luck held then by morning we would be in Alchebarge.

  Fifteen

  Darkness settled around us as Wyvern’s prow carved its way from the shore out towards the midstream. Aubert left the tiller and strode along the length of the ship, giving the order to ship oars. Eudo ceased beating the drum and the long poles were slowly hauled aboard, dripping water on to the deck. All else was still. What breeze there had been had now died completely, and the clouds hung low, bathed in the glow of the moon and the stars. For the first time in what seemed like hours, silence filled the air as we drifted on the current.

  I untied the strap under my chin and removed my helmet, setting it down on the deck by my feet. I glanced towards my fellow knights and saw the relief in their eyes. At the same time, though, I could sense a frustration in them, a frustration that had I been the same age I would surely have felt too. For there were few things worse for a young warrior hungry for battle than to be denied the chance to test one’s sword-arm, to prove oneself. Death was not something one even considered, though that seemed to me due less to the arrogance of youth than to an innocence of the true nature of battle. Many were the times I had seen such men charge happily to their deaths. More than once I had come close to doing the same. The fact that I had held myself back was — above all else, above skill at arms or bravery or strength — the reason why after all these years I was still alive, when so many others I had known were not.

  I gazed past the stern into the night, searching upstream for any sign of the enemy, but there was none. Indeed I could barely make out the line of the shore, lost as it was in the mist. But in truth I didn’t expect them to continue the pursuit; the last light of day was gone and they could not hope to find us by night. We were out of danger, for the present at least.

  Wace returned, having already divested himself of his mail, though he was still wearing his scabbard. He stood beside me, arms folded as he leant on the gunwale, soon joined by Eudo.

  ‘Malet will need God on his side if he’s to defend Eoferwic,’ Wace said.

  ‘He was on our side tonight,’ I pointed out.

  Eudo grinned at me. ‘Because we have Aelfwold with us.’

  It was a weak attempt at a jest and I did not smile. I was thinking of the twelve English ships I had counted, and my heart sank as I realised that each one might carry as many as fifty Englishmen, and even if only half of those were fighting men, it meant that Eadgar would have another three hundred spears under his banner. Together with those already besieging Eoferwic it made for a considerable host, several times larger than that which Malet had left to him. Wace was right: the vicomte would need God’s help.

  ‘He’ll hold out in the castle even if the city falls,’ I said.

  ‘But for how long?’ Wace asked.

  ‘For as long as he needs to.’ Otherwise the whole of Northumbria, from Dunholm to Eoferwic, would lie in the hands of the English rebels.

  Wace gave me a wry look but said nothing.

  ‘No doubt we’ll hear soon enough,’ I said. It did not warrant dwelling upon. Our task was to see Malet’s womenfolk safely to Lundene; all we could do was carry that out.

  I turned away from the river, towards the oarsmen, exhausted after the chase. Some sat bent forwards, hands on their heads, heads bowed low between their legs. Others lay collapsed across their ship-chests, on their backs or on their sides, breathing deeply of the night air. One of the younger men leant over the side, spewing forth a long stream of vomit, some of which dribbled down into his beard and on to his tunic.

  A dozen or so had crowded beside the man who had been killed, those behind peering over the shoulders of those in front. The shipmaster himself was there, and he murmured a few words before standing and making his way back towards the bow. It took two of the men to lift the youth’s body: one taking the legs, the other the shoulders. Together they followed the shipmaster, who lifted away some of the deck-planks, revealing the hold space where Elise and Beatrice had hidden. He motioned the two men forward and gently they lowered the body into the gap. They stood there a while, not speaking, just looking down upon him, until the shipmaster lay a sheet of spare black sailcloth over him and replaced the boards.

  ‘We’ll pay our dues to him properly when we reach Alchebarge,’ he said.

  The others nodded and returned to the rest of their companions. Too tired even for tears, I thought, or simply numbed by the tide of emotions. Exhilarated by the victory, at having themselves evaded death, yet at the same time grief-stricken for their fallen friend. I knew such feelings well.

  Aubert returned to the tiller and sat down. I went and placed a hand on his shoulder in sympathy.

  ‘He had only been with me since last summer,’ the shipmaster said, and swallowed. ‘Strong lad, he was. Always eager.’

  I wanted to say something, but in truth there was nothing more to add. Privately I couldn’t help but think that we had been lucky to lose only one man; it could so easily have been worse.

  Aubert rose, shrugging off my hand. I looked up as Lady Elise hustled her way along the length of the ship, her daughter and the chaplain close behind. The ladies’ skirts were raised above their ankles, prompting stares from more than one of the rowers as they picked their way between them. The embarrassment on Beatrice’s face was clear but she held her head high and tried to ignore them, almost tripping over one of the cross-beams in so doing. Elise paid them no attention; her face was a shade somewhere between distress and anger.

  ‘My lady,’ I said. ‘You look troubled.’

  ‘We must send word to my husband.’ Her dress was damp; a few strands of grey hair had come loose from beneath her wimple to fall across her face. ‘An English fleet sails towards Eoferwic. We must warn him.’

  ‘There is nothing we can do,’ I said. ‘The river is closed to us, and no message that we might send overland will reach Eoferwic before them.’

  She turned to the shipmaster. ‘And what do you say?’

  ‘He’s right,’ Aubert replied. ‘The enemy will be rowing against the current, but if they travel through the night they’ll be there by dawn. Given horses and open country, we might get word through in time, but not on foot and across these marshes.’

  ‘We must do something,’ she protested.

  ‘There is nothing we can do,’ I repeated, my ire rising. Why could this woman not understand this? ‘I swore an oath to your husband — an oath that I would protect you and your daughter. That is what I intend to do.’

  I looked for support from Aubert, who nodded in agreement. ‘We have no choice. The best we can do is to get to Alchebarge as soon as possible.’

  ‘And leave my husband in mortal danger?’ the lady Elise said, on the verge of tears. She clasped her daughter’s hand tightly. ‘How are we to live with such uncertainty?’<
br />
  I felt myself tensing, my patience nearly ground down. We had only narrowly escaped danger ourselves; I was tired and not much given to being harassed with questions that didn’t have answers.

  ‘These are uncertain times,’ I said sharply. ‘Not just for you, but for all of us.’

  Aelfwold, standing behind the two ladies, fixed me with a stern look. Elise remained where she was, looking at me, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, lips pursed and shaking her head. But I had said only what needed to be said.

  ‘My lady,’ the chaplain said, at last turning his eyes from me, ‘Lord Guillaume is a thoroughly capable man. I am sure that with or without our help, he will succeed.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Now, it is growing late and the road to Lundene will be long. We should try to sleep.’

  ‘A wise idea,’ I said, unmoved. It had indeed been a long day. Had anyone tried to tell me then that it was only the night before that the rebel army had arrived outside Eoferwic’s gates, only the night before that we had gone to meet the Aetheling, I would not have believed them. ‘We have a good few days’ travel ahead of us. Best to rest now while you have the chance.’

  Still Elise looked at me, her lip trembling, and she did not move until Aelfwold said softly, ‘My ladies,’ and she spun away, hoisting her skirts once again. Beatrice waited a moment longer, her plaintive eyes unblinking, holding my gaze, then she too turned to follow her mother towards the bow.

  ‘That was harsh,’ the chaplain said when they were out of earshot.

  ‘What would you have me say?’ I asked. That all would be well, perhaps, that Malet would come through unharmed? But I could not know that and they would not have believed me even had I told them so.

  ‘They aren’t used to this,’ Aubert put in. ‘Some comfort is what they need.’

  ‘Even if that comfort is false?’ I didn’t mean to hurt them, but neither could I bring myself to say anything that was less than honest.

  ‘At the very least I would expect you to extend them your courtesy,’ Aelfwold said. ‘To show some politeness.’

  I looked away, out across the river, shaking my head.

  ‘Tancred,’ the priest said, and there was a note of warning in his voice. ‘Remember what Lord Guillaume has done for you, and consider what he would like you to do in return for his womenfolk. You don’t have to enjoy their company, only offer them the respect they deserve and not antagonise them.’

  ‘I’ll try, father,’ I said, though more to please him than because I truly meant it.

  ‘That’s all I ask,’ said Aelfwold. ‘Now, I intend to get some rest. I bid you a good night.’ He went to join the two ladies again, helping them as they spread blankets upon the deck and settled down.

  Aubert still watched me, a disapproving look in his eyes, but I’d heard enough words of reproach already, and I wasn’t about to listen to any more.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  He did not reply, but instead picked up a sack lying close to the tiller, reaching into it and tossing small loaves down to each of the rowers as he walked the length of the ship. ‘Eat,’ he said to them. ‘Eat and gather your strength, for soon we row on.’

  A concerted groan went up from the men.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said, raising his voice above their shouts. ‘The enemy might be behind us but there’s still some way to Alchebarge.’

  ‘Aubert,’ said one, older, more grizzled than the rest. ‘Most of us have been rowing ever since we left Eoferwic. We can’t go much further tonight.’

  The shipmaster turned, stony-faced, towards him, then he cast his gaze up and down the length of the ship, surveying the rest of the men. ‘The more progress we make tonight, the less we have to do tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘And if there are any more English ships downriver, it’s better that we pass them under the cover of darkness while their crews might be sleeping, than when it’s light and they’re fresh.’

  He began to pace once more. ‘I’ve seen you work harder than this before. All I ask for is thirty men rowing at a time, for a few hours at most before changing over. That way we keep going through the night.’ He delved into the sack for more loaves as he neared the end of the line. ‘For now, though, we eat.’

  Nonetheless, it was not much longer before the oars were lowered back into the water and Aubert began to sound the time, a slower pace than before but constant nevertheless. The beat was quickly taken up by the oarsmen, whose ranks I had joined, together with Eudo, Philippe and Radulf; Wace and Godefroi had taken the opportunity to rest, along with the other half of Wyvern’s crew. It was many years since I had rowed, and I was surprised by the strength needed to pull the blade through the water, and to lift it clear again for the next stroke, such was the weight of the oar-handle. But though at first my arms and back protested, the feeling soon subsided as I became lost to the rhythm. All thoughts of Malet and Eoferwic fled my mind; for the moment at least nothing else mattered, nothing else existed but myself, the oar in my hands and the constant, driving beat, beat, beat.

  I woke the next day just as the sun was coming up, a glimmer on the distant horizon that turned the waters into a sea of shimmering gold. The oars had all been stowed inboard and most of the men lay curled up in their blankets beside their ship-chests. But the wind was rising, gusting at us from astern, and Aubert was amidships giving orders as the mast was raised and the sail unfurled, its alternating stripes of black and yellow billowing out, pushing us on downriver.

  The river had broadened, so much so that I could hardly pick out the shores to either side. Blinking, rubbing my eyes to clear the last traces of sleep, I breathed in a deep draught of frigid air. A lone gull swooped low in front of the ship, soon joined by another which flew up from the river, and the two rose to the blue sky, dancing in flight, twisting around and about each other, crying as they did so.

  It was a clear dawn, but a cold one. I blew warm air into my hands as I shook off the woollen blankets that covered me. Around me the other knights were all still sleeping; of our party Aelfwold was the only other up and he was at prayer. Aubert soon returned to take the tiller and I spoke to him for a while, though he was bone-tired. He had not slept all night; his eyes looked dark and heavy and he kept yawning. I offered to take his place for a few hours while he rested, and he readily accepted. With open water around us and a following wind, managing the tiller ought not to be difficult, he said. As long as I kept her facing into the sun I could not go wrong.

  And so I sat on his ship-chest, gazing out across the wide river, towards the many small islands which drifted past, and beyond, to the south and a shoreline dotted with trees, with low hills in the distance: the part of England known as Mercia.

  A sudden shadow was cast over me and I looked up to see Beatrice leaning upon the side of the ship, the profile of her face sharply outlined in the low sun. Her eyes were closed and she wore a slight smile, as if she were enjoying the play of the breeze across her cheeks.

  ‘My lady,’ I said, a little surprised to see her there. I had expected one of the other knights, or perhaps Aelfwold. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Well enough,’ she replied. The smile faded from her face but she did not open her eyes.

  I wondered if she was angry about what I had said the night before, and almost opened my mouth to apologise. Our flight from Eoferwic, the encounter with the English fleet, the pursuit: it had all left me on edge, and I had not been thinking clearly. But I stopped myself long before the words formed on my tongue. I had meant what I said, and there was no point in denying it.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said abruptly, ‘have you ever been married?’

  I stared at her, taken aback by the question. She turned and met my look, but I could not read anything from her expression; her brown eyes gave no clue. The breeze tugged at her cloak but she did not try to pull it closer, cold though she must have been. Her demeanour, the way she carried herself, suggested a maturity which her youthful appearance belied, and I wondered if she were a li
ttle older than I had first thought.

  ‘Only to my sword,’ I answered, when I’d recovered my wits.

  She gazed back out upon the river, nodding as if she were coming to some new understanding, but she did not speak. The silver bands she wore around her wrists shone brightly in the morning sun.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Only because if you had,’ she said, ‘you would know what it means to have to leave a loved one behind.’

  An image of Oswynn came to mind: an image of her as I had last seen her, that night at Dunholm, with her dark hair falling across her smiling face. And I recalled the moment Mauger had stood before me in the street and told me she was dead, and I felt something of the same fire that had consumed me then returning.

  ‘I know what it means,’ I said, rising from the ship-chest to face Beatrice, my cheeks burning.

  She stared back at me, impassive, though I stood a whole head taller than she. ‘You do not show it.’

  ‘There’s a lot I don’t show,’ I said, though what I truly meant by that, I didn’t know. All I wanted were words that I could throw back at her.

  She smiled again, though it was less a friendly smile than one of derision — almost as if she understood all this and was enjoying my discomfort.

  ‘And what about you?’ I asked, turning the attention away from me for one moment. ‘Have you married?’ I didn’t see how she could not, if she were as old as I thought — but on the other hand I had not seen her with any man back in Eoferwic, nor did she wear a marriage-ring on her hand.

  A strand of golden hair had fallen loose from under her wimple and she tucked it back behind her ear. ‘Once,’ she said quietly. ‘It was before the invasion, four years ago. We were wed in the summer; he died before Christmas. I didn’t know him long, but the end, when it came, was nonetheless hard to bear.’

  Oswynn had not been with me long when she died, either: a matter of months at most.