Sworn Sword c-1 Page 33

  Thirty

  I stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. This wasn’t what I had expected to hear. Harold Godwineson. His was the body that Eadgyth wanted to see.

  I let go of Aefwold’s collar and stepped back; he sank back on to the bed. I glanced at the other two, and they back at me.

  Wace frowned. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘It is the truth,’ the chaplain answered, eyeing us nervously, as if unsure what to expect from us. As well he might, for this was far larger than any of us had been considering.

  Eudo held his sword out once more, towards his face. ‘If you are lying to us …’

  ‘By God and the saints, I swear it is the truth!’ Aelfwold said, his eyes wide, his voice trembling even more than before.

  ‘But why should Malet know where Harold’s body is?’ I asked.

  Wace frowned. ‘I thought it had never been found. From what I heard no one could identify it among the fallen, so trampled and broken were all the corpses that day.’

  I’d heard the same tale. We had all been there at HAestinges, but there had been so much confusion that few had known exactly when the usurper had been killed and the field became ours. Some said that he was already maimed when an arrow had pierced his eye; others that it took the efforts of four mounted men, Duke Guillaume himself among them, to defeat him as he fought on alone, clinging to the vestiges of his power to the very end. The only thing we knew for certain was that it had been done.

  Of his corpse, however, nothing had ever been said. Like most people, I assumed it had never been found: that he had simply been left to be eaten by the wolves and the crows, no different from the thousands of Englishmen who were slain that day. For as long as he was dead, it did not matter what became of his body. In the eyes of God he was a perjurer and a sinner, and even had he been recovered, no Christian burial could have been accorded him.

  ‘That at least is the story as King Guillaume would wish it told,’ Aelfwold said. ‘But it is not what happened. The body was found — don’t you see that it had to be? Without it, he couldn’t be certain that Harold was truly dead. At first he called upon my lord to look for it amongst the slain, thinking he would be able to recognise him on account of the friendship he knew they had once shared. But when he was unable to do so …’

  ‘He sent for Eadgyth,’ I finished for him. Her words came back to me now, from that night when we had spoken in the church at Wiltune, and I understood what she had meant. She had been there after the battle, she had told me so herself. And she had seen her husband’s battered corpse. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

  Aelfwold nodded, still watching us warily. ‘They came to an understanding, that if she identified the body, in return she would be told where it was to be buried.’

  ‘That was the promise Malet made to her, then,’ I muttered. My heart beat faster; everything was beginning to make sense at last. ‘And she upheld her part of the arrangement?’

  ‘She did,’ he said. ‘She was able to recognise him by certain marks on his body: marks that only a wife could know. Though once she had done so, the resemblance soon became clear to the rest of us. His head had been severed, and was found some way from the rest of him, which even then was missing one leg, hacked off at the thigh. But it was him nonetheless.’

  ‘You have seen the body?’ I asked. ‘You were there as well?’ It was not unusual for chaplains to travel in their lords’ companies, even to war, but I had not thought Aelfwold would have the disposition for it.

  ‘I was,’ he said with a touch of impatience. ‘And I was on your side then, just as I am now.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ I wasn’t sure that I yet believed him. ‘What happened to Harold’s body after that?’

  ‘After that the duke entrusted it to Lord Guillaume’s safe-keeping. He was told to see to its burial.’

  ‘Except that he obviously went back on his word,’ Wace pointed out. ‘He didn’t tell Eadgyth where he was burying it, or else she wouldn’t be asking to see it still.’

  ‘Where is it, then?’ Eudo said. His sword was still in his hand, though it was no longer pointed towards the priest.

  ‘I cannot say,’ Aelfwold replied. ‘It has been hidden these past two years. No one knows where it is, save for the vicomte himself.’

  ‘Hidden?’ said Wace. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ The priest rose to his feet, staring at each of us in turn. ‘There are many who still support Harold, even this long after his death — many who now regard him as a martyr. If the place of his burial were to be made widely known, it could become the centre of a cult, a rallying point for rebellion. The king cannot allow that to happen. No one may know where the body is — not even Eadgyth.’

  The priest was right, I realised. There were already many who wished to see us gone from these shores. I thought of the army that had attacked us at Dunholm, which even now was besieging the castle at Eoferwic — all those thousands of men. How many more might there be if King Guillaume had allowed the English to openly honour the usurper?

  ‘Do you know?’ I demanded of Aelfwold.

  ‘No!’ he said. ‘I told you. Only the vicomte knows. Even I am not trusted with such knowledge.’

  That hardly surprised me, but I did not say it. Certainly after all that had happened in the course of our travels, I would hardly trust him. Though Malet had felt secure enough at least to give him the letter in the first place. But then again, there had been nothing in it of any consequence, even if one knew what it was referring to-

  And all of a sudden I understood how the pieces fitted together. ‘So that was what he meant,’ I said, turning to Eudo and Wace. ‘He couldn’t risk telling her where it was, in case word got out, and so that was all that he could say. Tutus est. “It is safe.”’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Aelfwold said. Anger flashed across his face as he turned to look at me.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but I had no answer. Silently I cursed myself for having let it slip.

  ‘The vicomte will hear of this,’ Aelfwold said, and it was not the first time that I had heard those words from him. ‘You swore an oath to him!’

  ‘We thought he was conspiring with Eadgyth against the king,’ Wace said.

  The chaplain gazed sternly at him. ‘And so instead you betray the confidence which he placed in you. You are fools, all of you. You think you know what you’re doing, but you’re just interfering in matters that are beyond you. Lord Guillaume is no traitor, and never has been.’

  I remained silent. Beside me, Eudo sheathed his sword.

  ‘What about the other three?’ Aelfwold asked. ‘Have they had a part in this too?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘They haven’t.’

  ‘Perhaps that is as well.’ The chaplain sighed. ‘Now, I’ve told you all that I know. You have what you wanted. Leave me, please.’

  He closed his eyes as if in silent prayer. This was the man who had done so much for me after my injury at Dunholm. What had happened to our friendship to cause it to sour so quickly — to sow such distrust, such enmity?

  I nodded to Wace and Eudo and we went, closing the door as he sat down upon the bed, his head bowed, hands clasped before him. We had what we had come for, which meant that we could now return to Eoferwic in good conscience. After everything, Malet was to be trusted.

  And yet despite that, for some reason I could not help but feel uneasy, though at what I could not say exactly. Something in what the priest had said, perhaps: something that did not quite make sense. I no longer knew what to think. So far all my suspicions had been misplaced. We had held Aelfwold at sword-point; we had got all that we could from him. What else was there?

  In any case we had other concerns now. The rebels awaited us in Eoferwic, and whether we fought for Malet, or in the name of Normandy or out of vengeance for Lord Robert, what was important was that we were there. For the army of King Guillaume was marching, and I meant to be with it when it struck.

&nbs
p; We gathered at the stables the next morning as soon as we had broken our fast. Aelfwold was not to be seen, which I took to mean that he wouldn’t be coming with us. In truth I was glad, for I had seen far more of him this past week than I would have wished, and my patience with him was all but spent.

  Each of us took two mounts. Wigod had supplied us with destriers from Malet’s own stables, and others he had managed to purchase while we had been away. He had a good eye for horseflesh, it turned out, for each one of them was in fine condition, strong and spirited as a knight’s mount needed to be. As the leader of our small conroi, I assumed first choice — a brown with powerful hindquarters and a white diamond on his forehead — leaving the other knights to decide between themselves.

  I knew, though, that if we rode these horses north they would not be fresh when we needed them for the fighting, and so instead we saddled the rounceys we had bought in Suthferebi: the same ones that had also borne us to Wiltune and back. It meant we’d have twice the work, since we were not travelling in our lord’s company and didn’t have the retinue of servants who would usually care for the animals, but we had little choice.

  I was leading my horses out into the yard when I spied Beatrice watching us from one of the windows on the up-floor. It was the first time I had seen either of the ladies since we had returned from Wiltune. Her eyes met mine, and she signalled to me, or so I thought, but it was only for a moment, for then she turned and was gone.

  ‘I should go and tell the ladies we’re to be on our way,’ I said, leaving the others to see to the horses.

  ‘Don’t be long,’ Wace called after me. ‘We need to leave soon if we’re to make best use of the day.’

  There was no one in the hall. Wigod and Osric I knew were in the kitchens, mustering provisions for us to take on the road. I had seen little of the steward that morning; he had hardly spoken to me and in fact seemed to be avoiding me. I could hardly blame him for that.

  ‘Your lord is a good man,’ I had assured him when I’d met him in the yard earlier. ‘I know it.’

  I didn’t feel that I could tell him yet what we had learnt. It was too soon, and still these doubts kept coming into my mind. There was something that we had overlooked, I was sure, though again I could not work out what.

  ‘There is an explanation for all of this,’ I told the steward. ‘Whatever it is, I will find it.’

  ‘I trust that you will,’ he’d replied solemnly before hurrying away.

  I ventured now up the stairs, towards the family chambers, which were at the far end of the up-floor. The door was fitted with a sturdy iron lock, while at either end of the lintel above it were carved the shapes of flowers with wide petals.

  I knocked on the door; Beatrice opened it. Her face was drawn, as if she had not slept well. Her hair fell loosely across her shoulders, which took me slightly by surprise, but then she was in her own house, in her own chambers, where she had no need to keep it covered.

  ‘Come in,’ she said.

  I remembered the last time we were together — the kiss she had laid upon my cheek — and suddenly I felt the same shiver running through me.

  I tried to put it from my mind as I entered, finding myself in a small anteroom. A light breeze blew in through open shutters, and I could hear the rest of the men talking down in the yard. On one wall hung bright tapestries depicting a hunt in progress: men on horseback pursuing a tusked boar, with dogs running beside them, while other men waited with bows raised and arrows notched, waiting for the moment to let loose their fingers. An embroidered rug lay on the floor; at the other end of the chamber were two chairs, positioned either side of carved double doors.

  ‘Is your mother here?’ I asked.

  ‘She is still abed,’ Beatrice replied, glancing towards the doors. ‘She worries for my father.’

  ‘As do we all, my lady.’ I did not like to think what she might say if she knew I had been accusing him first of consorting with Harold’s widow, then of conspiring against the king.

  ‘She has had stomach pains for several days. Since Robert left she has been hardly sleeping at night, and she is eating less and less during the day. Some days she barely goes beyond her room.’

  ‘I’m sure Aelfwold will care for her, now that he’s here.’ The words did not come easily, and I had to force them out. I was no longer sure of anything when it came to the priest.

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?’

  ‘Almost all my life,’ she replied. ‘He came into my father’s service when I was very young.’

  ‘How young?’

  ‘Five, perhaps six summers old,’ she said. ‘No more than that. Why?’

  ‘What do you remember of him from then?’

  She frowned at the question. ‘I don’t see what-’

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘I’d like to know.’

  For a moment she hesitated, her brown eyes searching, but then she bowed her head. ‘He often took care of me when I was small and my father was away on campaign,’ she said. ‘He liked to teach me things: how to speak English, to read Latin, to play chess. Even when I was older he was always ready to listen when I had something to say, always watching over me.’

  ‘You trust him, then?’ I asked.

  She stared at me as if I were mad. ‘There are few whom I trust more,’ she retorted. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because he is English.’

  ‘As are many of my father’s men,’ she snapped, her voice rising. ‘And his own mother too; you must know that.’ She continued to stare, but I said nothing, and eventually she turned away, towards the open window, looking out over the yard and the men and horses below. Her hair fluttered in the breeze, catching the light like threads of gold; her breasts rose and fell as she sighed.

  ‘I see you’re leaving again,’ she said.

  ‘We have to go if we’re to meet with the king’s army before it reaches Eoferwic.’

  She drew away from the window, turning to face me again. ‘You must promise that you will do all you can to aid my brother, and to rescue my father.’

  ‘My lady, of course-’

  ‘Listen to me,’ she said sharply, cutting me off. Her cheeks flushed red, but she held my gaze as I watched her, waiting for her to go on. ‘Robert is brave but he can also be foolhardy. He is a good horseman but he has few battles behind him. He will need your help. I want you to see that no harm comes to him.’

  I wanted to explain to her that in the confusion of battle, with the enemy all around, it was impossible to keep watch over others. If her brother could not hold his own, there was little I could do to help him. But she would not understand that.

  ‘I will try, my lady,’ I said instead.

  She did not look altogether pleased with that, but it was all the answer I was going to give her.

  ‘In Eoferwic my father asked you to give us your protection,’ she said. ‘Now I ask that you do the same for him, and for Robert. I have seen with my own eyes your skill at arms. And I have heard from my father how you fought at HAestinges, how you saved your lord’s life there. I want you to serve them with the same conviction and honour as you served him.’

  Honour, I thought bitterly. After what had happened these last few days, I had little enough of that left.

  She was gazing at me expectantly. There was something of her father in that look, I thought: a confidence in the way she bore herself; a strength of will that I admired even as it frustrated me.

  ‘Will you swear it?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’ The question caught me by surprise and it took me a moment to recover my wits. ‘My lady, I gave an oath to your father — an oath made upon the cross. I will do everything I can-’

  ‘I want you to swear it to me,’ she said. She came closer, holding out her right hand, slender and pale, towards me. Around her wrist a silver band shone in the light from the window.

  ‘There is no need,’ I protested.

  ‘Swear
it to me, Tancred a Dinant.’

  I stared at her, trying to work out whether she was speaking seriously. But her eyes were steady, unflinching, as she drew herself to her full height before me.

  Still she held out her hand, and I took her palm in mine. Her skin was soft and warm against mine, her fingers slender, her touch light. My heart quickened as I knelt down before her, clasping my other hand loosely over the back of hers.

  ‘By solemn oath I swear that I will do my utmost to aid your father, and to bring him and your brother back safe to you.’

  I looked up, waiting for her to say something, holding her hand between mine, our gazes locked together. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, throbbing behind my eyes, which were suddenly hot, and growing hotter still for every beat of my heart. Soon I would have to look away, I thought, but I could not, for those eyes kept drawing me in, closer, closer.

  Slowly I rose to my feet, reaching up to her temple, brushing her hair, like threads of silk, behind her ear. Her cheeks, usually milky-pale, were flushed pink, but she did not shy away at my touch, did not turn her eyes from me, and though she opened her mouth she made no protest. I could feel her breath, light but warm, upon my face, and suddenly my hand was sliding from her temple, running down the side of her neck, to the small of her back, feeling the curves of her body, so new and unfamiliar, and I was holding her to me as she placed her arms upon my hips, reached around to my back.

  I leant towards her, and then at last our lips touched: softly, hesitantly at first; but the kiss quickly grew in intensity as I felt her breasts press against my chest and I held her tighter-

  She broke off, wresting herself free of my embrace, twisting away. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t.’ She turned towards the wall, towards the tapestry, and I couldn’t see her face, only her hair trailing across her shoulders and her back.

  My heart was beating fast, my throat dry, and I swallowed. ‘Beatrice,’ I said, resting my hand upon her shoulder. It was the first time that I had called her by her name.