Sworn Sword c-1 Read online

  The city lay still. I imagined the enemy asleep in their beds, oblivious to the slaughter that was shortly to be visited upon them. Only the sentries on the walls would still be awake, and I hoped they were watching the gates rather than the river. I tried to look out over the marshes and fields that lay to the south, wondering if the king and his host were there yet, lying in wait, but of course I could see nothing.

  ‘Ship the oars,’ I said. Now that we were so close, it was more important than ever that we did not attract attention, for it was not just victory that was at stake, but our own lives as well. I tried not to think of the fates that could befall us if we were caught.

  The oars were pulled from the water and, dripping, laid down between the benches. The boat rocked gently from side to side, settling slowly as we drifted on the current.

  ‘What now?’ Wace asked, keeping his voice low.

  ‘Now we have to find somewhere to moor,’ I said.

  ‘The wharves are the other side of the bridge,’ Philippe pointed out.

  I shook my head. ‘We should land as soon as we can. Once we’re in the streets we’ll be safe, but the longer we stay out on the river, the greater the chance we’ll be spotted.’

  ‘And if there are any men waiting on those ships, we’re likely to wake them,’ Eudo said, pointing downriver through the arches of the bridge.

  He had better eyes than I did, and I had to squint to see them. But indeed there they were, huddled close to both shores. Their masts were down but I could see their hulls, high-sided and narrow in beam: shadows upon the moonlit water. Longships, and as many as a score of them. Perhaps some were the same ones that had chased us on the Use, or perhaps not, but either way Eudo was right. We could not use the wharves.

  At the same time we needed somewhere we could keep the boat hidden from sight, since if someone saw it empty and suspected something then they might raise the alarm. But inside the city I could see nowhere that we might easily do so; the land along the banks all lay open.

  ‘Where, then?’ asked Godefroi.

  I gazed ahead of us, scanning each side of the river, and it was then that I saw. From far away the walls looked as though they ran all the way down to the river, but from this vantage it was clear that there was in fact a gap between their end and the water’s edge, where the rampart was crumbling away. It was not wide, nor did it look as if it would be easy to cross, as it was thick with reeds, and probably the ground underfoot would be marshy too. For any larger group it would surely prove impassable. But the boat could be easily concealed amidst the reeds, and besides, we were only six men, and difficult to spot. So long as we didn’t make too much noise we could land this side of the walls and cover the rest of the way on foot, I was sure.

  ‘There,’ I said, pointing towards the gap. ‘Between the walls and the river.’

  ‘It’ll be risky,’ said Eudo, after a moment. ‘If there are any sentries up there we’ll be seen for certain.’

  ‘But they won’t be expecting it,’ Wace put in, and I was grateful for his support. ‘They’ll be looking towards the south, watching for an army, not for a small band like us.’

  I glanced at the others, to see what they thought.

  ‘I agree,’ Godefroi said.

  Radulf shrugged, as if indifferent, and I wondered if he had been listening at all. He had better be concentrating, I thought, since otherwise he was likely to get himself killed here tonight, if not the rest of us as well.

  ‘Philippe?’ I asked.

  ‘If the wharves are closed to us, I don’t see we have any other choice,’ he replied.

  That was as much agreement as it seemed I was going to get.

  ‘Very well,’ I said, scrambling to the stern. On the way I picked up one of the oars, which I used as a paddle to steer us out of the midstream, closer to the southern shore, where the branches of low-hanging pine trees would offer us some cover. Then I let us drift once more, only using the oar when the current took us too close to the bank, or too far from the trees.

  The city loomed closer with each passing moment. Somehow by night it appeared far larger than it had done by day. So forbidding were the shadows that I found it hard to believe that this was the same place where I had spent my recovery all those weeks ago.

  Slowly, taking care not to make a sound, I buckled my sword-belt to my waist, then made sure that my mail was hidden beneath my cloak as we approached the walls: banks of earth with a timber palisade running along the top. I looked up, but I could not see any men there. God was with us.

  I steered the boat towards the reeds, breathing as lightly as I could, thinking with every slightest splash that we would be heard. The prow slid amongst the first of the tall stems, which rustled gently. By now I could see nothing beyond the clumps of reeds that were in front, behind, all around us. I wanted to get us as close in as I could, so that we had less ground to make on foot, and I steered us towards where I thought they seemed least dense. In the darkness, however, it was difficult to tell, and before long I could feel the bottom of the hull scraping against the riverbed, until, a few moments later, the boat gave a shudder as it ground to a halt. I tried to paddle further, in case this were merely a shallow patch with open water beyond it, but it was no use.

  ‘We’ll have to walk from here,’ I said.

  I got to my feet, keeping my head low until I could be sure that there was no one watching. Some twenty paces away the ramparts rose up. I stepped outside the hull, feeling my boots sink into the soft mud, and then held out a hand as Wace passed me my shield, which I hung around my neck, over my back.

  The rest followed, and we set off. The mud sucked, squelched beneath me; it was impossible to tell which parts I could trust with my weight, and so I led them carefully, thinking only about one foot following the other, testing the ground as I went. I glanced up at the ramparts, still ten paces ahead, realising just how exposed we were. This was taking too long. If anyone were to see us-

  There came a stifled yell, followed by a great splash behind me and I turned to see Philippe flailing in the muddy water. He was trying to stand up, but his mail was weighing him down and his cloak was tangled about him. He was spluttering, coughing so loudly that I thought the whole city might wake.

  I reached out a hand, swearing under my breath. From close by came angry quacking, followed by a clatter of wings as a flock of birds shot up into the night.

  ‘Philippe,’ I said. ‘Take my hand.’

  It took a while for him to find it in the darkness, but at last he reached out and grabbed it. I tried to pull, but with his mail he was too heavy, and the mud and the river kept sucking him back.

  ‘Help me,’ I hissed to the others. ‘Someone help me.’

  Wace was the first there, kneeling down beside the pool in which Philippe had fallen. ‘Your other hand,’ he said. ‘Give me your other hand.’

  Together we managed to haul him out of the water and back to firmer ground, where he raised himself to his feet, still coughing up water.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Philippe said, too loudly. He was dripping from his nose and his chin, and his cloak was soaked. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I told him, looking again towards the palisade. ‘Shut up and keep moving.’

  We went as quickly as we could after that. Thankfully the closer we came to the remains of the rampart, the easier it became to find our footing. We scrambled across, drawing our cloaks over our heads so as to be less easily seen.

  ‘Quickly,’ I said. The sooner we could get away from the walls, the better. Ahead a narrow alley passed between two large storehouses, and beyond it lay the city, a maze of shadows.

  With every beat of my heart I thought that I would hear cries behind us, but I did not, and it wasn’t long before we had rounded those storehouses and found ourselves beneath the tower of a church. At this hour there ought to have been no one about, but nonetheless I made certain to check up and down the street before we laid down our shields and recovered our brea
th.

  Philippe began to wring out his cloak by the corner of the tower. His mail and helmet were strewn with rotten leaves and mud, and other things he’d brought from the river.

  ‘Take more care,’ I said. ‘Otherwise you’re likely to get us all killed.’

  But I knew that this was not the time to get angry with him. We had made it inside the city unseen, which was the first part of our task, but there was still much work to be done if we were to make Eoferwic ours.

  Thirty-three

  We did not stop there long. The gates were some way to the south from where we were, but how far I could not say for sure. Already as I looked towards the eastern horizon, the skies seemed lighter than before, and I knew we did not have much time. Day was approaching and soon Fitz Osbern would be leading his charge.

  We set off, staying away from the main ways as much as we could, for if there was anyone about at this hour, that was where we would probably find them. In the distance, a dog barked, and its call was taken up by another. But of people there was no sign anywhere. A strange feeling came over me as we hurried through the silent streets, knowing that it would not be long before the rest of our army was here in force, before the sound of steel on steel was ringing out amidst the houses. My sword-arm itched even as I thought about it.

  The moon was edging lower in the sky, almost touching the thatch of the houses by the time we saw the gatehouse ahead of us, its stonework lit by the soft glow of a brazier. In front of the gates were gathered several figures, all in shadow, all of them roaring with laughter, no doubt at some jest.

  By the side of the street stood a stack of barrels, and I ducked behind them, raising a hand to the others, who were behind me. The barrels contained some kind of meat, only it seemed to have turned rancid, and some time ago as well. My nose filled with the stench of rotting carcasses, as bad as any battlefield I had known.

  Breathing as lightly as I could, I crouched and peered through a gap between the barrels, towards the gatehouse. None of the Northumbrians there seemed to have heard or seen us, and for that I thanked God. There were five of them warming their hands around the brazier, but atop the gatehouse, facing the country to the south, stood two more, making seven in all. They were dressed in what looked like leather jerkins reinforced with metal studs, and each of them carried a spear, while one, who was in mail, carried a sword by his side as well, and I took him for their captain.

  ‘What do we do?’ Philippe asked as he wiped still more dirt from his face.

  ‘Nothing yet,’ I said. ‘We wait for the signal.’

  Again I looked to the east, and this time I was sure dawn was breaking: the blackness receding, turning to a deep blue. By now I was beginning to grow anxious. Had something gone awry? Had the attack been called off? If so, we had no way of knowing. All we could do was wait, and then if the attack did not come, try to get out the same way that we had entered the city. Except that as soon as it was light we would easily be spotted. At some point, then, we would have to decide: whether to stay or whether to go. It was not a choice I wanted to make, for if the whole plan failed because of us then we would have to bear the king’s wrath.

  My head was filled with all these thoughts when suddenly it came, blasting out from the north. The sound of war-horns. Fitz Osbern was attacking.

  The Englishmen by the gate looked at one another; one of the two atop the parapet called down to the others. All looked confused; if they had been expecting any assault that night, they were probably expecting it to come from the south, not from the north. Then the guard-captain shouted at one of his men, who scurried off up the main street into the town.

  That left just six: one for each of us. I placed my hand on my sword-hilt as my heart beat faster. I felt a thrill such as I had not known in weeks, but I held back, waiting while the enemy returned to their brazier, waiting for the right moment, waiting until they had let down their guard-

  ‘Now!’ I shouted, rushing from the shadows, roaring as I pulled my blade free of its scabbard.

  The first of them turned, wide-eyed in surprise, his spear held before him, but I knocked it aside with my shield and ran him through before he even knew what had happened. Blood spurted forth as I wrenched the blade free, and he fell to the ground. My first kill of the night.

  The one in mail had drawn his sword and he came at me now, wielding it in both hands, bringing it crashing down, but I lifted my shield in time and the blade glanced off its face as I stumbled back. He was stronger than he looked, but not quick, and as he tried to raise it for another blow I lunged forward, crashing my shield into his chest. He shouted out some words I did not understand, as, already off balance, he fell to the ground, and as he struggled to get up I stamped down on his chest and drove the point of my sword into his face.

  Up on the parapet the other two Englishmen were shouting, hurling down spears at us, and I turned just in time to avoid one as it plunged into the ground, sticking in the mud. Another five men in leather jerkins were rushing towards us from one of the side streets, even as Wace, teeth gritted, finished the last of the gate guards on his sword.

  ‘We’ll hold out down here,’ he shouted to me. ‘You and Eudo go for the ones up there.’

  On either side of the gatehouse was a doorway, inside each of which I knew would be a set of stairs leading up. I glanced at Eudo, then ran to one side while he went to the other. My cloak was slipping, threatening to get in the way of my shield-arm, and I cast it aside.

  I started up the wooden steps, only to meet one of the sentries rushing at me, his spear aimed at my head. I ducked to one side, almost crashing against the wall, managing to stay on my feet as I swung at his leg, but my blade found only air. He had the advantage for he held the higher ground, and though I could defend myself against his blows, I could not get any closer than the length of his spear.

  He came at me again, growing in confidence as he charged down the steps, his shield covering his chest as he tried to drive the spear towards my shoulder. I stepped back, encouraging him to press the attack even as I gave my sword-arm room. He fell for the ploy, thrusting further forward, but in doing so he had overstretched and left himself open. Before he could recover his balance, I lunged forward, driving my sword up beneath his round shield, towards his groin, twisting the blade as it went in. His eyes opened wide and a silent gasp escaped his lips, and as I stepped back he collapsed, his limp body tumbling towards the bottom of the stairs.

  I left him there and hurried on up, coming out on to a wooden platform, as Eudo forced the other sentry back towards the outer parapet. The Englishman yelled as he was sent sprawling over, until he met the ground, and then his cries stopped.

  From here I could see the whole of the city, from the bridge to the shadow of the distant minster. And I saw that Eoferwic was beginning to wake. Once more the enemy’s horns blew out from the north, and in the streets now I could see men carrying torches, many of them running towards the bridge, in the direction of that rallying call, others towards us. But in the fields and woods to the south I saw nothing but darkness, and I hoped the king and his army were out there, or else all this would have been for nothing.

  ‘Come on,’ I said to Eudo.

  We sheathed our swords and hurried back down, taking care not to slip where the sentry I had killed had fallen. His bowels had emptied and the steps were slick with his blood and his shit.

  The night was filled with the screams of the dying. Radulf sliced his blade across a Northumbrian’s throat; Philippe kicked the brazier into the path of another man, and as it overturned, spilling hot coals across his lower half, he ran him through. The rest of the enemy had taken flight, for the moment at least, but there were shouts not far off and the torchlight was drawing closer. Godefroi seemed to be nursing a wound to his shield-arm, though it did not look serious, while Wace had turned his attention to moving the great oak bar that held the gates in place, and we joined him. It was far heavier than I had imagined and straightaway I felt the strain
upon my shoulders, but together we managed to lift it, setting it down on the ground before turning our attention to the gates themselves.

  Godefroi gave a shout and I glanced across my shoulder, down the street. Little more than a hundred paces away a horde of Englishmen were rushing at us with seaxes and spears and shields: more than I could count at first glance.

  ‘Get these gates open!’ I said, pulling harder on the iron rungs that were set into the timbers, but even with two of us on this door, and three on the other, it seemed that nothing was happening. I saw the enemy growing closer, and knew that if we did not do this now, then the battle would be lost before it had begun. At last with a great grinding noise, the gate began to move.

  ‘Keep pulling,’ Wace shouted. ‘All the way!’

  The grinding ceased and I felt the gate begin to swing open. Behind me I could hear the cries of the English growing louder, closer, but I did not dare turn my head as I concentrated all my strength. My arms burnt with pain, and I wanted to stop, but I knew that I could not. Gradually the gap grew wider, so that first one, then two men might pass through easily, and wider still, until we stepped aside and, with resounding crashes on both sides, the timbers struck against the walls of the gatehouse.

  If ever the king needed a signal to begin his attack, that was surely it. We had done what was asked of us, and the gates to Eoferwic lay open.

  But for now we had our own battle to fight, as the enemy in their dozens came like a torrent towards us, their faces white in the moonlight, the steel of their blades reflecting their fury.

  ‘Shield-wall,’ I shouted, gripping tightly the straps of my own shield. ‘Hold the gates!’

  I retreated until I stood just beneath the arch of the gatehouse itself. It was a narrow space, wide enough for only three men to fight alongside one another, or six men split into two ranks. At the very least we could not be out-flanked, although as I saw again the enemy’s numbers, despair clutched at my stomach. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to see mailed knights charging from out of the night, but there was nothing, only blackness. And so it was upon us to hold out here. We had no choice, if we were to succeed.