Sworn Sword c-1 Page 39

  I ran to the horse that had lost its rider, vaulting up into the saddle, working my feet into the stirrups, pressing my spurs into his flank as I joined the pursuit, riding the enemy down. But though I saw my sword flash, saw it strike, for some reason I could not feel it, as if it were somehow without weight, with a mind that was all its own, and it were the one controlling me. Around me men were dying on its edge and its point, breathing their last, and I was riding through them as the rest of the king’s host followed: a tide of men rolling across the bridge.

  Horns blew again — long forlorn blasts, like the dying wails of some monstrous beast — and suddenly everywhere in their dozens and their scores the English were turning, abandoning their shield-walls, abandoning the fight. Some were fleeing into the side streets while others were turning to the wharves, making for their ships, and among the latter I saw the Aetheling with around fifty of his household warriors, his face and mail smeared crimson. In their attempt to reach the boats they were cutting down men on all sides, and they seemed not to care whether it was French or English that they killed, for all were falling to their blades.

  ‘With me,’ I said, raising my sword for all to see: not just my conroi but all the others were now joining us. I could feel my mount beginning to flag: every time I lifted the spurs he was slowing, but he had to keep going, and so I forced the steel points into his flesh as we chased the enemy on to the wharves. ‘With me!’

  The air whistled overhead as a flight of arrows soared across the river, spearing down into the ranks of the fleeing rebels. Some of the ships were already casting off from their moorings, though they were still only half full, and some even less than that. But in their haste to escape the enemy had cast down their shields in favour of oars, and now they were dying under a shower of steel.

  ‘Eadgar,’ I shouted over the din of battle as we closed on him and his men. ‘Eadgar!’

  My throat was raw, my voice hoarse, but they must have heard me, for some were rallying, turning to face us. We were on the wharves now, where the way was narrow and, just as on the bridge, it would only take a few men to hold us. I wondered where Fitz Osbern and Malet were, why they were not riding to close the rebels off from the other side, to prevent them from escaping. The Aetheling wasn’t far from his ships, and I knew that once he was out upon the river, we would be unable to catch him.

  More arrows rained down, thicker than before, this time landing just a short way in front of us. Our archers were arrayed all along the length of the bridge. Together they raised their bows, drawing back their strings and letting fly, before notching fresh shafts as fast as they could draw them from their arrow-bags.

  We were amongst the enemy now, and what had been a battle became a slaughter. I hefted my sword, summoning all the strength I had left, hacking it down upon them, using the full weight of the steel, and this time it was Oswynn’s name that I was calling. Every man I slew was for her, and yet there was one I wanted to kill more than all the rest together.

  Already he was climbing on to his longship, some of his men hacking through the ropes which bound them to the quayside, even as others leapt to take up the oars. But there were so many men before me that I could not break through, only watch as the Aetheling’s ship pushed off, surging forward with oars thrashing, its high prow cutting like a knife-blade through the water.

  ‘Eadgar!’ I roared as at last I found space for myself. Wooden piers jutted out into the river and I rode down one of them. To either side corpses floated in water stained red with their blood. Feathered shafts protruded from their chests and their backs.

  I untied my chin-strap, letting my helmet fall with a clatter to the pier below. I wanted the Aetheling to see me clearly, so that he would remember the face of the man who had wounded him. The man who would one day send him to his death.

  ‘Eadgar!’

  Some of his men had spotted me, for they were pointing, directing their lord’s attention. And then finally he turned, to gaze at me from beneath the golden rim of his helmet.

  ‘I will kill you, Eadgar,’ I shouted, hoping that he could hear. ‘I swear I will kill you!’

  He held my gaze for a while, but he said nothing in return, and then he turned his back and strode towards the bows. And I was left to watch as with every stroke the ship grew smaller and smaller. Behind me cries of victory rose up; men banged their weapons against their shield-rims, or else hammered the hafts of their spears against the earth, sending the battle-thunder back to the fleeing English. Eoferwic, at long last, was ours.

  I shielded my eyes as I gazed into the rising sun, watching the Aetheling’s ship as it shrank to a black dot in the distance. The wind buffeted against my cheek, like icy teeth biting into my flesh, wounding deep. Inside I felt empty, as all strength fled from my limbs. My heart slowed as the battle-fury subsided.

  And still I watched, until at last the ship slipped away into the river-mist beyond the city, and I could no longer see it.

  Thirty-six

  I found Eudo and together we made our way back towards the bridge and the rest of the army. The sun had risen above the houses, above the mist, but I could not feel its warmth.

  In the streets men were slapping each other upon the back, cheering, revelling in our rout of the rebels, in our capture of the city. Some, exhausted from the fighting, had collapsed upon the ground amidst the wounded and the slain. Others were grieving, offering prayers for their fallen comrades. A great press of men was gathered around the lion banner, and I sat tall in the saddle, straining my neck to see over their heads as we came closer.

  ‘Normandy,’ they chanted. ‘King Guillaume!’

  In the centre, under the golden lion, was the king himself, and before him knelt his namesake Fitz Osbern. Some of the other lords were there as well with their banners, but I could not see Robert or any of his men, and I only hoped that he had not been so foolish as to return to the fray.

  ‘This way,’ I said to Eudo as I tried to move around the edge of the crowd, retracing our path up the main street, up the rise. My shoulder throbbed with pain, though the bleeding had stopped. I was lucky, for Eadgar’s blade had not penetrated all that deep, and yet had he struck me a fraction lower he might have found my heart. I shivered at the thought.

  Most of the rebels who remained were fleeing through the side streets. A few fought on, but in vain, and they did not last long as, outnumbered, they were cut down or run through. One lay on his back, still alive, coughing up blood, shouting out in his own tongue for help that would not come, until a knife was drawn across his throat and he fell silent.

  And then I spotted Wace. He was kneeling on the ground, his shield with its familiar black hawk resting against the trunk of a tall elm. He saw us and waved us over, a look of concern upon his face. Beside him was Godefroi, though it was from his build that I recognised him rather than his face, which was turned away from us, towards the ground and another man lying there.

  My first thought was that it was Robert, and sickness swelled in my stomach as again I remembered the oath I had sworn to Beatrice. But none of his knights were there, and as we rode closer I saw that it was not him, but Radulf.

  He lay unmoving upon his back, his head resting against the roots of the tree, facing the sky. His face was plastered with mud, and there was a bright gash along the line of his cheekbone. But I could see his chest slowly rising and falling; he was alive.

  Hastily I dismounted and knelt down beside him. Godefroi was murmuring a prayer. Radulf’s hand was pressed against the lower part of his chest. Blood covered his fingers, stained his tunic and indeed was coming still. In all the years I had been campaigning I had seen many injuries, some worse than others, and I knew at once that this one was bad. Whatever had struck him had gouged deep into the flesh, perhaps piercing the gut: a spear most likely, to judge by the roundness and the depth of the wound, though it did not matter now.

  ‘Radulf,’ I said, and swallowed. I did not know what to say. ‘I’m sorry.’
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  He turned his head to the side, not wishing to look at me. ‘What do you care?’ His voice was weak, hardly more than a whisper, but there was bitterness in it. ‘You always hated me.’

  I was about to say that it wasn’t true, but I knew that he would not believe me. In any case this was not the time for arguments. ‘You fought well,’ I said instead.

  ‘How would you know? You weren’t even there.’ He began to laugh, a thick rasp that was as painful to hear as no doubt it was for him to make. It descended into a cough, and then his whole body was shaking as he began to choke, and there was blood in his mouth, blood spilling on to the ground.

  ‘Here, sit up,’ Godefroi said. ‘Tancred, help me.’

  He took hold of one of Radulf’s arms, and I the other, and together we dragged him closer to the tree, so that his back rested against the trunk. He shut his eyes and almost succeeded in biting back a yell, but not quite. I felt a stab of guilt, but at the same time knew that nothing we could do for him now would take that pain away.

  Godefroi produced a wineskin from beside him and took out the stopper. He lifted the flask to Radulf’s lips and he gulped at it, spluttering, groaning with every swallow. A flash of mail caught my eye and I turned to find a conroi of horsemen riding past. They were laughing, punching each other on the shoulder, raising their pennons to the sky.

  ‘Normandy!’ they shouted, all together. They sounded drunk, and perhaps they were, if not yet on ale and wine then certainly on the thrill of battle, on English blood.

  ‘Can you hear that?’ I asked. ‘That’s the sound of victory. The enemy have fled. The city is ours.’

  ‘It is?’ Radulf said. He had finished drinking and his eyes were closed once more, his breathing all of a sudden becoming shallower. He was not long for this life.

  ‘It’s true,’ Godefroi put in. ‘We showed them slaughter such as they had never seen.’

  Radulf nodded, and there was for a moment a trace of a smile upon his lips, so slight as to be barely noticeable, but it quickly vanished as his face contorted in pain again.

  ‘Where’s Lord Guillaume?’ he croaked.

  I hadn’t yet seen the vicomte; indeed in the midst of the battle and everything else I had almost forgotten that he was the reason we were here. I glanced at Godefroi, who looked blankly back at me, then at Wace and Eudo, who offered only a shrug.

  ‘He’ll be here,’ I said. ‘You served him well.’

  Radulf nodded again, more vigorously, and now at last the tears began to flow, streaming down his cheeks as his breath came in stutters. He raised his bloodied hand to his face, as if trying to hide his sobs from us: his palm covering his mouth, his fingers splayed in front of his eyes.

  ‘He will be proud of you,’ I went on. ‘Of everything you have done for him.’

  He clenched his teeth, and his hand fell to his wound once more, leaving his face marked with crimson streaks. The blood was flowing freely now, too much of it to be staunched. If the blow had been less deep, perhaps, or if it had struck his side rather than his chest … It was pointless to think that way, I knew, for nothing could change what was already done. But I could not help it. The same could have happened to me and yet I had survived. Why had I been spared but Radulf had not?

  I felt moisture forming in the corners of my eyes, despite myself, and did my best to fight it back. Ever since we had first met I had thought him hot-headed, arrogant at the best of times, quick to take insult. Yet instead of goading him I might have tried harder to earn his trust, to gain his respect. And so in part at least I was responsible for him, and for what had happened.

  ‘You did well,’ I said again. ‘And I am sorry. For everything.’

  His eyelids opened, just a fraction, enough that he could look at me, and I hoped that he had heard. The colour had all but drained from his face, and his chest was barely moving, his breathing growing ever lighter, no longer misting in the morning air.

  ‘Go with God, Radulf,’ I told him.

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, and I leant closer, straining to hear him above the roar of victory that was all around. Whatever he meant to say, though, he never had a chance to utter, as in one long sigh his final breath fled his lips. His eyes closed once more, and slowly he sank backwards, into the trunk of the tree, his head rolling to one side, his cheek falling against his shoulder.

  ‘Go with God,’ I murmured again. But I knew that his soul had already fled this world, and he could hear me no longer.

  Philippe found us not long after, and we left him together with Godefroi to stand vigil over Radulf. I did not know how long they had known him, or how well, but both seemed to take his death hard, and I thought it better to let them grieve by themselves while we sought out the vicomte. And someone had to stay with him, since now that the battle was over the time had come for plunder, and with his mail and helm and sword, the body of a knight held much that was of worth.

  I rode with Wace and Eudo towards the minster, leaving the king and his assembled lords behind us. There was still no sign of Malet or his son, and I was beginning to grow worried when we turned up towards the market square and saw the black and gold flying before us. The vicomte was there, dressed in mail, though he had removed his helmet. Gilbert de Gand stood beside him, with the red fox upon his flag, and accompanying them both were some forty of their knights. Their spearpoints shone bright in the sun; their pennons were limp rags, soiled with the blood of the enemy.

  We left our horses and made our way through the crowd. I was about to call out when I saw Malet embracing another man of around the same height: a man dressed all in black with a gilded scabbard on his sword-belt. Robert. Of course as far as the vicomte could have known, his son had been in Normandy all this while. How long must it have been since they had last seen one another?

  I waited, not wanting to interrupt, but at last they stepped back, and Robert saw us. A grin broke across his face as he beckoned us over.

  ‘This is the man who saved my life,’ he said to his father. He was nursing his forearm where it had been wounded, I noticed; the cloth was bound tightly around it still. ‘One of your knights, I believe. Tancred a Dinant. A fine warrior.’

  Malet smiled. He looked somehow older than I remembered, his grey hair flecked with white, his face more gaunt, and I wondered what toll the siege had exacted upon him.

  ‘Indeed he is,’ he said, and extended a hand. ‘It’s been some time, Tancred.’

  I took it, smiling back. His grip, at least, was as firm as always. ‘It’s good to see you too, my lord.’

  ‘And Wace and Eudo as well, I see.’ He smiled. ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Radulf is dead, lord,’ I said, bowing my head. ‘He was injured in the battle; he died of his wounds. Philippe and Godefroi are with him now.’

  ‘He fought bravely?’

  ‘He did,’ Wace said. ‘I was with him. He sent many of the enemy to their deaths.’

  Malet nodded, his expression sombre. ‘He was a good man, loyal and determined. His death is regrettable, but he will not be forgotten.’

  ‘No, lord.’

  ‘Come,’ said Robert. ‘We will grieve for him in time, just as we’ll mourn all those who have fallen. But this is an hour for rejoicing. Eoferwic is ours. The rebels are defeated-’

  ‘Not defeated,’ I interrupted him. For all the scores upon scores of Englishmen that had been slain, I remembered the hundreds more that had filled the decks of their ships, that had managed to get away. I turned to face Malet. ‘Eadgar managed to escape, lord. It was my fault. I had the chance to kill him, and I failed.’

  ‘You wounded him,’ Eudo said. ‘You did more than any other man could manage.’

  I shook my head. If my blow had struck him full in the face, rather than upon his cheek-plate, it might at least have dazed him enough that I could have cut him down. But it had not, and instead he lived.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Malet said. ‘What’s done is done and cannot now be changed
. And Robert is right. Whatever battles there may be to come, it is this victory we must celebrate.’

  ‘Lord,’ someone called, and I turned to see Ansculf riding towards us, the black-and-gold banner raised in the three fingers of his shield-hand, a grin upon his face. Behind him rode the rest of Robert’s conroi, their mail and their shields spattered with crimson.

  ‘My men are waiting for me,’ said Robert as he turned his horse about. ‘No doubt we will meet again later.’

  I watched as he mounted up and rode to join them, taking the banner from Ansculf, lifting it to the sky as his horse reared up, before he and his conroi galloped down the street.

  ‘I hear my wife and daughter are safe in Lundene,’ Malet said once he had gone.

  ‘They are,’ I said.

  ‘That is good to hear. And my message has been delivered to Wiltune, as I instructed?’

  I glanced at Eudo and Wace, unsure what to say. He had been bound to ask at some point, though I had hoped he wouldn’t. But I could not lie to this man, to whom I had sworn my oath.

  ‘Lord,’ I said, lowering my voice as I drew closer. There were men all about us who might overhear, and I was sure Malet did not intend this for their ears. ‘We saw your letter. We know about Eadgyth, your friendship with Harold, and the business with his body.’

  If anything I had expected Malet to turn to rage, but instead his face seemed to go pale. Perhaps like us he was simply weary after the siege and the battle; the fire had gone out of him and he had not the will to be angry.

  ‘You know?’ he asked. His gaze fell on each of us in turn. ‘I suppose it was always possible that you might find out. Aelfwold told you, I presume.’

  ‘Not willingly, lord, but yes,’ I said.

  Malet glanced about. ‘We can’t talk of this here, surrounded by so many people. Come with me, back to the castle.’