Sworn Sword c-1 Read online

  I wiped the half-dried blood from around the cut, revealing a great crimson gash, about one-third the width of my fingernail.

  Wace inhaled sharply. ‘That doesn’t look good.’

  ‘It looks worse than it feels,’ I said, though I was not sure that I meant it. I swallowed, and changed the subject. ‘Where do you think we are?’

  ‘We passed a village a little before dawn,’ he replied, still gazing at the wound. ‘If that was Alclit then it means we can’t be far from the old road.’

  Alclit was one of the places we had passed on our march; we had learnt the name after our scouts had captured one of the families trying to flee. They had been some of the last to leave; most of the rest had gone by then, disappeared into the hills and the forests. The tears of the wife came back to me now, her husband’s terrified silence also. In particular I recalled the wide, uncomprehending eyes of the children, too frightened to speak or even to cry. But once they had given us the answers we needed, Lord Robert set them all free, even giving them horses and supplies so that they could ride on ahead and tell their countrymen of the size and strength of our army, in the hope that they would surrender without a fight. We hadn’t imagined that they would be already lying in wait, like a pack of wolves preparing to ambush their prey. None of us had.

  Wace looked up, over the fields to the south. ‘I confess, though, I don’t recognise the land.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ I drew my knife out from its sheath and began to cut a strip from the hem of my cloak. The wool was thick, but my blade was sharp, and soon I had enough to wrap around my calf, tying it firm to try to close the wound. It was as much as I could do, until we got back to Eoferwic at least. It was a good thing that we had horses, for I couldn’t have walked on it for long without opening the gash further.

  ‘I’ll try to get some rest, if you don’t mind,’ said Wace.

  ‘I’ll keep watch,’ I replied, as he paced about, testing the ground with his feet, searching for a place where it was least damp. Then he lay down, facing away from the sun, his cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. The next time I looked in his direction, he was soundly asleep.

  I sat leaning back against one of the birch trees as the morning passed. Tiredness still gripped me, but even had I not been keeping watch, I wouldn’t have felt able to sleep. The wind had stilled; the branches above my head were motionless. Clouds began to gather and the land became a patchwork of light and dark.

  The jangle of a horse harness from within the woods made me sit up. I looked at Wace, but he was still asleep. I nudged his side and he woke with a start, his hand straightaway leaping to his scabbard, fumbling for his sword-hilt.

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ I said.

  He saw me then and paused, his eyes wide and bloodshot, until at last recognition seemed to come and he scrambled to his feet. ‘Where?’

  I got up, too quickly: fire shot through my calf and I stumbled, but managed to stay on my feet as I gestured back up the track. It sounded like just one rider, though I could not be sure. Our horses were about twenty paces away, a short distance inside the woods where they would be hidden from the plains below. We might make it to them before the enemy was upon us, though we would surely be noticed if we tried to ride away.

  I half ran, half limped forward, following Wace towards the animals, who were both awake now, though they did not seem to have sensed anything amiss. We were just in time, as suddenly I heard hooves and then a rider came into view. There was just one, his mount at no more than a walk as he made his way through the trees.

  An earthen bank lay between us and the path, and we hid behind it. As long as the rider did not look in our direction, he wouldn’t spot the horses and we would be safe. But then I thought: What if he did? We were two against one, and providing that he did not have any friends riding just behind him, we ought to be able to win if it came to a fight.

  The man was tall and long-limbed, with a brown cloak wrapped around drooping shoulders, and a helmet covering his head. Sunlight burst through the clouds and Wace crouched down, further out of sight, but at that moment I saw the rider’s face, and a rush of joy came over me.

  ‘It’s Eudo,’ I said to Wace, and then standing once more, waving out, I called, ‘Eudo!’

  The rider came to a halt. He searched around, and as I stumbled forward through the leaves and the branches, he saw me. There was mud in his hair, there were scratches upon his thin face, and his eyes were red-rimmed from tiredness, but it was clearly him.

  ‘Tancred?’ he asked, as if he did not quite believe it. He slid down from the saddle, laughing, threw his arms about me and embraced me like a brother. ‘You made it out alive.’

  ‘We did,’ I said, and gestured at Wace, who was not far behind me.

  ‘Wace!’ Eudo shouted.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ Wace said, smiling.

  ‘And you,’ Eudo replied, and I thought I spotted moisture in his eyes as he stood back. ‘I never thought I would see either of you again — after what happened …’

  But he could not finish, as suddenly the tears began to brim over.

  ‘What about the others?’ I asked, glancing back up the path in search of more of our conroi. ‘Are any of the others behind you? Mauger, Ivo, Hedo?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And Lord Robert?’ said Wace. ‘What about Lord Robert?’

  Eudo simply stared at him, and then at me, open-mouthed. Dark shadows lay beneath his eyes. A cloud came across the sun; from the north the wind blew and around us I heard the trees themselves shiver.

  ‘Lord Robert …’ he said. His voice trembled, seeming suddenly distant, as if it were no longer his own. ‘Lord Robert is dead.’

  Five

  I stared at Eudo, scarce understanding what he was saying. It could not be true. I had been with Robert in the square at Dunholm only hours before. I had spoken to him. I had clasped his hand.

  The pictures whirled through my mind. It seemed to me I was stuck in some terror of a dream, and I needed desperately to wake up, but of course I could not.

  First Oswynn, and now Lord Robert. The man I had served half my lifetime: since I had first taken up arms in my youth. I remembered that look of unspoken despair on his face as he had sent me from the square at Dunholm. And I saw again those eyes, hollow and lost, as if he had somehow known that defeat was at hand, that his own end was near.

  I would have liked to say that the words stuck in my throat, but that would have been false, for in truth no words existed for a moment like this. My mouth was dry, the air gone from my chest. I felt myself sit down upon the ground, though I did not recall having willed my body to do so. I expected tears to follow, but strangely they did not, nor could I summon them. Instead I just felt numb. It was too much to take in.

  I had sworn my life to Lord Robert’s service. By solemn oath I had pledged both my sword and my shield in his defence. Still I remembered that spring morning at Commines many years ago: clear and warm it had been, with the blossom on the apple trees in the orchard and the smell of earth on the breeze. It was on that morning that I’d made my pledge and he had accepted me as one of his household knights: taken me, as he had taken Eudo and Wace not long before, into his conroi, his closest circle of men. And now that pledge lay in tatters; the oath that I had sworn to him was broken. I had not been there to protect him, and now he lay dead.

  Wace’s head was buried in his hands, his face red, weeping, while Eudo sat upon a rock, staring in silence down at the ground. I could not recall having ever seen either of them like this before.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘What does it matter?’ Wace said, and amidst his tears there was anger in his eyes.

  ‘I want to know,’ I replied.

  Eudo wiped a hand across his face. ‘I only saw from a distance,’ he said. ‘You remember I became separated from you?’

  I did. In fact, the last I had seen of hi
m was when we had cut down the thegn with the gilded sword. After that everything had been thrown into confusion. I no longer remembered who had been with me when we came to Wace’s aid, only that that was when the battle had turned against us.

  ‘I didn’t know where you were,’ Eudo went on, ‘but I heard the horns sounding the retreat from the square, saw our banners heading back towards the stronghold. The English were pressing up the hill; there was fighting in every street. I joined with another conroi and we tried to push through to rejoin the rest of the army, but the enemy were too many and it was all we could do to hold them back.’

  He turned his head down towards the earth, his eyes closed. ‘I looked up to the fastness and saw the hawk banner being pushed back. The English had broken through the gates. They had Robert all but surrounded, with the mead-hall at his rear. He retreated inside — it was the only place left to go …’

  He covered his face with his hands, and I saw him tremble.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  He glanced at Wace, and then at me, his eyes full of apology. ‘Then they set the torch to it. The building went up so quickly; he could not have got out.’ He bowed his head again. ‘After that I fled. Men were dying everywhere; the English had won. There was nothing left to fight for.’

  That was when I recalled that I too had seen the mead-hall in flames, the blaze sweeping through its thatch, the smoke rising thick and black. I had not thought anything of it at the time; that Lord Robert could have been there had not crossed my mind. But then Eudo must have had better sight of it. He had seen it all happen, and yet been powerless to do anything to stop it.

  How much longer we stayed there I did not know. Nothing more was said as each of us sat, heads turned down, lost in his own grief. Above, the skies were growing grey and dark. It looked as though more rain was to come.

  ‘Come on,’ Wace said eventually, rising. ‘Let’s get away from the path.’

  We led Eudo with his mount back to where we had tied our horses. I gestured for him to go ahead of me and struggled on behind. My leg was agony to walk on: already it seemed worse than when I had woken.

  ‘You’re wounded,’ Eudo said, when he saw that I was limping. He glanced down at my calf, at my blood-stained braies and the crude bandage I had made.

  ‘It’s not bad,’ I said, grimacing despite myself. ‘I’ll be fine until we can get back to Eoferwic.’

  I saw the doubt in his eyes, but he said nothing. We settled down behind the earth bank close to our horses. Eudo found some nuts and damp bread which he had in his cloak pocket and we shared them out. It was the only food any of us had.

  ‘We should shelter through the day, travel by night,’ Wace said, when we had all finished. ‘If the enemy are still marching, we’re less likely to be spotted that way.’

  I nodded in agreement. With any luck we would be in Eoferwic within a couple of nights. I only hoped that my wound did not get any worse in that time.

  After that, each of us took it in turns to keep watch while the others slept. Since I had already rested some that morning, I offered to go first, and neither Eudo nor Wace objected. My eyes stabbed with heaviness but I knew I could not sleep, for fear of what my dreams might bring.

  I thought back to the day I had met Lord Robert, when he had been as old as I was now, and I was but a boy in my fourteenth summer. It had not been all that long since I had left the monastery — a few days at most — and I was travelling I did not know where, free but hungry, walking alone. All I knew was that I wanted never to return.

  Already it had been a hot summer, I remembered, though it was still only June. I had not found a spring in more than a day and all the streams were dry to their beds. Where I could, I had kept to the woods, since there I was protected from the heat of the sun; but as evening drew on I suddenly came upon a winding river: a river I later learnt was the Cosnonis, which marked the boundary between Brittany and Normandy. Between its banks and the edge of the woods a number of tents had been erected around a campfire, beside which half a dozen men were practising with swords and shields, stepping deftly forward and back in time with every stroke, ducking and turning before thrusting again.

  Their blades flashed brightly in the late sun; the scrape of steel against steel rang out as they clashed. I crouched behind a bush and for a while I simply watched them, almost forgetting my thirst and my empty stomach. I had never seen such a thing before. It was like a dance: each movement, each swing, each parry all carefully considered and yet it seemed at the same time instinctive.

  Eventually, though, my hunger had got the better of me, and I realised that if these men meant to stay the night here, they must have food. I moved back amongst the trees, around the back of their camp. There were more men sitting by the fire, passing bread around and speaking in what sounded like French, a tongue which at that time I only half knew. All had beards and wore their hair long, which took me aback a little, having spent so long in the company of monks, with their tonsured heads and clean-shaven chins. One of them was dressed in a mail coat, polished and gleaming, and had silver rings on his fingers. He must be their lord, I thought. His shield he had across his knees, using it like a table from which to eat; on its white face was painted a black hawk.

  Had I been thinking more clearly, I would have understood that these were fighting men — men I would do well not to cross. But at that moment my stomach was all that I cared about, as the smell of roasting meat drifted on the breeze. And so, taking care not to stumble or to tread on any twigs, I carried on. One tent on the other side of the camp stood slightly further back from the rest, and I chose this as my target.

  Closer to the river, a handful of boys were running at each other with wooden swords and wicker shields. They looked to be the same age as me, or perhaps a little older — it was difficult to tell from so far away. One, taller than the others, seemed to be fending off two by himself. I paid them no mind; they seemed too involved in what they were doing to notice me. Keeping low, watching to make sure that none of the men by the fire had seen me, I made my way out of the cover of the trees, towards the tent. It was made from several hides stitched together and stretched over wooden poles, and was probably large enough to fit two men comfortably. Leather ties hung from the flaps that made the opening, but they were not fastened and so I slipped inside.

  The heat was the first thing that struck me; the second was the darkness. I fumbled about while my eyes adjusted, searching for something that I might be able to eat or drink. Linen blankets were laid out over the grass; a rolled-up tunic made for a pillow at one end. Beside the tunic lay a pouch with some silver coins inside. I pocketed a few, thinking that they might be useful later, before in the corner I spied a leather bottle. Without thinking I removed the stopper and began to gulp it down, and straightaway began to splutter, sending scarlet droplets everywhere. Instead of water I had found wine, and far stronger wine than any I had ever tasted.

  I replaced the stopper and hurriedly put the bottle back where I had found it, hoping I had not made too much noise. There was nothing else of use here in any case; I would have to try another tent. I turned to go, but at that moment the flaps were pulled aside and the evening light flooded in. A dark figure stood before me. The sun was behind him, dazzling me with its brilliance, and I shielded my eyes. It was the tall boy I had seen by the river.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said in French, his eyes narrowing. His hair was dark, cut short on the top and shaved at the back like mine. He had thin lips and a keen stare.

  I was still on my hands and knees. I looked up at him, too fearful to say anything. My mind was whirling: what would these men do to me now that they had caught me?

  ‘Folcard!’ the boy called in the direction, I guessed, of the men at the campfire. ‘There’s a thief in your-’

  He had not the time to finish, for I was scrambling to my feet, my head down like a bull’s as I barrelled into his lower half. He went down, and I was half running, half stumbling past, seeing t
he safety of the woods before me, when all of a sudden I felt him grab first my tunic and then my leg. I heard cloth rip and found myself falling too. The wind was knocked from my chest as I hit the ground. I struggled to get free, flailing my leg, trying to kick him away, but he held on, and then somehow he was on top of me, one hand pressed down on my collarbone, the other raised high.

  I saw the blow coming and turned my head to one side. His hand connected with the side of my face and I felt the impact jar through my jaw. He sat back, getting ready to deliver another strike, but I rose up, grabbing him around the waist and wrestling him from me. He lashed out, missing my head, and I slammed my fist into his nose. He reeled back, crying out as he put a hand to his face. Blood, thick and dark, dripped through his fingers.

  I had never struck anyone before, let alone drawn blood. I stared at him, not knowing what to do. My heart was beating fast; a rush of excitement came over me. Then I heard voices and looked up. The men from the fire were running towards me, some with swords drawn. Their legs were longer than mine and I knew that for all my speed, I could not outrun them. I stood in my torn tunic, frozen to the spot as they approached and began to spread out, surrounding me.

  ‘You,’ said the one I had taken for their lord. ‘What’s your name, boy?’

  His voice was deep, his face stern. He was not all that tall, but there was something about his manner that nevertheless commanded respect.

  ‘My name is Tancred,’ I replied nervously. The words felt awkward on my tongue. My name was French, given to me by my mother, but I did not speak the language much. Some of the brothers in the monastery had spoken it, but not as much as they had Breton and Latin: tongues which I knew far more readily.

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Dinant,’ I said. I looked around the rest of the men. All of them had scabbards at their sides, and most were wearing leather jerkins, though a few had mail like their lord. They were all different sizes: some short and squat, arms folded in front of their chests; others slim and long-limbed, with piercing stares that I did my best to avoid.