Knights of the Hawk

Twenty-nine

With Haakon dead, the rest of his retainers fled. Jarnborg was ablaze, sending up great plumes of smoke into the sky. A bitter wind gusted from the west, carrying those plumes across the water along with the cries of the injured and the dying. Sword-blades and spear-hafts clattered against iron shield-rims as our men raised the battle-thunder in triumph.

‘Sige!’ I heard some of Magnus’s men roar. ‘God us sige forgeaf!’

God has given us victory. Indeed it seemed little short of a miracle. After so long dreaming and hoping and praying, Haakon had fallen. The field of battle belonged to us.

I was still kneeling beside the Dane’s limp body, hardly daring to believe that it was true, that he was dead and that our struggle was at an end, when Magnus called my name. He hobbled towards me, wincing with every step, his horse having bolted. Luckily he’d managed to free himself from the stirrups before it did, and apart from the injury to his foot I was glad to see he was unharmed.

‘I only wish I could have killed him myself,’ he said as he stood beside me. Together we stared down at the Dane: at his face, strangely serene in death; at his unmoving chest.

I nodded but said nothing. Had it been the other way around and his been the hand that slew Haakon, no doubt I would have felt equally cheated. But I also knew that only one of us could have delivered the killing blow, and I was glad it had been me.

He must have guessed my thoughts. ‘You did the right thing, Tancred,’ he said, and clapped a hand on my shoulder as if to assure me that he did not bear any resentment. ‘If it had been your horse that had fallen, I wouldn’t have turned back to help you. So I don’t blame you. You did what had to be done, for both of us.’

His tone was not grudging, but sincere. He smiled, and it was a smile of relief as much as anything else. Relief at having survived this day. Relief that justice, at long last, had been done.

We ventured back towards the rest of our host. Some of the enemy still lived, but not many. Magnus’s huscarls remembered only too well how Haakon had betrayed their lord, and held anyone who had thrown in their lot with him in the lowest contempt, while the men that Wace and Eudo and Aubert had brought with them had been told of the Dane’s part in the massacre of near two thousand Normans at Dunholm, and were not inclined to show forgiveness. And so the slaughter still went on as our men set about pursuing the enemy, cutting them down from behind and decorating the backs of their skulls with bright gashes. A handful had fled on to the sands, perhaps hoping to reach their ships drawn up further along the shore and make an escape by water. When they realised how few they were in number, though, they abandoned their weapons and whatever armour they possessed, deciding instead to try to swim across the bay to safety. They waded out from the shore, crashing through the waves, but they didn’t get far before our men were upon them, staining the foaming sea-froth pink with Danish blood.

‘No mercy!’ I heard a familiar voice shout from across the field, and saw Eudo on a horse that he must have seized from one of Haakon’s hearth-troops. In one hand he held a bloodied spear, while his banner was in the other. Gradually those around him took up the cry, until a dozen Normans were chanting as if with a single voice: ‘No mercy!’

Wace was with him, albeit on foot, and Tor and the Gascon and Serlo too, all charging behind the tusked boar, filling the air with their battle-joy, delighting in the glory of the kill.

With those roars and chants ringing out, Magnus and I trudged across a meadow trampled flat by the passage of hundreds of feet. Men cheered as they recognised us, and yet I hardly heard them, for my mind was elsewhere. I glanced about, searching for Godric, Ælfhelm and Oswynn. Until I knew she was safe, I would not celebrate. But amidst everyone running back and forth, amidst all the panicked horses, I couldn’t spot them, and the longer I kept searching, the more my concern grew. I could feel it stirring in my breast, clutching at my heart, and I tried to bury it, not wanting to let even the possibility enter my thoughts. She was safe, I told myself. She had to be.

To left and right, English and French were throwing their arms around one another, slapping each other on the back, punching their comrades on the shoulders, lifting fists to the sky, sharing in the delight of a hard-earned victory, celebrating together as allies and brothers in arms. I had seen some strange sights in my years, but never any as strange as this.

‘Lord!’

Over the laughter and the singing and the whoops of joy, I made out Eithne’s voice. She stood amidst a crowd of men, perhaps a hundred paces away, close to a jagged outcrop of dark rock, waving both her arms, trying to attract my attention, and at once I felt my worries easing, my heart lifting.

But only for an instant.

‘Lord!’ she cried again, as she beckoned me over, and this time there was no mistaking her tone, which was insistent rather than jubilant. With her, crowded close, were Godric and Ælfhelm, who was nursing a wound to his shoulder, his fellow huscarls Dweorg and Sceota, and Pons too. Of Oswynn, however, there was no sign.

And I knew.

My skin turned to ice. My heart all but stopped, and the breath caught in my chest. No longer were all those men shouting and rejoicing; or perhaps they were, but I did not hear them. Around me the whole world seemed to slow.

‘Lord!’ Eithne was shouting still, her voice desperate, as I pelted towards her as fast as my legs could carry me, nearly tripping over the corpses in my way but somehow managing to stay upright.

‘Where is she?’ I roared as I grew nearer. ‘What happened?’

She stared, terrified, at me, but though her mouth opened, no words came out. Instead, after a moment’s hesitation, she and the others simply stepped to one side, making way and allowing me to see for myself.

Oswynn, my Oswynn, lay on the ground, her head of pitch-black hair resting upon a bundle of folded cloaks, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling. Her breath misted in front of her face, but there was so little of it, and it came only in stutters.

‘No,’ I said, barely able to manage even a whisper, so numb, so devoid of strength, so helpless did I feel. ‘No.’

Eanflæd, the English girl, knelt beside her, pressing a bloodied cloth against Oswynn’s lower torso, whilst at the same time stroking her brow. Her eyes were red and her cheeks wet with tears. No sooner had she noticed me approaching than she rose to her feet and made way.

‘She wanted to kill them all,’ I was dimly aware of Ælfhelm saying. ‘We tried to stop her, Tancred, but there was a fury in her, a fury such as I’ve never seen in a woman. We tried, but before we could even-’

He kept speaking, but whatever he said, I didn’t hear. My mind was running with a thousand thoughts and I was deaf to his explanations, blind to everything except for my woman as I fell to my knees by her side and took her cold hand in mine, squeezing it as I tried to coax her back to me. Her eyelids fluttered, and a drawn-out moan escaped her lips. Beneath the rag Eanflæd had been using to staunch the flow, Oswynn’s shift was torn where a spear or a seax had dealt its blow, and the linen around it was crimson-dark and sodden. I pressed the cloth firmly against the gash, refusing to admit to myself what my eyes and my heart were telling me, which was that it was no use, that the blood was burbling forth too freely to be stemmed. She was gut-stricken, wounded deep, beyond the ability of the best physician or leech-doctor in Christendom to help, and experience had taught me that no one who suffered such an injury ever lived long. With every trace of mist that escaped her lips, it seemed that a little more life went out of her. Breath by breath, she was slipping away. From the world. From me.

This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything we had done; after the many leagues we had travelled across field and marsh, river and storm-tossed sea; after the countless foes I’d laid low in order to find her and bring her back. Did all of that count for nothing?

‘Oswynn,’ I said desperately. This had to be some dream, some nihtegesa, I thought, except that I couldn’t find a way to wake from it.

At the sound of her name she stirred. Her eyes opened, just by a little, but enough to see me kneeling over her.

‘Tancred,’ she said, and she was weeping, her voice weak, little more than a whisper. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry-’

‘No,’ I said, and suddenly I was weeping as well. To hear her say such a thing was more than I could bear. She had no reason to apologise. If anyone was to blame, it was I, not her. ‘I should never have left you. I shouldn’t. It’s my fault.’

I wasn’t only thinking of that moment earlier this morning when I’d entrusted her protection to Godric and Ælfhelm. I was also thinking back to that night at Dunholm. If only I’d been there to defend her, none of this would have happened.

‘You came, though,’ she whispered, managing something like a smile, although there was such pain in it.

‘Of course,’ I said, but I wasn’t sure if she heard me. Her face was pale, her skin cold to the touch, her chest barely moving, her breathing light, and growing lighter. She closed her eyes and I gripped her hand more tightly, trying to hold on to her. To prevent from happening what I could not prevent; to stave off fate. To keep her with me a little longer.

‘Oswynn,’ I pleaded, as if that would help, as if it would change anything. ‘Don’t go.’

The smile had faded from her expression; her fingers grew limp in my grasp. Her eyelids trembled, and her mouth opened by the tiniest sliver. She was trying to say something, but whatever it was I couldn’t tell, for at the same time from somewhere close at hand a sudden cheer rose up, drowning out the sound of her voice. Doing my best to stifle my sobs, I leant closer, until my ear brushed against her lips.

‘-for me,’ she managed to say, and I thought I must have missed something, or else misheard, so quiet was she. But then she spoke again, and this time I did hear her. ‘You came for me.’

‘Yes,’ I said, unable to hold the tears back any longer. She gave a long, slow sigh, and through watery eyes I gazed down at her, waiting for her to say more, to say anything at all.

Her mouth was still. Her eyes were closed.

‘Oswynn!’ I said, but no matter how loudly and how many times I repeated her name, she could not hear me. Grief overtook me then, and I let it pour out, spilling down my cheeks as I hugged her close and sobbed into her hair and into her cheeks and her neck. Over and over I begged her to wake, to come back to me. But she would not wake, nor would she come back. Her soul had fled her body, fled this world for whatever place it is that souls are supposed to go.

The sun shone in a bright, clear sky, but a chill had descended upon me, a chill that seized my whole body and wrenched at my heart, and I could not stop trembling. I clung to Oswynn, the one woman in all the world that I had ever truly loved, and I did not want to let her go, or move, or even walk this earth any longer. All I wanted was to die, so that I could be with her.

For she was gone, and my world had grown dark.

We buried her.

A few miles from Jarnborg there was a tiny timber building, not much bigger than a cattle-shed, that passed for a chapel amongst the island folk. We laid her in the earth in its grounds, beneath the winter-green boughs of a hollow yew. The priest, a wrinkled greybeard with a lame leg who walked with the aid of a crutch, recited the necessary liturgy. He had no Latin learning and so spoke in his own tongue, but even if he had, the words would have meant nothing to me, so lost was I in thought, in regret, in sorrow.

Afterwards, when the earth had been placed over her body and everyone else had left, I alone lingered, kneeling by her graveside for how long I cannot say, only that it seemed like an eternity. Clouds scurried from the sea up the length of the fjord, thick and brooding. They billowed and tumbled and blotted out the sun, which grew ever lower in the west. A drizzle came and went; the wind rose and settled and rose once more, tugging at my cloak and buffeting my cheeks, brushing clear the tears that I did not care to wipe away. I thought of her, and remembered the times we had shared, short though they were, and the many happinesses of those times. I prayed for her soul, and prayed also that when the day of reckoning arrived we would be united again in the heavenly kingdom, small comfort though that was to me in those lonely hours, as I thought of all the years stretching ahead that I would have to spend without her. Everything that had seemed so certain in the wake of Haakon’s death, in the wake of our victory, was thrown into confusion. The future that I had hoped for, that I had dreamt of, was not to be.

‘She was a good friend,’ came a voice, startling me. I turned in the direction it had come from, and had to raise a hand to shield my eyes from the setting sun, which was just above the figure’s shoulder.

My eyes adjusted, and I saw it was Eanflæd. She brushed her dark hair from where it had fallen in front of her face. I wondered if she had anything more to add, but when she said nothing, I looked away, embarrassed that anyone should see me so affected, and angry too that she had intruded upon me.

Eanflæd did not come closer, though, nor did she kneel down next to me by Oswynn’s grave, as I’d half expected she might, and I took that as a gesture of respect.

‘She had a child. A girl. Did you know that?’

‘No,’ I said, surprised. Oswynn had not spoken to me of any child, although in our haste to escape Jarnborg we hadn’t had the opportunity to exchange stories. ‘The child was Haakon’s?’

‘He certainly thought so,’ Eanflæd said. ‘He named her Alfhild, and doted on her whenever he returned to Jarnborg. She was born in the autumn after Oswynn came here, on the feast day of All Saints.’

It took me a moment to understand the import of what she was saying. The feast of All Saints took place on the first day of November, while the ambush at Dunholm had happened nine months earlier, in late January.

‘What did Oswynn think?’

Eanflæd shrugged. ‘She never liked to say what she believed, or if she did, not to me. As for the rest of us, we always did say amongst ourselves that the girl had more of her mother than of Haakon in her looks, but who knows? Oswynn certainly didn’t, no matter what she might have hoped.’

‘What about the girl?’ I asked, sensing the slightest glimmer of hope. If there was something that remained of Oswynn, even if she were not a child of my blood-

‘She died,’ the Englishwoman said. ‘She was a sickly thing from the day she entered the world, although God granted her the strength to see through her first year and more. But then the winter came, and the snows, and she caught a fever, and there was nothing that could be done for her.’

No sooner had that candle been lit, than it was pinched out. ‘And after that?’ I asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did she ever bear Haakon a child after Alfhild?’

Eanflæd shook her head. ‘Nor did any of us, lord.’

‘None of you?’

‘Not one,’ she confirmed. ‘God alone knows why. Although that never stopped him from trying.’

I nodded, not knowing what to say. To tell the truth I wasn’t sure quite what to make of this new knowledge, or even whether there was anything to make.

‘She never stopped believing that you would come for her,’ Eanflæd said, and now at last she did come to kneel beside me, gazing down at the broken earth beneath which Oswynn lay. ‘Especially after she saw you at Beferlic. She often confided in me, and I in her. She told me you would come sooner or later, and I never had the heart to say otherwise. Every time we were allowed to venture beyond the fortress’s walls she was always looking to seaward. I knew she was hoping to spy a ship headed for the island, a ship of warriors who would kill Haakon and free her. She held on to that hope; it was what kept her alive through the dark nights, and there were many of those. It made her strong, and we in turn took our strength from her.’

Eanflæd stopped, for she was sobbing. Her hands covered her face and her whole body shook. I placed an arm around her shoulder in reassurance.

‘She was right,’ she said, between sniffs, as she wiped her sleeve across her nose. ‘In the end, she was right, and it shames me that I never believed in the same way she did.’

‘She always was strong,’ I replied, not knowing what else to say.

Someday, I resolved, I would come back here; I would make the pilgrimage north and find this island again. It didn’t matter that there was no shrine, no altar, no great minster church to mark the site where she lay in the ground. To me, if to no one else, this humble place would always be sacred: here, beneath the eternal yew, the tree of ages, where the leaves never fell or lost their shade, where life was ever-present. Wherever my travels took me in future, to whatever far-flung parts of Christendom, always I would hold this place in my mind, in the same way that my memories of Oswynn would never fade, but instead would remain as vivid in the years to come as they did now. That was the solemn oath I swore to myself, and it was a pledge that I knew I would have no trouble keeping.

As long as I lived, I would not forget her.

‘Where will you go?’ asked Eudo the next day. We stood on the sands beneath the still-smoking ruins of Jarnborg, listening to the waves lapping on the shore and gazing out over the bay, across the choppy waters sparkling beneath the light of the sun, towards the distant peaks thickly robed with cloud. We had done what we came here to do; now the time had come for us to part ways, and to venture where we must.

‘Not back to England,’ I said. ‘That much I know. There’s nothing left for me there.’

‘You can still try to make amends,’ Wace pointed out. ‘Robert might yet decide to accept you back into his service, if you come with us and seek his forgiveness.’

On that, at least, I had made up my mind, and I think they both realised it, even if they didn’t want to admit it.

‘No,’ I answered firmly. ‘He doesn’t need me, or my sword. Not any more. He’s made that clear enough. He will do his own thing, and I’ll do mine. Maybe in time these wounds will heal and we’ll be able to see eye to eye once more, but until that happens, no.’

I would not humble myself before him. I would not beg forgiveness. What respect I’d had for him, recent events had steadily ground down. Until he earned it again, I would not bend my knee nor offer my oath to him anew. I couldn’t. Not without losing all respect for myself.

I would not go back. I only hoped that Eudo and Wace understood, and did not think any less of me for that decision.

‘If not England, then where?’ asked Eudo after a while. ‘Back to Normandy, or to Brittany?’

I shook my head. ‘First of all I’m going to take Eithne home, to reunite her with her kin, providing they still live. I promised her that much, and it’s time for me to make good on that promise.’

Since Haakon and his men had no further use for them, I had claimed the largest of his four longships. It turned out that one of the slaves we had freed from Jarnborg, a lank-haired, bone-thin countryman of Eithne’s by the name of Domnall, had been steersman to a wealthy merchant from Haltland before he was captured by pirates and thrown in chains. He, together with a good number of the other former thralls, had agreed to join us, partly because they had nowhere else to go, and partly because I think they sensed with Magnus and Aubert and myself opportunities to seek out their fortunes anew.

‘And after you’ve taken her home?’ Wace asked. ‘What then?’

I could only shrug in answer. In truth I was in no mood to think about such things, although of course I would have to decide before long. A man cannot spend his life forever dwelling on the past, wondering about what might have come to pass that didn’t, and wishing things were different. Sooner or later he must turn his mind to what lies ahead.

Wyvern’s crew, directed by Aubert, were loading supplies for the voyage back to England. The island folk had bestowed food and fleeces and other gifts upon us, which at the time I’d taken for tokens of their gratitude for ridding them of the Danes. Later, though, I’d wondered whether in fact they meant it as tribute, fearing that if they did not placate us, we would soon turn our attentions to their steadings and their homes, and raid them just as we had raided Haakon’s hall. However those offerings were meant, we’d accepted them with gratitude, adding them to what we had managed to recover of the jarl’s treasure hoard. For rather than immediately killing those who had surrendered to us, we had given them the chance first to show us where their lord had buried the chests containing all the silver and the gold that he had reaped on his expeditions. Only after they’d done so did we condemn them to the ends they deserved. Afterwards we shared the booty out as fairly as we could, so that both crews were rewarded and every man in our party, whether English or French, received a portion. Once divided out between so many coin-purses, it looked like a paltry amount for a warlord of Haakon’s repute to have amassed, and I suspected he had other hoards that his men hadn’t known about or else, if they had, simply hadn’t told us of, both here on this island and elsewhere. Nonetheless, it was hard-earned recompense for the men who had toiled so tirelessly in our cause with oar and sail, spear and sword, risking everything. But naturally there were many whom we could not reward: those who had lost their lives to Danish steel, far from any port they could call home. All we could do was honour them, as we had honoured Oswynn, and give Aubert money that he could pass on to their families.

‘Robert won’t be best pleased when he learns you took his ship without his permission,’ I said to Wace and Eudo. Nor that Wyvern would be returning with fifteen fewer men than it had set out with, and a number of the rest still recovering from various small wounds taken in the battle.

‘It’ll be some weeks before we arrive back at Heia,’ Eudo said. ‘We still have to visit Robert’s barons in Normandy and bring them the tidings of his father’s death, assuming that they haven’t yet heard. The Christmas feast might have already passed by the time we see home again. Between now and then, we’ll have plenty of time to think how we’re going to explain it all.’

‘He can have our share of the plunder, if that’ll help soothe his temper,’ Wace added. ‘There’s always more silver to be made. Besides, we didn’t come here for riches, but for something greater than that, and we found it. That’s all that matters.’

As usual he spoke good sense. Still, I didn’t envy them facing Robert, for he would surely hear the tale of their exploits before long. Even if they were able to swear Wyvern’s crew to silence, someone was bound to let slip at some point. What Robert would do then, I could only guess. The two of them had taken a great risk on my behalf, and I lacked the words to thank them as they deserved. Better, more loyal friends than they I’d never known.

‘Wherever you end up going, take care,’ Eudo said as we embraced, to which Wace, when it was his turn, added:

‘God be with you, Tancred.’

‘And with you,’ I said solemnly. ‘Both of you.’

As sword-brothers, we three had grown up together in our lord’s household, had fought alongside one another on occasions without number, and it was a strange feeling to part company without knowing exactly when I would next see them. That fate would bring us together again, and that our paths would cross sometime, I had no doubt. When that happened, I would make sure to repay the debt I owed them. But even so it seemed a turning point not just in my life, but in all of our lives.

Thus it was with heavy heart that, later that day, I took one of Haakon’s horses and rode to the cliff-top at the island’s southernmost point. There, with the wind gusting in my face, I watched Wyvern as she put out to sea. Her long, narrow hull rode the swell as her oarsmen bent their backs to the waves, her proud dragon-prow cutting through the blue-grey waters. Not once did I take my eyes off her, but kept waving in the hope that Eudo and Wace would see me, and it seemed that they did, for after a while I spotted two figures waving back. Smaller and smaller and smaller the ship grew, until she was no more than a faint speck on the horizon and then not even that. The wide sea beyond the fjord glittered beneath the afternoon sunshine, and amidst all those shards of sunlight I soon lost sight of her.

I was alone.

Even long after she had vanished from sight, I remained there. While my mare wandered, I stood by the cliff-edge and stared down the length of the fjord towards the sea, searching for I knew not what, listening to the waves crash and froth against the rocks below, feeling hollow inside.

How long I spent standing there, lost in my thoughts, with the cold winter wind tugging at my cloak, I don’t know. By the time I heard the hoofbeats approaching from behind, cloud had come across the sky, veiling the sun, and a soft drizzle was beginning to fall.

‘Lord!’

I glanced over my shoulder. It was Godric.

‘We were starting to get worried,’ he said as he checked his horse, dismounted and came to me by the cliff’s edge. ‘No one knew where to find you.’

‘Well, you’ve found me now.’

The words came out more sourly than I meant them, although if Godric noticed, he didn’t seem to take any offence. Sighing, I gazed out across the waters once more, doing my best to ignore the Englishman, hoping that if I paid him no attention he would simply leave me be.

‘Are you all right, lord?’ he asked, clearly sensing the disquiet raging within me.

‘I’m thinking,’ I replied.

‘About what?’

I hesitated, unsure whether to trust with my innermost thoughts someone who only a few weeks ago had been a stranger to me. ‘About whether I’ll see Earnford, or so much as set foot on English shores, ever again.’

Godric did not answer straightaway, and I wondered if his mind was on the estate at Corbei that his uncle had granted him, which the king had seized along with the lands and properties of all Morcar’s followers.

‘You will, lord,’ he said after a short while. ‘I know it. We all will, someday.’

He smiled gently, but the firmness of his tone told me that he was not simply trying to lift my spirits, but that he truly believed it. I wished I had his confidence. Still, perhaps he was right. Perhaps in time I would find myself feasting in my own hall once more, with my friends around me, music filling the air and ale and wine flowing, and all would be well with the world.

I smiled in return as I tousled Godric’s hair. He tried to squirm away, protesting, and I chuckled. He had done more in my service than I could ever have expected of him. Of course he had much to learn still, but he was eager and showed promise both as a swordsman and as a rider. In years to come he would make a good warrior, I thought. And I would be proud not just to teach him but also to count him as a friend.

For the truth was that I was not alone, nor would I ever be. Not as long as I had men like Godric, like Serlo and like Pons. They had followed me to the ends of Britain, and I had no doubt that they would follow me still, to the farthest parts of Christendom and even beyond.

The sun broke through a crack between the clouds, and I felt its slight warmth penetrate the chill that, until then, had held me in its grip: a chill that had first descended as I’d held Oswynn, dying, in my arms, and which had not left me since. And as that warmth touched my skin, so something stirred within me. To call it a thrill did not seem right, for my heart was still too full of grief to allow that. Still, as I looked out over the wide, shining waters, it struck me that beyond them existed a whole world I hadn’t yet seen. A world beyond England, beyond Normandy and France. Lands I’d seen in my dreams, of which I had heard tales, but which I had never glimpsed with my own eyes. And, for the first time in my life, I had both the means and the opportunity to see that world.

‘Come on,’ I said to Godric as I turned away from the cliff’s edge and marched towards my horse, which was grazing contentedly close by. ‘It’s time we left this place.’

‘Where are we going?’ he called after me.

‘Wherever the winds take us!” I shouted above the gusts as I mounted up and coaxed the mare into a canter back in the direction of our camp.

For I had a ship. I had silver. I had men who were loyal to me. What else did I need?

If experience had taught me one thing, it was that the sword-path is never a straight road, but rather ever-changing, encompassing many twists and turns. All a man can do is follow it and see where it leads. I had followed mine, and this was where it had taken me. But my journey was not over yet. Whatever fate awaited me, I was still to find it.

The sword-path beckoned, and so, for good or for ill, I would keep on following it. Wherever the promise of glory and riches took me, that was where I would go. To live. To fight. To strive. To forge a reputation that would live on long after I had departed this earth.

That was who I was, and who I would continue to be.

I, Tancred.