Knights of the Hawk

Five

Tall reed-banks slid by under starless skies. A thick layer of cloud had come across that the waning moon’s milky light could barely penetrate, which made it all the easier for us to slip unnoticed through the shadows. A faint drizzle hung in the air and I felt its cold touch upon my face. All was still save for a gentle splash as I let the punting-pole slip into the black water, felt it strike the riverbed, pushed against the sucking mud and loose stones and heaved it out again, ready for the next stroke. My arms had grown heavy, my shoulders were aching, and I was starting to wonder whether this had been such a wise idea after all. Many miles of pasture and fen lay between us and the rest of the king’s army at Brandune, and I reckoned we couldn’t be far from Elyg itself.

I glanced at our guide, Baudri, who crouched by the prow of our small boat. A brusque man in his middle years, he was one of the king’s scouts: indeed one of the best, if the rumours were right, with sharp eyes and hearing and a keen awareness of strategy. We were relying on his knowledge of the main river-passages to bring us as close as possible to the rebel stronghold. I wasn’t planning to set foot on its shores, not this night, at any rate. What I had in mind was rather different. I only hoped that in the dark and with this mist surrounding us Baudri could still find his way, and that we didn’t end up wandering into an enemy patrol. Certainly he didn’t seem troubled, and I took that for a good sign. Nevertheless, I kept a close eye on each riverbank, expecting at any moment to spy the shadows of foemen following us, watching, or else to hear a sudden whistle of air as clusters of steel-tipped shafts flew from out of the gloom. But the enemy did not show themselves, nor were any arrows loosed upon us, and so I had to assume that we hadn’t been seen.

God was with us.

‘Remind me, lord,’ said Pons. ‘What are we doing here?’

I shot him a reproachful look. He was still angry at the loss of his destrier, which I could well understand, although he would do better to save that anger for use against the enemy, rather than turn it upon his friends.

‘We’re here because Robert ordered it,’ I replied sternly.

‘Because you suggested it, you mean,’ Eudo said. ‘Trust you to say something. If it weren’t for you, we could all be asleep in our tents right now. I could be tumbling with my Sewenna. Have I told you about her?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. He’d hardly stopped talking about her in the last two months, although both Wace and I considered her rather plain. Eudo’s eye for women tended to be less discriminating than those of most men. ‘Now, quiet.’

Eudo returned to keeping a lookout, while I passed the punting-pole to Serlo, whose arms were fresher than mine. Sitting down in the damp bilge where the silt-laden water soaked into my braies, I took up one of the paddles to steer us closer to the bank where we would be less easily seen, and hoped that Wace and Hamo in the two boats behind us did likewise. For my plan to work we would need to draw the enemy’s attention, but not yet. Not until our trap was set. And so we carried on, making our way up one of the many creeks and channels that I hoped would take us a little closer to the Isle.

‘I’m going to marry her,’ Eudo said suddenly, breaking the stillness, and I realised his mind was still on Sewenna.

‘You’re a fool,’ I said. ‘You’ve barely known her half a year.’

Nor was she the first he’d become besotted with of late. Before Sewenna his heart had been pledged to an English slave-woman named Censwith, who had served in a bawdy house in Sudwerca and who had died of a fever before he could buy her freedom. She’d been pretty, though, whereas the latest object of his affections had a face like a sow’s arse. She was young, probably no more than sixteen summers old, fierce in temper and lacking in humour. Why he had brought her with him on campaign I could not work out, especially since he could have had his pick from more than a hundred camp-followers, any one of whom would have made a better match for him.

‘She makes me happy,’ Eudo said. ‘What’s wrong with that? Besides, you weren’t with Oswynn for much longer than six months. Have you given up looking for her yet?’

‘No,’ I replied, and felt slightly embarrassed to admit it, for I knew what he would probably say. ‘I haven’t.’

Oswynn was my woman, or had been. Dark, beautiful, wild Oswynn, with her inviting eyes and her hair, the colour of pitch, falling loosely and unbound to her breasts, as I liked her to wear it. I had cared for her more than any other woman before or since: more, indeed, than I ever dared admit to myself at the time. Even though she was English and of low birth, the daughter of a village blacksmith, and even though we could speak only a few phrases in each other’s tongue, and even though our time together had been short, nevertheless I had loved her.

She had first been taken from me that fateful winter’s night at Dunholm, when the Northumbrians had ambushed us: the same night that my former lord, Robert de Commines, was murdered, burnt to death in the mead-hall. For over a year I’d thought her dead, but then at Beferlic last autumn I had glimpsed her alive and apparently well, as beautiful as I remembered, albeit a captive of one of the enemy’s leaders.

‘She’s gone,’ Eudo said. ‘Even if you did see her at Beferlic, you said yourself that she’s with another man now. She could be a thousand leagues away. What hope do you think you have of ever finding her?’

He didn’t mean it unkindly, but even so his words hurt. He still believed I was mistaken. Indeed for a while I had wondered whether what had happened was merely some kind of waking dream, so unreal had it seemed at the time. But it wasn’t just that I had seen her; she had seen me too. Our eyes had met and she had just enough time to call my name before she was taken from me a second time as the enemy fled the burning town. How could I have imagined all that?

No, I had to keep believing that she was still out there somewhere. Her captor, like Eadgar and King Sweyn, had managed to escape the slaughter that night. I could picture him as easily as if he were standing before me now: broad in the chest and with his hair, fair but greying, tied in the Danish style in a braid at his nape, mounted on a white stallion, with rings of twisted gold upon both his arms and a fiery-eyed dragon with an axe in its claws emblazoned on his shield. I didn’t know where he hailed from, or even his name, but through the winter and the spring I had paid spies to venture into the furthest reaches of Britain and bring me whatever they could learn about a Dane of that description and bearing such a device. Their help had cost me more silver than I could afford, but in my eyes it had been worth it, at the time if not in hindsight. In fact I might as well have tossed all those coins into the sea for all the good it had done me, since not one of those spies had brought me any useful information. The dragon and axe had recently been seen in Northumbria, some of them had told me, which was no help since I knew that already. Another claimed he had taken shelter at the court of the Flemish count, yet another that he had gone back across the sea with King Sweyn, and two more that he had travelled into the far north, to Ysland and the distant, frozen lands that lay beyond. Each one gave me a different name, and since none had been able to offer any more precise detail, I had sent them all away. They had gone to peddle their lies elsewhere, leaving me poorer and no wiser than before. But that did not stop me hoping.

‘If you want my advice, you should try to forget her,’ Eudo went on. ‘There are plenty of other women who’ll gladly help warm your bed. Women who won’t cost you as much, either.’

He was, in his own way, trying to cheer me, not that it helped. He considered me a fool for wasting my silver on the tales of rogues and swindlers, none of whom he would trust as far the length of his sword-blade. But love makes a man desperate, and in those days my heart ruled over my head. Even though I had cared for and lain with other women since then, the truth was that I had never fully shaken her from my mind. Death had taken so many people who once were dear to me, and now that I knew that she was alive, I was determined to do everything possible to bring her back to me.

‘I’m going to find her,’ I said, sounding more confident than I felt. ‘I swear it.’

‘And how do you plan to do that?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘Not yet. But somehow I will.’

Eudo sighed and shook his head sadly, and silence fell once more. The rain began to spit down more heavily. I gazed out beyond the stern, making sure that the following boats were still behind us, and was just able to spy their shadows. Like us, Wace and the men under his command had tied scraps of cloth around their spearheads, and put on dark cloaks to cover their mail, so as to hide the telltale glint of steel. There were six of us in each boat, making eighteen in total, and I hoped that would prove enough. By anyone’s estimation it was a dangerous plan that I had in mind, but the greatest rewards often came to those who battled the greatest dangers. Anyone who lived by the sword knew that well.

‘There,’ said Baudri suddenly. I followed the line of his outstretched finger to where a clump of trees stood upon the slightest of rises above the marshes, a few hundred paces ahead of us and slightly to our steerboard side. ‘Towards that thicket.’

Setting down the paddle beside me, I scrambled forward. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked, keeping my voice as low as possible.

‘Certain, lord.’

Even in the darkness I could discern the grim look in his eyes. He wasn’t comfortable being out on the river by night, and I didn’t blame him, especially given how close we were to the enemy encampment. Indeed at first he’d refused to take us, but the sight of a pouch filled with coin, and the promise of more to come, had been enough to persuade him to lend his services. I only hoped that it turned out to be silver well spent, for I had precious little to spare. With each day that went by it seemed that I grew ever poorer.

I nodded to Pons, who cupped his hands around his mouth and made a hoot like an owl’s so that Wace and the others in the following boats would know to stay close. It was important we didn’t lose one another now. After a moment’s pause the answering call came from both crews, and so, taking care to keep the sound of our paddles and punting-poles as quiet as possible, we carried on, making for that wooded rise: the islet of Litelport, which was the name of the small market town that had until recently stood upon it. It lay a little to the north of the larger Isle of Elyg, the two separated by a boggy channel less than an arrow’s flight wide at its narrowest point. The king had tried to occupy it in the early days of the siege, in order to establish a base from which to launch raids and to let our siege engines do their work, but the enemy attacked before he had been able to throw up any manner of earthwork or palisade. Repulsing his forces, they had laid waste the town together with its storehouses, jetties, slipways and the nearby steadings, preventing us from using it again as a staging-post.

Until now, or so I wanted the enemy to think. No sooner had we landed on its shores, running our boats’ keels aground on the mud beside a row of blackened posts — all that remained of a landing stage — than we set to work. First we hauled our small craft up from the river’s edge into the thicket where they wouldn’t be seen, then while I set a grumbling Hamo and his men to gather firewood, the rest of us carried the tent-rolls and bundles of kindling and everything else we’d brought with us down to the islet’s southern side, where we could look out over the marshy channel in the direction of Elyg. From so far away and in the darkness it was, of course, impossible to make out anything of the monastery or the enemy encampment, but occasionally the mist would clear and in those moments I spied the glimmer of distant guard-fires, beside which sentries would be warming themselves while they watched out over the marshes. We would be lucky if we could draw any of them out, I thought, especially on a damp night like this. More likely the enemy would keep to their halls inside their stout palisades, where they could bed down by the embers of their hearth-fires and wrap themselves in thick cloaks of wool and fur. But I was determined not to give up yet. Not after coming so far.

Working quickly, we laid and lit the fires, set up the tents around them, tossed bedrolls and coin-pouches inside and then across the ground we scattered leather bottles filled with wine, wooden cups, iron cooking-pots, handfuls of chicken bones and a few splintered shields that we had no use for, so that it looked as though there was a camp here. Hamo and his band of men brought armfuls of fallen branches down from the thicket and we cast them on to the fires, feeling the heat upon our faces as the twisting flames took hold and rose higher and higher, causing the green leaves to hiss as they shrivelled away to nothing. Great plumes of white smoke and orange-glowing sparks billowed up into the night, and even through the mist I reckoned they must be visible from the Isle. Once the enemy saw them, they would surely send a scouting-party to find out what was going on. Like moths to a candle they would, I hoped, be drawn in. As soon as I was satisfied that the fires were burning brightly enough, we retreated to the cover of the thicket, within easy arrowshot of our false camp. Our snare was set and we could only wait now for it to be sprung.

In truth I was relying on a certain amount of good fortune that night. The fires had to be great enough in size and in number that they would be considered worthy of attention, but not so great as to invite their entire host upon us. A band of ten to thirty men we could probably fight, but more than that and we would be fortunate to escape with our lives. And therein lay the problem. If the rebels had any sense, they’d realise we wouldn’t be so foolish as to place a camp in clear sight of their own stronghold. They would suspect that something was amiss and so either ignore us entirely or else send so many men that we would stand no chance against them. The longer we crouched in silence in the damp undergrowth, watching the pyres flare as the wind gusted, the more such doubts crept into my mind. Much as I tried to remain patient, it was hard, for as soon as it was light, our plan would be revealed. The moment the first grey glimmer appeared in the eastern sky, we would have to leave, or else risk becoming trapped. The nights were growing longer these days as summer faded into autumn, but even so, by my reckoning, we had only a couple of hours until dawn. A couple of hours for the enemy to show themselves.

Tiredness pricked at my eyes like a thousand tiny pins. It seemed as if a week must have passed since we had left Cantebrigia, since we had met Hereward’s band by the edge of the fen, and yet it was only earlier that day. How long we must have waited there I do not know, but it felt like an age. Dawn crept ever nearer and I kept glancing towards the east, at the same time praying for night to keep the earth in its grip a little longer and for day to be delayed. Bowing my head, I closed my eyes, listening to the rising wind as it rustled the leaves above my head, feeling its touch upon my cheek as silently I implored the saints to bring us luck tonight. As if in answer there came the call of a moorhen, and I looked up to find the cloud clearing from the sky and the moon and stars emerging, casting their wan light upon the marsh-mist and the channel that separated the two islands.

Where, at last, I saw the unmistakable glint of steel. A spearpoint, most likely. No sooner had it appeared than it was gone again, but it was enough to know that the enemy were on the march.

‘Make sure your men are ready with their bows,’ I whispered to Hamo, who was beside me. ‘Let fly as soon as I give the signal.’

‘They’ll be ready,’ he retorted. ‘Have no fear about that. Just make sure that your men do their part.’

I didn’t care for his tone, but this was no time for us to argue. As much as we disliked each other, I needed him and he needed me. I was relying on his archers and their bows, since without them this ambush would not work, but equally it was in Hamo’s interest to help us, since if we died then there would be nobody left to pay him for his services tonight.

‘After you’ve weakened the enemy, I’ll lead the charge,’ I said. ‘You and your men will follow behind us. Do you understand?’

I spoke slowly so that he did not mistake my words, addressing him as one might a child, and like a child he scowled. ‘Yes, lord.’

I narrowed my eyes but said nothing more as I left him and his men to string their bows while I made my way along our line. I found Baudri crouching behind a fallen tree just a few paces from the edge of the copse, within clear sight both of the campfires and of the channel.

‘Do you see them?’ I asked. I could discern nothing amidst the night’s shadows, but his eyes were better than mine.

‘I see them.’ He squinted into the gloom. ‘Two dozen of them, by my reckoning. Possibly more than that; it’s hard to tell.’

‘Four of them to every three of us, then,’ put in Wace, who had been listening.

Two dozen. More than I would have liked to face, although it was about what I’d been expecting.

‘We’ve faced far worse odds before, and still we live,’ Wace pointed out, possibly sensing my anxiety.

He was right, of course, although we’d rarely done so out of choice; usually when the only alternative was certain slaughter. Wace knew as well as I did that this was a battle we didn’t have to fight. If we threw ourselves into this fray, then good men might lose their lives who did not deserve to. Enough people had died because of me in recent years, and I didn’t want to add to that tally if I could help it. We still had time to return to our boats and leave with our sword-edges unbloodied and ourselves unscratched; all I had to do was give the word. But then I’d have shown myself for a craven in front of not just my friends and my own oath-sworn hearth-knights, but also Hamo, who would quietly rejoice in my failure and, no doubt, make sure that all the other mercenary captains heard tell of it the moment we arrived back in camp.

‘What do you want to do?’ Wace asked, no doubt sensing my hesitation and perhaps some of the thoughts running through my mind.

Wace was more even-tempered and less hasty than either myself or Eudo, and I could always rely on him to give me sound advice. If he had any misgivings about our plan, or considered it a risk not worth taking, he would tell me. I trusted his judgement, and he trusted mine.

He and his knights were looking at me, waiting for my instruction. I felt the weight of expectation upon my shoulders. But we could hardly retreat now. Not after we’d come so far. I would not flee from this fight as I’d fled from Hereward.

‘We keep to the plan,’ I said. ‘But remember that the quicker we do this, the better. We’re stronger in numbers than we are if each man fights alone, so stay close to one another. That way we’re all more likely to make it through this with our heads still attached to our shoulders. I don’t want to be dragging anyone’s corpse back with me to Brandune.’

‘Nor I,’ Wace added. ‘So listen carefully, and heed what he says.’

The wind gusted suddenly, rustling the branches above our heads, and from somewhere out in the darkness came the piercing kew-wick of an owl. Otherwise all was quiet.

‘Not a sound,’ I murmured to Wace. ‘Stay still, and don’t show yourselves until I say. We go together.’

He nodded, and proceeded to pass the same message down the line. I knew well what the battle-rage could do to a man. Too many times in my life had I seen able and well-respected knights, many of them sword-brothers of mine, charge alone from their ranks on to the bosses and blades of an enemy shield-wall, abandoning reason and long years of training in a desperate moment of folly, deaf to the warning cries of their comrades, their heads filled with the bloodlust and with visions of glory. More than once I’d come close to doing the same. I didn’t want any of the men with me that night to end their lives that way, and so I gave them this reminder, regardless of whether or not they thought they needed it.

Our fires still burnt, although not as fiercely as before. The wind, slight thought it was, was changing direction, blowing now from the south and sending thick swirls of smoke and ash towards us, making it difficult to see much farther than the circle of tents we’d set up. I raised a hand to cover my mouth, aware that any sudden noise now might give us away. Before long I began to make out what sounded like voices above the crackle of the flames, and shortly afterwards, through a gap in the grey tumbling coils, I spied the dark forms of men moving amongst the shadows of trees and reeds down by the channel, making their way, I guessed, by some of the secret paths that led from the Isle. They were about a hundred paces away now, which meant they were nearly within bowshot.

‘Wait,’ I said to Hamo, who was reaching for his arrow-bag. ‘Not yet.’

‘I know,’ he replied irritably. ‘Do you take me for a dullard?’

‘Just make sure your men know it too.’

A few members of his company — the younger and less experienced ones, from what I could see of their faces — were already nocking black-feathered shafts to their bows. The last thing I wanted was for their impatience to get the better of them. At this range the best we could hope for was one or two lucky kills, whereas what I wanted was to sow terror in the enemy’s hearts. To do that we needed to draw them in, where they would make easier targets. As soon as they saw those silver-tipped shafts bearing down upon them, they would know they’d walked into a trap, which meant that the longer we could delay our attack, the better.

Cautiously they climbed the rise towards the tents and the campfires. Steel helmets shone in the dancing orange light. Few of them possessed mail that I could see, but instead wore lighter corselets of leather. From their belts hung sheaths for blades both long and short, while a few also hefted stout axes and broad-bladed spears. They looked a disparate lot, but that did not necessarily make them any less dangerous. They held their shields in front of them, moving ever more slowly as they approached, glancing all the time to left and right and behind. One shouted out an order in English, gesturing at his fellow warriors to keep close to one another. I’d hoped Hereward himself might come so that I’d have a chance to atone for my failure to kill him before, but this man was neither as lofty nor as imposing in stature. Nevertheless I guessed from his wargear that he was not only the leader of this scouting-band but also someone of considerable importance. His helm’s cheek-plates and nasal-piece were inlaid with gold, while glistering scarlet and azure stones were set into his scabbard. His hauberk shone, and he wore mail chausses in the manner of a Norman knight, all of which suggested he was a person of considerable means, and probably, although not necessarily, a more than competent fighter too.

‘I want their lord alive and unhurt,’ I murmured to those either side of me, and urged them to pass the message on. ‘Kill or maim the rest, but leave him for me.’

They were nearly at the camp we had set up, a little more than fifty paces away: so close that I could almost smell them. The enemy had spotted the empty cooking-pots, the discarded wine-flasks and everything else we had laid out, and now their leader sent three men ahead to search the tents.

‘Wait,’ I repeated as Hamo rose and raised his bow into position. Concentration soured his expression as he fixed his gaze upon the enemy, no doubt choosing his first victim. ‘Wait until I give the word.’

One of the Englishmen emerged and brandished a coin-pouch with a whoop of delight, and the other two shortly followed with their own finds held aloft. Inside those pouches was the last of the silver and gold that I’d brought with me on campaign, together with some more that Serlo and Pons, Eudo and Wace had lent me for the purpose. Altogether it was a considerable treasure, and enough to bring the rest of their band rushing forward. Some tried to snatch those purses away from their finders, whilst others fought over the wine-flasks, or to be the first inside the remaining tents. Exactly why they thought we’d abandoned our camp, I had no idea. Perhaps they reckoned we were away scouting the land, or that we had fled at the first sight of them approaching. Probably most didn’t care: they saw a chance to obtain easy spoils, and for most that was all that mattered. Most, that was, except for their lord — he of the chausses and the inlaid helmet — who was left standing alone, bellowing for them to hold back, to stay close to him.

But his warnings were in vain, and now his men would pay for their greed.

‘Now,’ I said to Hamo. No sooner had the command left my lips than he’d drawn back his bowstring and let his first arrow fly. With a sharp whistle of air it shot up into the darkness, closely followed by those of his comrades. A cluster of glittering steel points soared out from the trees across the open ground, vanishing briefly into the night before plunging earthwards once more, towards the campfires and the Englishmen squabbling amongst themselves.

Too late they saw the arrows spearing down towards them. Too late a cry was raised. One man was struck between the shoulder-blades as he scrambled out from one of the tents, and he went down. Another, swigging from one of the leather bottles, took a shaft in the neck and fell backwards into one of the campfires, sending up a shower of sparks. Men were running, shouting, screaming as the silver-tipped shafts rained down in their midst. Volley followed upon volley as Hamo and his men drew the shafts from their arrow-bags. In all probably only three or four out of those twenty-odd foemen were killed, but it was enough to spread panic among their ranks.

And into that throng we charged, filling the night with our fury. We fell upon them before they could recover their wits and work out what was happening, before they could come together and form a shield-wall to fend us off. Usually I find that those final few moments before battle is joined are when my mind is clearest, and that I’m aware of the slightest details, from which way the wind was blowing to the sound of my own heartbeat resounding through my body. But not this time. Exactly when I gave the order to break from our hiding place, or what battle-cry I roared, I cannot recall. The next thing I remember is seeing the first of the foemen standing before me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, unslinging his red-painted shield from where it hung by its long strap across his back. I lifted my blade high, then struck down so quickly and with such force that it sliced through his leather sleeve into his shoulder. He bent over, yelling out in agony; I brought my knee up into his groin and buried my sword-point in his gut, twisting it so as to finish him all the quicker, then wrenching it free. The steel glistened crimson in the firelight. My first kill of the night.

We tore into the enemy, bringing weeks of pent-up anger to bear. Steel clashed upon steel, ringing and shrieking like the dissonant cries of some hellish beast. The hail of arrows had ceased and Hamo and his company were running to join us, adding their strength to ours, hurling themselves into the fray with knives and hand-axes and all manner of weapons: men both young and old eager to prove their worth alongside trained knights like myself. I raised my shield to deflect a spear, then twisted away and landed a blow across the back of a foeman’s head, and he was dead before he hit the ground. These were stout warriors we faced, and not lacking in skill at arms, but for all that they were ill disciplined and no match for knights of Normandy.

‘For St Ouen and King Guillaume!’ someone roared, and it might even have been me, except that the words seemed somehow far away, and I didn’t remember having willed myself to speak.

‘God aid us,’ another shouted. The traditional war-cry of Normandy, it was quickly taken up, until we were all roaring as if with one voice: ‘God aid us!’

The battle-calm was upon me; everything was as simple as practising sword-cuts against the stake in the training yard. Time seemed to slow: each moment stretched into an eternity, and I knew every movement of my foes before it even happened. From their stance and the way they held their weapons I knew whether their next strokes would be low or high, feint or parry or thrust or cut, and armed with that knowledge I lost myself to the will of my blade, striking out to left and right, feeling free in a way that I hadn’t in longer than I could remember, all my earlier anxiety having fled. Dimly I was aware of Serlo and Pons on either side of me, protecting my flanks, but I didn’t care whether or not they were there, for I was laughing with the ease of it all as we scythed a path through the enemy towards their lord.

He stood beyond the fires, trying desperately to rally his troops, but for the most part his orders fell on deaf ears. All around him was confusion. The enemy were in disarray, in two minds whether to retreat or to hold their ground, whereas we were united in our desire to spill enemy blood. A few of the thegn’s more steadfast warriors chose to stand by him, but already a large number were making as fast as they could manage for the safety of the marsh-channel, some limping with gashes to their sides and thighs where they had been struck, others clutching their arms or shoulders, fleeing out of fear for their lives, and I knew we had to take full advantage of this moment.

‘Kill them,’ I cried. ‘No mercy!’

After that it was all over so quickly. One instant I was in the midst of battle, leading the attack against the few who bravely fought on, and the next I was looking into the eyes of the thegn himself. I rushed him with my shield, slamming the boss into his chest and jerking the iron rim upwards into his jaw. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backwards, his mouth and chin running with blood. His sword slipped from his grasp and he lost his footing on the muddy ground. The weight of his mail did the rest, bringing him crashing down on to his back. Breathing hard, I looked up, expecting to find his companions coming to his aid, but they were all on the ground, either finished on the blade-edges of my knights or else writhing in pain and desperately calling out for help that wouldn’t come.

Sweat dripped from my brow, stinging my eyes, and the blood of my enemies, warm and sticky, streamed down my sword-hand. A few of the Englishmen still lived, but not many. Having seen their leader fall they knew better than to continue the struggle, and now they too were turning in flight, pursued by Eudo and Wace and their knights. This was the first chance any of us had had to exercise our sword-arms in a long while, to wreak our vengeance upon the rebels, and they seized the opportunity to quench their bloodthirst, whooping with delight at the chase and the glory of the kill.

The thegn tried to get up, scrabbling beside him for his weapon, but I kicked the hilt away before he could reach it. It spun away across the stony ground. I levelled the point of my sword towards the bare skin at his neck and straightaway he stiffened. Beneath his helmet his eyes opened wide, the whites reflecting the moonlight.

‘Move and I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear,’ I said, hoping he would understand me. My blood was still up and it was hard to think of the right English words, and so I spoke in my own tongue instead.

He swallowed. His face carried few scars of the sort that I knew from my own reflection, and that was when I saw him for the youth that he was, no more than seventeen or eighteen summers, by my reckoning, and possibly younger even than that, stoutly built and round of face, with a brace of golden rings on each hand. Clearly he was wealthy, and used to fine living, and yet I doubted if he had won that wealth through battle. Not if his sword-skills were anything to judge by, and while it was fair to say that some men were better leaders than they were fighters, I found it hard to imagine a mere pup such as him inspiring much confidence in anyone.

‘Hwæt eart thu?’ I barked. Who are you?

At last he found his voice. ‘Spare me, lord.’ He stumbled a little over the words as he replied in French, trying to appease me, I supposed. ‘Please, take my rings, anything you wish, but have mercy, I beg of you.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Godric,’ he said as tears welled in his eyes. ‘Thegn of Corbei and son of Burgheard.’

I’d never heard of a place called Corbei, or of his father Burgheard, but that did not particularly surprise me. I was beginning to build an impression of Godric. A petty landholder with pretensions to grandeur, he equipped himself as handsomely as he could to disguise his lowly status. I recognised his kind.

‘I’m not going to kill you,’ I assured him. ‘But you can give me your rings. I’ll have those. Your helmet and scabbard too.’

Godric glanced around him, but he was surrounded by Frenchmen and there was no way he could escape.

‘Do it,’ I said.

Reluctantly he divested himself of his helm and weapons, laying them down carefully on the ground beside him. I stood over him, my sword still drawn, watching carefully in case he possessed any hidden blades — knives on a belt underneath his tunic, perhaps — and was foolish enough to try to use them. As soon as he’d removed them all, I instructed Hamo and his men to carry them to our boats, together with as much as they could carry of the goods we’d brought with us. We didn’t have time to take away everything, or to strip the corpses of their possessions. Already what I thought was a faint smear of grey was beginning to appear on the horizon. It might have been my imagination, but I wasn’t willing to take that chance. I wanted to be well away from here by the time day was upon us.

‘A few of them managed to get away,’ Eudo told me when he and Wace returned from their pursuit. ‘They fled into the marsh-channel where we couldn’t follow them.’

Another reason to leave this place as quickly as possible. Soon they would rouse their countrymen and return, no doubt in larger numbers. Indeed reinforcements might already be on their way. The clash of steel and screams of the dying would carry easily across the marshes. If there were any sentries on watch on the other side of the channel, they would surely have heard us.

Wace handed me the coin-pouches that had formed part of our bait, which he and his knights had managed to recover from where they’d fallen amongst the enemy dead.

‘It’s mostly all there,’ he said. ‘We might be a few pennies short, but not many.’

Probably some had been spilt during the fight. Their loss didn’t concern me all that much. Our capture of the Englishman ought to bring us reward enough to pay for everything this expedition had cost us, hopefully with a good amount left over too, although the king’s treasurers weren’t known for their generosity.

‘On your feet,’ I told him. At first he did not respond, and it took Pons striking him across his shoulder-blades with a spear-haft to jolt him into doing as instructed. I wished I’d thought to bring some rope with which to bind his wrists, but he didn’t look the sort who was likely to put up much of a fight. Not after seeing so many of his countrymen cut down before his eyes.

I shoved him in the back to start him moving as, guided by Baudri, we made our way back across the islet towards where Hamo and his men were waiting with the punts. They had worked quickly, dragging the small vessels down from the thicket and pushing them out into the shallows so that they were already afloat by the time we arrived.

‘Whatever price you demand for my release, my uncle will pay it,’ Godric said as we reached the shore. ‘I swear it.’

‘Why should anyone pay a single penny for the sake of a wretch like you?’ I asked with a snort as we splashed our way through the murky knee-deep waters out to the boats.

‘I’m his only nephew, and the closest to a son that he has.’

‘Many men hate their sons,’ I replied. ‘He might not want you back. Besides, how are we supposed to get word to him?’

Godric had no answer to that, and since he wouldn’t get into the punt willingly I had no choice but to shove him over the gunwale. He gave a cry as he tumbled forward, landing awkwardly on his side. I took my place next to him, where I could keep a close watch over him.

‘Don’t speak another word unless you want to feel my blade between your ribs.’ I laid a hand upon the knife-hilt by my waist. ‘Do you hear me?’

He said nothing, and I took that to mean that he did. Wace and Hamo in the other boats were already pushing off from the shore and I gave the signal to Serlo, who once more had the punting-pole, to do the same. And so we left the island of Litelport behind us. Not half an hour could have passed since I’d spied what I thought was the first glimmer of dawn, but already the skies were noticeably brighter.

We were barely a dozen boat-lengths out from the shore when Godric, speaking more quietly, began again: ‘My uncle-’

‘I heard what you said,’ I interrupted him, before he could go on. If he had any sense at all he’d have realised it was far better for him to shut his mouth and not to provoke us further.

‘But, lord-’

He broke off as I grabbed the collar of his tunic. ‘Tell me, then,’ I said. ‘Who is this uncle of yours, who’s so wealthy that he can afford to waste good silver for your sake?’

Obviously he had something he wished to tell me, and I wasn’t prepared to have him chirping all the way back to Brandune. Neither did I want to have to make good on my promise, since if I killed him this entire expedition would have been for nothing.

His mouth opened but his tongue must have been frozen, for no sound came out. There was fear in his eyes, and I realised then just how short was the distance he’d travelled along the sword-path. This was no warrior. Certainly I would not trust him to stand in any shield-wall. I wondered if his sword had ever run with the blood of his foes, or if he had ever unsheathed it outside the training yard before tonight.

‘Tell me,’ I repeated. ‘Who is he?’

I saw the lump form in Godric’s throat as he swallowed. My patience was fast running out. Eventually he managed to compose himself enough to speak, although the words that emerged from his lips were not at all what I’d been expecting.

‘My uncle, lord,’ he said, ‘is Earl Morcar.’