Knights of the Hawk

Eight

Fortunately the king seemed to be satisfied by Morcar’s terms and the gift of the two slave-girls, for the next morning, under cloudless skies and a fierce sun, we made ready to quit Brandune, and I prayed it was the last we would see of that fetid cesspit.

Awaiting us was Alrehetha, where the bridge was being rebuilt. Most of our host had already assembled there, and we were among the last few hundred men to make the journey, along with the king and his retinue. A token force would be left to guard the boats moored there, together with enough provisions to keep them fed. Everything else we took with us: bundles of firewood, timber planks, sacks of grain to feed our horses, barrels of salted fish and pickled eels, spare spearheads and mail hauberks, all of which were loaded on to carts or sumpter ponies. With us, too, travelled all the leech-doctors and fletchers, wheelwrights and armourers and priests who attended upon an army, as well as the ever-present rolls-keepers who recorded every last bundle of wool and roll of cloth taken from the royal storehouses, every chicken and goose placed in a cage for the journey, and made a tally of every cart and haywain as it was harnessed to a team of oxen and sent on its way to join the main column.

And among those rolls-keepers, as always, was Atselin. He sat at his usual desk in the yard outside the king’s hall, except that a canopy had now been erected above his head to shield his bald head and his precious parchments from the sun and the rain. He was overseeing the other clerks, who scurried about from building to building with bundles of scrolls under their arms on which presumably were written lists of goods, which they brought to him for his approval and his seal. A crowd was forming about his writing-desk and I hoped to escape his attention as I made my way past, towards the paddock where my destrier, Fyrheard, was grazing.

I wasn’t so lucky. My gaze must have lingered a little too long. Even as I looked away, he called my name. For an instant I hesitated, deciding whether to heed him or pretend I hadn’t heard, but then he called a second time, louder this time, and I realised I couldn’t ignore him. Sighing, I turned and made my way over as, with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the queue of grumbling underclerks.

‘What do you want, Atselin?’ I asked, without so much as a word of greeting. He would not have offered me that courtesy, and I saw no reason why I should do any differently.

He did not look up but continued to scrawl, squinting intently at the page. The grey of the goose-feather quill in his hand matched the crown of hair around his tonsure.

‘I merely wished to congratulate you,’ he said, although there was no warmth in his voice. ‘I understand that Morcar agreed to the king’s most generous offer.’

I frowned, suspecting some manner of snide remark to follow. ‘That’s right. What of it?’

‘Nothing, save to remind you that you are fortunate that your idea was successful, that young Godric remained true to his word and that his uncle was willing to listen to what he had to say. But don’t expect that King Guillaume will grant you or your lord any special favours because of it.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘The king still remembers how you defied him by venturing out on your little raiding expedition without his approval. Your good fortune changes none of that. Don’t forget, either, that had your plan failed, it would have been on your head. He would have given up a valuable hostage for no good reason.’

‘You’re wrong,’ I said. ‘He had no intention of keeping Godric prisoner. Had I not spoken when I did, the boy’s corpse would be swinging from the highest branch overlooking the fens as a warning to his countrymen. We wouldn’t have Morcar on our side but instead would surely be marching towards almost certain defeat.’

Atselin’s quill stopped, his hand suspended above the page, but still he did not look at me. ‘You think very highly of yourself, Tancred of Earnford.’

‘You were there,’ I said, almost spitting the words. My blood ran hot, as it always did whenever I found myself trying to reason with this weasel. ‘You were there, in Robert’s hall, when the boy’s fate was decided. So tell me, monk, which part of what I’ve said isn’t true?’

I waited for long moments, but no words were forthcoming. Instead he dipped his quill in the inkwell and carried on writing as if I weren’t there.

‘Speak to me, you miserable, shit-stinking rat,’ I said, and snatched the parchment he was working on out from beneath his hand. ‘Am I or am I not telling the truth?’

At once he leant across the desk, trying with his free hand to claim the sheet back, but I held it just out of reach.

‘Give that to me,’ he said, wearing a tired expression on his face.

‘First apologise, and answer me.’

He stared at me as if I were speaking in some foreign tongue. ‘Why should I apologise to you?’

‘Why?’ I echoed. ‘You call me over only to sneer at my deeds, and then you all but accuse me of telling lies. That’s why.’

He rose from his stool and made another attempt to grab at the parchment, but I was too quick for him, and he succeeded only in getting a fingertip to it.

‘No more of these games,’ he said. ‘Give that back to me now.’

‘Or what?’ I challenged him.

In the brief time I’d known Atselin, I had never seen him roused to anger. Always he had maintained a serene expression, as if he had seen all there was to see in the world and there was no longer anything that surprised or vexed him, but there was fire in his eyes then, and in his cheeks, too, which were burning red.

‘I will offer you some advice, Tancred. You do not wish to get on the wrong side of me.’ He spoke though gritted teeth. ‘You do not want me as your enemy.’

I’d heard words to that effect before, although not from his lips. I gave a snort of disdain. ‘Am I supposed to take that as a threat?’

‘It is a warning. Heed it or ignore it, as you wish.’

‘Do you think I’m frightened of you?’ I asked. ‘You, with your quill and your rolls? What are you going to do? Drown me in ink, perhaps, or else bore me to death by reciting your records?’

Atselin’s eyes were like knives. ‘I’m not concerned whether or not you fear me. But I will tell you now that I’ve suffered enough of your insults. For too long I have tolerated your boorish manner and withstood your contempt. No longer.’ He made another attempt to seize back his precious sheet of vellum, and this time I was too surprised by his outburst to stop him. ‘Now, leave me in peace,’ he said. ‘The morning is wearing on and I have work I must attend to.’

I gave him a final glare, but he was unmoved, and so I left him to his parchments, striding away towards the paddock as the clerks in their black robes once more descended, crowding about his desk with scrolls and writs for his attention.

As I walked away, I tried to make sense of what Atselin had said. From what I recalled, we’d been assured of reward as long as our ploy worked and Morcar agreed to join our cause, but the monk had suggested otherwise. Had the king since changed his mind on the matter? If so, it seemed strange that the first any of us would learn of it was from Atselin. Unless he were lying to me, but what reason would he have for doing so?

And what did he mean by his threat, or warning, or whatever one cared to call it? I didn’t know, but resolved to keep my distance from the monk over the coming days: not because I feared him, but because I had no patience left for such distractions. Soon we would be riding into battle, and if I was to make it through alive, I wanted to be as ready as possible, to spend every moment I could honing my sword-skills and imagining what I would do when we met the enemy battle-lines. Nothing else mattered. My own fate, not to mention those of my knights and companions, depended on it.

The march to Alrehetha took the rest of that day, and all of the next, too. Though the route was probably only thirty miles, we were prevented from travelling as swiftly as we would have liked by the baggage train, which was forever drawing to a halt whenever an ox fell down lame, or a horse lost its shoe, or an axle became detached from one of its wheels and we had to move the offending haywain or wagon off the track so as not to block those that were following. But the king was determined that we would not spend more than one night separated from the rest of our host, and so any who dawdled and fell too far behind the main column for no good reason were visited by his household guard, who spurred them to greater pace with threats of violence upon their persons.

Those were not the only reasons for our slow progress, however. Barely had we been riding an hour that second morning when we spied the smoke rising to the north and west. At first it was no more than a dark smear in the distance but then, as we came closer, it became possible to pick out individual columns of black, roiling cloud, billowing some distance beyond the woods: not just a single spire but many, in a jagged line stretching all the way to the far horizon and beyond.

Straightaway the order went out to halt while the king sent out parties of knights to scout the road ahead, to investigate those burnings and, if possible, root out those responsible for the savagery. They came back some hours later, with dire reports of entire vills that had been put to the torch, barns and storehouses sacked and all the inhabitants slain, but otherwise empty-handed, save for one band which had managed to find two souls alive and unharmed: a thin, white-faced man in his middle years, and his ancient mother, who had no teeth and seemed half-mad for she was constantly muttering to herself. He spoke of a band of wild men who had come upon them from the marshes, led by a black-haired, bow-wielding demon of incredible height, whose eyes were a window upon the depths of hell, and whose arrows were bolts crafted from its flames.

‘Hereward,’ I said, after Robert had finished relating this information to us. ‘This was his doing, wasn’t it?’

‘Who else could it be?’ he said with a shrug, before riding on to seek out his other vassals and pass on the news. He was there when the two marsh-dwellers had been brought in, having been summoned by the king to offer his counsel. I wondered if that was a sign that his reputation was once more on the rise, though it went against what Atselin had told me. At the very least the king no longer seemed to regard him with the same contempt as he had but a few days ago, and I hoped that was a sign of better fortune to follow.

‘You mentioned before that there is no love between your uncle and Hereward,’ I said to Godric once we were back in the saddle. ‘Why is that?’

The king had entrusted him for now to Robert’s care and protection, and so he rode with us, having finally been relieved of his bonds. None of us thought him likely to attempt an escape, not with so many pairs of eyes watching him. Besides, even though he seemed to be a more adept horseman than he was a fighter, I doubted he would be able to outpace us.

‘Isn’t it obvious, lord?’ Godric asked.

I shrugged. Perhaps it was obvious to him, but it wasn’t to me.

‘To begin with, as you know, it was Hereward who led the rebellion. When we arrived two months ago, however, he was made to surrender his leadership and give his oath to my uncle.’

‘He was made to give his oath? How?’

‘That was what my uncle demanded, in return for his support and the men that he’d brought. At that time, Hereward and his allies had gathered a sizeable army, but they saw that if they were to fight King Guillaume then they needed Morcar.’

‘And Hereward was content simply to bend his knee and let your uncle assume the leadership?’

Godric shook his head. ‘For days he refused even to meet him or speak to his envoys. Had his been the only decision that mattered, I think he might have turned us away.’

Perhaps he was less clever than I had supposed. ‘Are you telling me he was willing to deprive himself and the rebellion of twelve hundred men?’

Had he done so, then the course of this war might have been very different. One thing was certain: we would not still be here now.

‘He dreams of glory,’ Godric explained. ‘He hates your people for stealing his lands and those of his countrymen, for despoiling the kingdom. He wants his name to pass into legend as the man who won England back for its people.’

At that I laughed so hard I almost choked, and Pons and Serlo, riding ahead of me, both shot me bemused looks over their shoulders. ‘Is this true?’

‘So his retainers say. They claim that St Æthelthryth, whose remains are buried beneath the church at Elyg, appeared to him in a dream and charged him with protecting the Isle and with destroying King Guillaume.’

‘And he believes this?’

‘He seems to. He certainly thinks highly enough of himself. Every time I see him at Elyg he is parading himself like a king. He wraps himself in fine-spun cloaks trimmed with otter fur, and everywhere he goes he is accompanied by a retinue dozens strong.’

I shook my head in disbelief, although as ridiculous as it sounded, men had been known to convince themselves of far stranger things.

‘How did Morcar manage to persuade him to swear his allegiance, then?’ I asked.

‘He didn’t, lord.’

‘Then who did?’

‘It was Hereward’s own friends who convinced him. Siward Bearn, Bishop Æthelwine, Thurcytel and all the other thegns. Together they spoke to him and made him see that my uncle would make the better leader.’

That was no small feat, especially considering that it had been Hereward who had led this rebellion from the beginning. To hand it over to someone else’s command — and, worse, to have those he’d previously considered among his staunchest supporters conspire to wrest the leadership from him — must have seemed a tremendous insult.

‘Pride,’ I murmured. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’

‘What, lord?’

‘That’s why he continues to burn a swathe through the marsh country. He’s proud. He wants his name to be known. Now that Morcar has taken his place, he feels he has to prove himself, and this is how he does it.’

I imagined the fire raging inside his heart: a fire sparked both by the enemy besieging him, and by his own countrymen for having undermined and betrayed him. He could just as easily have sent his sworn swords out to wreak the same destruction, but instead he chose to risk his own hide and lead these raids in person: so that he could show himself to be doing something of worth, and give enemies and allies alike cause to respect and fear him.

He and I were more similar than I’d realised. We both strove for recognition for our deeds, and struggled against the weighty oaths that bound us. Both of us had at one time led whole armies into the field, yet now found ourselves in somewhat humbler circumstances, lacking the respect we craved and which for a while at least we had commanded. But pride could be a dangerous thing. It could make a man blind to reason and at the same time sow the seeds of his own destruction.

‘If what you’re saying is true, and he sees himself as the man who will drive us all back across the Narrow Sea,’ I asked, ‘why is it that we haven’t heard of him before now? Where has he been these past five years?’

Godric shrugged. ‘No one knows.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He and his retainers claim he fought both at Hæstinges as well as under Eadgar Ætheling’s banner, but no one who was there on those campaigns remembers seeing him. Some say he took ship with a band of Danes shortly after the invasion and has been raiding across the German Sea, and others that he stayed in England, where he roamed the forests, waylaying travellers on the roads and growing rich on the spoils.’

The feared Hereward was little better than a bandit, then, albeit one with pretensions to greatness. Not that that made him any less dangerous; the fires burning in the distance were testament to that. I continued to watch the silent smoke rising, its tendrils coiling around one another and turning the blue skies raven-black: his warning to us. I knew then that there would be no mercy, and that whether or not Morcar held true to his word, this was a struggle that we would be fortunate to survive.

It was near sunset by the time we finally reached Alrehetha and the newly built guardhouse that stood watch over the marshes. The ground was too soft for any castle worth the name to be erected, and so in place of a mound and tower a simple ringwork had been erected, not unlike the hill forts that the ancient folk had left behind them and which we often saw on our travels around the kingdom. A stout palisade ran the length of the circuit, atop low earthen banks, at the foot of which lay broad ditches, in some places as much as fifty feet wide, into which the fen-water had been channelled, so that any would-be attacker would first have to swim beneath a hail of arrows before beginning his assault.

Not that we expected any such attack. The enemy had nothing to gain and everything to lose by sallying from the Isle. Defending the opposite shore of the marsh, running along a ridge of higher ground, stood stout ramparts and palisades, behind which the enemy were no doubt watching and making ready to repel our assault. Between them and us lay two miles of gold-glistening fen, and so I couldn’t judge the condition of those defences or of the men who held them, but even without seeing them at close hand I knew it was a hard task that we faced. I wondered how many men the enemy had posted there, and whether they feared the battle to come, as we did, or whether they believed in the power of St Æthelthryth to lend strength to their sword-arms and, in Hereward, to give them someone who would deliver them victory.

In the morning I ventured down to the marsh’s edge together with Robert, Eudo and Wace to see for ourselves the bridge about which so much had been said, and upon which rested any hope we had of capturing Elyg. To call it a bridge was, to speak honestly, to give it a grander name than it deserved, for it wasn’t a single structure but many, linked together to form a continuous path from our shore, by way of a few patches of dry ground that stood proud of the fen, to the Isle. Where the marsh was shallowest, dykes had been built up from gravel and earth before being overlaid with turf, or else sturdy posts had been driven into the marsh-bed to support timber causeways. Across the deeper parts, meanwhile, rowing boats, barges and makeshift rafts made from barrels had been lashed together, and then wooden planks secured across the top of them, so that they formed pontoons perhaps thirty or forty paces in length. These were then linked with rope and chain so that together they made a kind of floating road.

‘Will it hold?’ Eudo asked as we led our horses out along those pontoons, towards the largest of the islets, which stood roughly midway between the two shores. ‘All it needs is for one of those boats to start leaking, or for a few of those posts to give way, and the whole thing could sink into the marshes, and us with it.’

‘It’ll hold,’ Robert said, although he did not sound entirely convinced. Neither was I, as the timbers creaked beneath Fyrheard’s hooves. He was anxious, too, his steps tentative, but I rubbed his muzzle in reassurance and kept a firm grasp upon the reins. The last thing I wanted was for him to panic on first sight of the bridge and the water, and so it was important that he grew accustomed to them before I took to the saddle. Fortunately the causeways were wide enough for three and, in a very few places, four horsemen to ride abreast without difficulty. Even so, for now we went in single file as we approached the islet, where a stout mangonel was mounted on a square platform that also served as a watchtower, one of several that had been built along the length of the bridge. All sedge and undergrowth within twenty paces had been cut and cleared, so that the enemy couldn’t try to set fire to the structure as before. Nevertheless, even a small band armed with axes could wreak considerable damage in a short space of time, which was why companies of archers had been posted, both here on this island and on those other watchtowers, to observe the marsh by day and by night and to dissuade the rebels from coming too close.

Only when we grew a little closer did I realise that I recognised some of the faces among those archers, and one ruddy-cheeked face in particular. Hamo. He stood atop the watchtower, laughing with his friends while at the same time gnawing on a bone that looked like it had once belonged to a chicken or some other bird, but when he spotted us approaching he tossed it into the bog.

‘You owe us, Robert Malet,’ he shouted from behind the parapet. ‘Do you hear me? You still owe us for the part we played in your little expedition.’

‘You’ll have your money in time,’ Robert called back as we neared the foot of the tower. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten.’

‘When?’

‘As soon as King Guillaume pays me.’

‘That’s no good to me or my men. Don’t forget that we risked our necks for your sake.’

‘Didn’t you hear what he said?’ I asked. ‘You’ll have your money in time.’

‘You have my oath,’ Robert said sternly. ‘In return, I ask that you have patience.’

Hamo spat across the parapet; his spittle landed a few paces in front of us.

‘Words,’ he said, sneering firstly at me and then at Robert. ‘That is all oaths are. But a man can’t live on words. I want what was promised to me. I want my share of the reward for the capture of that English runt. I know who he is, remember, and how much he’s worth, too, so don’t think for a moment about trying to cheat me. Where is he now, in any case?’

We’d left the English runt, as Hamo called him, back at camp in the care of some of Robert’s household knights, who were spending the morning in the training yard that they’d marked out, honing their skills ahead of the battle to come, practising with wicker shields, oak cudgels and spear-hafts from which the heads had been removed. As we’d left they’d been busy teaching Godric some simple stances, cuts and thrusts. From what little I’d seen he was an enthusiastic learner, if not an especially quick one. Clumsy on his feet, he often lost his balance, which resulted in him opening up his guard and ending up on his face in the dirt, much to the laughter and cheers of the others. Not that he seemed to mind; rather he took it all in good humour, each time raising himself with a sheepish grin before resuming his stance. Now that the threat of imminent death no longer hung over him, he seemed less afraid in our presence. And he showed determination too, which was important, for it took years of practice to make a warrior, if indeed that was his ambition. Whether he would ever fulfil it, I wasn’t sure. I’d seen boys three years younger more proficient at arms, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d barely picked up a blade in all the time he had spent under Morcar’s tutelage. But as I’d watched him stumble backwards, arms flailing, before finally landing on his arse in a puddle, I found myself in a strange sort of way warming to him. Ungainly he might be, but there was something in him that reminded me of myself at that young age, though I couldn’t quite work out what that was.

‘Why should it matter to you where Godric is?’ Robert asked.

‘He lives, though?’ Hamo asked in return.

‘Yes, and he is under our protection.’

The big-bellied man gave a curt laugh. ‘Your protection? Since when did we start offering shelter to the enemy?’

‘Since King Guillaume ordered it,’ I cut in, tiring of this exchange. I was trying to decide whom I disliked more: Hamo or Atselin. ‘Now, do you like the taste of sharpened steel? If so, keep talking and I’ll ram my blade down your throat. Otherwise leave us in peace.’

That shut him up. After a final sneer in our direction, he turned away from the parapet towards his comrades, who were still sniggering, although whether at our exchange or at some private joke, I couldn’t tell.

We continued on our way. Even now, men were working on various sections of the bridge: revetting the dykes with timber to hold the earth more firmly in place; and repairing parts that had slipped away into the bogs — tipping gravel and stones into the breaches, and then shovelling soil on top of that foundation and packing it so that it was even and firm.

‘This is a foolish idea,’ Eudo said, shaking his head as we passed those labourers. ‘If these banks are already collapsing under their own weight, think what will happen when a thousand mailed knights are riding over them.’

‘It’ll hold,’ Robert repeated. ‘The king has summoned his best engineers from Normandy to oversee the work. They have knowledge of these things. We have to trust in their expertise.’

Eudo returned a grim expression.

‘Robert’s right,’ I said. ‘If the bridge were to collapse and we lose this war because of it, then their lives will be forfeit. They won’t fail.’

I could only pray that their work was finished before we made our assault, which could now be only a few days away at most. Thus far there had been no word, only rumour, but restraint was not a quality that men often ascribed to King Guillaume. He would be hungry for battle, eager to let his fuller run with the blood of those who dared defy him, and for that reason many, myself among them, suspected it would not be long.

Soon we came to what was, for now at least, the final stretch of the bridge, for it came to an abrupt end a few hundred paces short of the Isle. In front of us stretched a wide, glistening mere.

‘And how are we meant to cross the rest of the way?’ asked Wace as he scratched at his injured eye. ‘Does he mean us to swim?’

‘The plan is for our foot-serjeants, spearmen and archers to lead the attack,’ Robert explained. ‘They’ll cross the fen in punts and rowing boats and hold the enemy at bay while the last few boat-bridges are drawn into position. Once they’re secured, the way will be clear for the rest of us to begin the assault proper.’

Eudo snorted. ‘Is there no simpler way of doing this?’

‘If there were, don’t you think someone would have suggested it by now?’ Robert replied tersely.

We gazed out across the marshes in silence. On a ridge of higher ground perhaps a quarter of a mile to the north rose the enemy’s ramparts, twice as high as the ones surrounding our own guardhouse, I reckoned. Arrayed atop them were banners in all colours and sizes and shapes, with designs that at this distance I couldn’t make out, all flapping resplendently in the breeze. Beneath those banners were hundreds upon hundreds of glinting shield-bosses and helmets, men in mail and men without, their spearpoints gleaming, in a line that stretched the entire length of the wall. Watching us.

‘All I know is that I don’t want to find myself in the leading conroi,’ I said. ‘If those boat-bridges aren’t properly secured, whoever arrives upon them first is going to find himself a watery grave.’

Even now I recalled only too well the screams of those who had perished when the original causeway collapsed, as the weight of their mail dragged them beneath the murky waters. Fyrheard only needed to lose his footing or to panic for the briefest of moments, and I might find myself sharing the same fate.

I glanced at the others. Their faces bore grim expressions, and I could tell they were all of the same mind. All except for Robert, that was, who alone would not meet my gaze.

I knew him well enough by then to be able to sense when something was amiss. ‘What is it, lord?’

‘I ought to have told you sooner.’

‘Told us what, lord?’ asked Wace.

‘I spoke with the king earlier this morning,’ said Robert, shaking his head. ‘I did my utmost to try to change his mind, but he wouldn’t listen-’

He broke off and turned away to look out across the glittering marshes.

‘Whatever it is, say it,’ I said impatiently, even though I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know.

‘Very well. This is what I have learnt.’ He glanced at each of us in turn. ‘As reward for your good service, and for your efforts in delivering Godric to him and bargaining with Earl Morcar, the king has decided to grant us the honour of leading the army across the bridge.’

Eudo swore under his breath. Wace shook his head, as if denying what we were all hearing. I just stood there, powerless to speak or move or do anything at all, feeling numb as a chill crept across my skin and worked its way into my bones. I had always hoped that when my end came, it would be a noble one: that I would die with sword in hand and battle-joy coursing through my limbs, fighting to the last for a cause that I believed in. This way, however, we were as likely to perish from being swallowed up by the swamp as upon the spears and swords of the enemy.

I spat upon the ground. ‘This is no reward. He might as well string us up and leave us to hang!’

‘Haven’t we done enough already, lord?’ Eudo asked.

‘Even assuming that we make it across the bridge without injury,’ Wace said, ‘we’ll have the enemy ramparts to contend with, and then their shield-wall, with no possibility of retreat if things go badly. We’ll be dead three times over before we get the chance to lay a scratch upon them.’

‘I do not pretend to understand the king’s mind,’ Robert said. ‘Would that things were otherwise, but these are his wishes.’

‘This is how he repays us?’ I asked, doing my best to restrain my anger. ‘Were it not for us, he would now be facing almost certain defeat. Provided that Morcar holds true to his word, we still stand a chance of winning this campaign and finally bringing an end to this rebellion.’

‘He realises that,’ said Robert. ‘And he is grateful-’

‘He has a strange way of showing it,’ Eudo muttered.

‘Let me ask you this, lord,’ I said. ‘He has more than a thousand knights at his disposal, and yet out of all of them he chooses us. Why?’

‘Because he has seen what you can accomplish. Because you have all three of you proven your worth in his eyes. And because he believes there is no one better to spearhead the attack and break the enemy lines than the men who opened the gates and fought the ætheling at Eoferwic; the same men who last year ventured into the heart of the enemy camp at Beferlic, who risked their hides to save mine and those of my kin, who helped to rout the Danes and force them to make terms.’

‘What are you saying?’ I asked, feeling the blood starting to boil in my veins. ‘Did you commend us for this task?’

‘Of course not,’ Robert said, recoiling at the insult. ‘Do you really believe I’d do such a thing? I entreated him as best I could, and almost thought at one point that I’d persuaded him to give the honour to someone else. But then his clerk spoke up.’

I thought at first that I must have misheard him. ‘His clerk?’

‘The monk. The one with the squint, who accompanied him when he came to question Godric, if you remember.’

Atselin. Heat rose up my cheeks. It felt as if there were firebrands behind my temples, under my very skull, burning me from within. Without willing it my hands had balled into fists.

I remembered how hot his temper had flared the last time we had met, before leaving Brandune, though at the time I’d thought nothing of his threats. Only now, when it was already too late, did I finally understand. He’d been planning this, biding his time, waiting for the reason and opportunity to bring about my downfall.

And I had delivered both to him.

‘What did he say?’ I heard myself asking. My voice sounded somehow distant, as if it no longer belonged to me.

‘He merely reminded the king of your deeds, as I’ve told you,’ Robert answered. ‘He seemed to know a great deal about you, and indeed had nothing but the highest praise for all your accomplishments. Is he a friend of yours?’

‘No,’ I said, knowing that to admit the truth would only invite rebuke, and I was in no mood for that. I saw now so clearly everything to which pride and frustration had blinded me. I should have guessed, somehow, that the monk would be whispering in the king’s ear. I should have heeded rather than scoff at his warnings. I should have known better than to bait him and stoke the fires of his enmity. And yet, as so often, once my blood was up I could not restrain myself.

It was not Atselin who had done this. I had brought this fate upon myself. And not just myself, but my sword-brothers too. Because of my pigheadedness we all would suffer, and if this attack went badly then their blood would be on my hands. I would have as good as killed them by my own sword, and the guilt would burden me for ever.

‘When do we begin the assault?’ asked Wace, oblivious, as they all were, to these thoughts raging within me.

‘Tomorrow, at dawn,’ Robert replied. ‘At first the king wanted to attack by night, but he was persuaded to wait until it was light so that we would be able to see more easily the way across the marsh, and that fewer men would lose their lives needlessly.’

He had some sense, then, which was more than I could claim. If I hadn’t been so desperate for adventure and a chance to free my sword-arm — if I hadn’t grown so fixated with recovering the respect that once I had commanded, the fame from which I’d fallen — I wouldn’t now be standing on the verge of losing everything.

‘The enemy will be ready for us,’ Eudo pointed out. ‘They’ll see us coming and have more than enough time to form up in their ranks.’

‘That cannot be helped,’ said Robert. ‘Besides, we only have to hold out until Morcar turns his spears upon his countrymen. When that happens, our task will become much easier.’

‘We, lord?’ Wace asked. ‘Do you mean you’ll be riding with us?’

‘Why not? You’ve risked your skins often enough on my behalf in the last few years. It’s only right that I return the favour. I will not shirk my duties any longer. If I don’t show willingness to place myself in danger, how can I expect my vassals and followers to do the same on my behalf?’ He didn’t wait for us to answer, but went on: ‘Besides, so long as Morcar keeps his promise, we will all make it through this alive.’

‘I still don’t trust him,’ Eudo muttered.

‘Neither do I,’ Robert replied. ‘But what choice do we have?’

To that none of us had any answer. For a while longer we stood in silence, looking out towards the enemy ramparts, and I wondered how we would make it through this battle. Eventually, however, Robert mounted and turned back towards the guardhouse where the smoke of blacksmiths’ furnaces billowed and our banners flew.

‘Come,’ he said. ‘We have only the rest of this day to prepare ourselves. We should make the most of the time that we have.’

Straightaway he turned to ride back across the bridge, his destrier’s hooves clattering upon the timber roadway, and he was closely followed by the others. The sun wasn’t lacking in warmth that morning, but nevertheless I still couldn’t rid myself of the chill, which by then had worked its way into every inch of my body. I gave one final glance at the marshes and the Isle, then swung myself up into the saddle and spurred Fyrheard into a canter so as to catch up with them.

After weeks of waiting and wondering and hoping and despairing, it was finally happening.