Sworn Sword

Twelve

That night I dreamt of Oswynn.

She was with me still, as beautiful as ever, her black hair whipping behind her in the wind, laughing wildly. All about us the land glowed beneath the summer sun as we rode across pastureland, through fields grown thick with wheat. Behind us lay the town of Waerwic, which was where I had first met her, though we would not be returning there. How long we had been riding neither of us knew, when we came upon a forest glade, far from anyone who might disturb us. We left our horses, and there under the shade of the trees we lay down in each other’s embrace, and I was caressing her cheeks, her neck, her pale breasts before-

I woke sharply to the sound of my name, finding myself in my room once more. Malet’s house, I remembered. It was still dark; a faint half-light shone in through the window. A stout figure stood over me, clad in dark robes and a thick cloak. A green pebble hung around his neck and he carried in his hand a small lantern. The flickering flame lit up his face.

‘?lfwold?’ I asked.

‘Dress quickly,’ the chaplain said.

I sat up, trying to hold on to the forest, to Oswynn, the smell of her skin, the heat of that summer’s day, even as they slipped away from me. A cold draught blew in through the open door. I had kept my shirt on during the night, but it was only thin and the air was like ice upon my skin.

‘It’s early,’ I said, which was obvious, but my mind was still clouded with sleep and those were the first words that came upon my tongue.

‘So it is, my friend,’ the priest answered. ‘We must be up.’

Outside I could hear men shouting, horses whinnying. For an instant the chamber was bathed in an orange glow as a torch flashed past the window, then darkness took hold once again.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked.

‘They’re coming,’?lfwold said. ‘We must make for the wharves without delay.’

‘The English are marching?’

The chaplain frowned. ‘The rebels,’ he corrected me. ‘Their army has been seen approaching from the north.’ He set the lantern down upon the floor. ‘I shall be waiting in the hall.’

He hurried out. I threw off the blanket which lay over me and got to my feet, tugging my tunic on over my shirt, pulling on and lacing up my braies, donning my mail and fastening my cloak about me. My knife lay beside the bed, and I buckled it upon my belt — on my right side this time, for the sword the vicomte had given me was now on my left. Again I could hear shouting, and the fall of hooves in the yard. I glanced about the room to make sure there was nothing else, but there was not. Soberly I realised then that I was carrying with me everything I owned.

?lfwold was waiting for me in the hall, just as he said he would be. He was dressed not in his usual priestly robes but in what looked more like travelling clothes: a green tunic and brown trews, with a loose reddish-brown cloak in the English style, clasped at the right shoulder with an intricate silver brooch.

‘You are ready?’ the priest asked. ‘Whatever you need you must bring now, for we cannot return later.’

‘I’m ready,’ I said. I checked beneath my cloak for the coin-pouch that the vicomte had entrusted to me; it was still there. ‘Has word been sent to Eudo and Wace?’

‘A messenger has been sent,’ he answered as we made our way to the great doors, which lay open. ‘They’ll be meeting us at the ship.’

Outside the courtyard lay shrouded in mist, lit only by torchlight and, far to the east, the faint grey light that marked the approach of dawn. Frost crunched beneath my feet; the ground was hard and the puddles had turned to ice. The chaplain led me towards a group of knights — three in all — who were standing beside their horses, rubbing their hands to warm them. All looked up as we approached. Two of them I did not recognise but one I did, for he was one of those who had been with Malet the day before: short but firmly set, with a nose that seemed too large for his face.

‘These are the men who will be accompanying us,’?lfwold told me, then to the others said, ‘This is Tancred, whom Lord Guillaume has assigned to lead you.’

I held out my hand and clasped each of theirs in turn, struck by how young they all seemed. I was never very good at judging ages, but I guessed that they were easily three or four years younger than myself.

‘I thought there were to be six of us,’ said the one with the large nose. His voice was deep, with a slight rasp that put me in mind of a dog’s bark.

‘The other two will be meeting us at the ship,’?lfwold said as half a dozen mounted men galloped past us, lances in hand, towards the gates. ‘Now we await only the ladies Elise and Beatrice.’

We did not need to wait long, however, for at that moment I saw them riding towards us from the stables: Beatrice, her slender frame wrapped in a thick black cloak trimmed with fur; and beside her a woman who could only be her mother, Malet’s wife. Rounder than her daughter, she rode with a straight back, and her face was stern, with a piercing gaze not unlike her husband’s.

‘My ladies,’ the chaplain said as they checked their horses before us.

‘Father?lfwold,’ Elise said, before she turned to me. ‘You are the one my husband has chosen to escort us to Lundene?’ she asked. Her voice was even — much like her daughter’s, in fact — and I saw that despite her stern countenance she was not unattractive for her age.

‘I am, my lady,’ I replied, and bowed. ‘My name is Tancred.’

‘Forgive me,’ the chaplain said, interrupting, ‘but we must make haste. There will be time enough for introductions once we’ve sailed.’

A stable-hand had arrived as we were speaking, leading two horses, one of which must have belonged to the chaplain, for he now took its reins, while the other was the mare I had borrowed the day before.

‘Very well,’ said the lady Elise. ‘We shall speak further later, I am sure.’

I took the mare’s reins from the stable-hand. She was already saddled and so I mounted up and rode to the head of the party. I met Beatrice’s eyes briefly as I passed — wide and full of fear — before she turned away again.

I pointed to the large-nosed man. ‘You,’ I said. ‘What’s your name?’

He regarded me with a defiant look. ‘Radulf,’ he said, as he settled himself in the saddle.

‘I saw you with the vicomte yesterday, up at the marketplace by the minster church.’

‘That’s right,’ he said, narrowing his eyes. ‘What of it?’

I would be lying if I said that his hostility did not irk me, though at the same time I was not surprised by it. Probably he was used to leading, and so resented my being placed in charge.

‘Take the rearguard,’ I said, ignoring his question, and likewise ignoring the angry look that he returned. My eyes fell upon one of his companions: a thickset man who it seemed had not shaved in some time. ‘And you,’ I said. ‘What do they call you?’

‘Godefroi,’ he said. ‘Godefroi fitz Alain.’

‘Go with him.’

They turned — the one named Radulf somewhat grudgingly — and rode to the back of the column, leaving just one. From his face I judged him to be the youngest of the three, even though he was taller than the rest — taller even than myself, I thought, though I was near six feet in height. He bore a solemn expression, but I sensed an eagerness behind those eyes.

I raised my eyebrows at him, and he understood the question even before it left my tongue. ‘Philippe d’Orbec,’ he replied.

‘You stay with me,’ I said.

A thin rain was beginning to fall, spitting down out of a still-dark sky. I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure that the rest were gathered as they should be. The chaplain was immediately behind me, just in front of the two ladies.

‘We need to go now,’ he said. ‘The ship will be waiting for us.’

Far in the distance I was able to make out the faint beat that was the battle-thunder. I could not yet see them over the palisade, but I hardly needed to, to know that the rebels were on their way.

I kicked my spurs into my mount’s flank, forgetting that it was not Rollo I was riding. The mare reared up, and I tugged hard on the reins to keep her under control as she came down, thrashing her head from side to side. I rubbed her neck in reassurance, then waved for the rest to follow as we rode out through the great oak gates into the city.

We were not the only ones on the streets that morning. It was not yet light, but already there were men everywhere, running with torches and lanterns. Some were Frenchmen like us, but still more of them were English, and they had clearly heard the news of their countrymen’s approach too, for they had come out with all manner of blades: seaxes and meat-cleavers, spears and axes. The air was filled with their cries.

We followed the street as it curved down towards the river, but as the crowds grew thicker, my mount’s steps became shorter and I knew she was growing uneasy. I stroked her side to calm her. She was no warhorse, no destrier; she was not battle-trained, nor used to such crowds. Nor, I was sure, were the horses belonging to the priest and the two ladies.

I waved to the chaplain, who drew up alongside me. ‘Is there another way to the wharves?’ I asked.

‘Up and past the minster, then down the Kopparigat,’ he replied.

That would take us further away from the river. If anything, there was even more chance of being cut off if we went that way. But I guessed from his expression that the priest already knew this.

‘There is no other way around,’ he said.

I cursed under my breath. I could not afford to put the ladies at risk, which they would be if we tried to press on through these crowds, but I also knew that there was no guarantee the streets would be any clearer if we tried to go around.

‘We go on,’ I said to the chaplain. Whether that was a foolish idea or not we would soon see. In any case he did not argue with me, as I half expected he might, but simply nodded.

I took a deep breath and spurred the mare into a trot. She seemed reluctant at first, but I kept a firm hold on the reins with my one free hand, and she obeyed. Rollo would have been far easier to handle, I thought, with not a little regret; I had not even needed reins to control him, though it had taken months of training to master that. I had not been able to spend time with this one, learning her quirks or her strengths, and I didn’t know how she would respond.

I drew my sword from its scabbard. It slid out cleanly, the edge sharp, the lantern-light glinting off its polished surface. It was a heavier blade than I was used to, balanced more towards the point than I would have liked. For now, though, it would do. It would have to.

Men scattered from our path, but the greater part of the crowd lay ahead. These were the same streets where we had fought the day before, but the townsmen’s defeat had clearly not dampened their ardour, for they were out in even greater numbers than before, clamouring to the heavens: Ut! Ut! Ut!

‘Stay together,’ I shouted to the rest of the group over the noise.

?lfwold held a small wooden cross, even as he clung to the reins. Probably the priest had never seen such a rabble before. Behind him, the two ladies looked pale as they struggled to keep their horses under control. It was a mistake to have brought them this way.

A man rushed at me with a spear held before him; I turned just in time to see him coming and bring my sword around, deflecting his blow before cutting down across his arm. He dropped the weapon and staggered back into the crowd as blood streamed from the wound, staining his tunic.

‘Back!’ I roared at them all, hoping that they would understand my meaning if not my words, that they would take the drawing of blood as a warning. Instead they pressed even closer, just out of sword-reach, not understanding that I had only to come forward a little and I could slaughter them all where they stood.

‘Back!’ I shouted again, waving my sword to ward them off.

Behind me a shriek went up from one of the ladies as some of the townsmen surged forwards, grabbing at her arms and at her skirt, trying to pull her from the saddle. Her horse shied away, tossing its head from side to side, and as her hood fell from her face I saw that it was Beatrice. I pulled hard on the reins and turned, spurring the mare on as I raised my sword high, before bringing it down upon the shoulder of one, slicing into the bone, even as Radulf charged forward and plunged his lance into the chest of another. A third Englishman had taken hold of Beatrice’s leg and was tugging hard, but she clung to her mount’s neck, and he saw me only too late as I battered my blade across the back of his head, sending him to the ground.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked Beatrice. Her hair had come loose from beneath her hood, falling across her face, and a fright had taken hold of her, for she did not answer, instead merely staring at me with wide, vacant eyes. I did not know which had given her the greater shock: the men who had tried to take her, or the manner in which I had dispatched them.

The cries around us swelled. I didn’t want to have to kill peasants, but we didn’t have much choice. I had sworn to the vicomte that I would protect his womenfolk, and I would die before I broke that oath. I would not fail him as I had failed Lord Robert.

I placed a hand on Beatrice’s arm, and nodded to Radulf. Blood was spattered across his helmet, beneath which his face was grim and his lips tight. Waving my sword at the crowd, I rode back to the head of the column. Not a hundred paces away I could see the river, though between it and us lay a host of townsmen.

‘We need to turn back,’ said Philippe beside me. ‘We won’t get through this way.’

I glanced back up the road we had come, at the countless dozens of men at our rear. ‘We’ve come too far,’ I said. ‘We have to go on.’

I looked towards the castle, a shadow against the grey skies to the east, where it rose above the houses. That was where Malet would be coming from, if he was still going to meet us at the ship. If, indeed, he could get through. But then I spotted, riding hard from that direction, a conroi of horsemen, at least two score and probably more, with a banner flying high above them. A banner which even in the dim twilight I could make out: a red fox upon a yellow field. The symbol of Gilbert de Gand.

For the first time in my life I had reason to feel relief at the sight of him. He and his men charged into the enemy’s flank, tearing into the crowd with lances and swords alike. Shouts went up from the gathered townsmen, only this time they were shouts of panic rather than anger.

‘For Normandy,’ I heard someone call; it could have been Gilbert himself, although I was not sure. ‘For St Ouen and King Guillaume!’

The enemy were fleeing now — those, at least, who were not being cut down by the swords of Gilbert’s men or trampled under the hooves of their horses. Men ran past us on either side, no longer caring about us, thinking only of escaping with their lives.

‘On,’ I shouted to?lfwold and all the others behind me. I rode through their midst, knee to knee alongside Philippe, sword still in hand to fend off any who came too near, until suddenly we came upon Gilbert and his knights, who were pressing from the other side, and found ourselves in space once more.

‘You again,’ Gilbert said, drawing to a halt as he caught sight of me. ‘I seem to find you everywhere.’ He removed his helmet and wiped his brow with his sleeve. In the half-light of dawn he looked more gaunt than ever. A faint stubble covered his chin, and his mouth as always was drawn in distaste. ‘The enemy are marching,’ he said between breaths. ‘They’ll be at the walls before long.’

‘I know, lord,’ I answered as I sheathed my sword. ‘I’m escorting the ladies Elise and Beatrice to the wharves, on the orders of the vicomte.’

He glanced up and saw them. Beatrice still looked white — even more so now as the skies grew brighter — though she had recovered enough to draw her hood back over her hair. Elise rode close by her side, one arm around her shoulders. The two were flanked by Radulf and Godefroi.

‘Malet clearly trusts you, though God alone knows why,’ Gilbert said, half muttering, as if he were speaking only to himself. He surveyed our party, and then turned back to me. ‘See them safely there. You will find that the road down to the river is clear.’

‘Thank you, lord,’ I said.

He nodded in acknowledgement, then called out to the rest of his men: ‘With me! Conroi with me!’

He raised his lance with its pennon aloft and set off at a gallop in pursuit of those who had fled, his knights following close behind him. Their shields of yellow and red flashed past and their mounts’ hooves drummed upon the earth, kicking up clods of earth as they went. For a moment I almost contemplated riding with them, even if that meant fighting under Gilbert’s banner. If the enemy were about to attack then I wanted to be there, avenging Robert and Oswynn and all the rest of my comrades. But I knew that was not my task, and it was with heavy heart that I watched them ride away.

‘Follow me,’ I said to the others. Carrying on the breeze came the townsmen’s chanting again; it might not be long before they returned. And there was the battle-thunder, unmistakable now as it rang out from the north: an almost unearthly din. The rebels were marching, the enemy were coming, and we could ill afford to delay.

Workshops and storehouses and wattle-work fences passed by, close on either side: in some places we could barely ride two abreast. Before us now I saw the river, grey and slow-moving beneath the mist, which lay so thick that I could see nothing of the houses on the far shore. Rain continued to spit upon us, and it seemed to me that the clouds were becoming heavier, in spite of the lightening sky to the east. The bodies of Englishmen lay in the mud, on their backs or crumpled on their sides, eyes open as they had been at the moment of their death, and I tried to ride around them.

And then all of a sudden the houses came to an end, and we had the river beside us as we came out on to the quayside. There were ships of all sizes, from simple fishing craft to wide-beamed traders, but then at the far end I spotted the longship I had seen a few days before. She was even more magnificent close at hand: a huge vessel, at least forty paces in length, I reckoned, with a black-and-yellow sail furled upon her yard. This, then, had to be Wyvern. It seemed a fitting name, for like the serpent she was long and sleek, and no doubt fast as well when out on the open water.

On the quayside next to her stood the vicomte himself. He was dressed again in his mail, with half a dozen knights, the rest of whom were all still mounted. He said nothing as I approached; his face was solemn, his lips tight, his eyes on his wife and daughter. I swung down from the saddle and went to help the ladies as they too dismounted, signalling for Philippe to go to Elise even as I held out my hand to Beatrice. She took it after a moment’s hesitation, her fingers delicate yet firm in my own, and I saw her confidence returning along with the colour to her cheeks as she brought her leg across and gracefully slid down to the ground.

Elise rushed to her husband and threw her arms around him. ‘Guillaume,’ she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

‘Elise,’ the vicomte said as he held her to his chest, and then he opened his arms to receive Beatrice as well. Lord, wife and daughter embraced together.

A shout came from the ship, where a dark-haired man with a full beard was standing. The shipmaster, I guessed. He was directing men as they lifted sacks from the quayside, passing them across the gunwale to others who stowed them beneath the deck-planks.

‘Aubert,’ Malet called, and the man turned. ‘How soon can you sail?’

‘Shortly, my lord,’ he said, stepping up on the side and jumping down on to the wharf. ‘We’re almost finished loading supplies. Is everyone here?’

‘Not yet,’ the vicomte said. ‘We’re waiting for two more to arrive.’

He was right; I had not yet seen Eudo or Wace. I only hoped that they had not been waylaid, for I understood what Malet was thinking. We might have to leave without them if they did not come soon.

Two of the deck-hands came to fetch the bags from the ladies’ mounts, and from those of Radulf, Godefroi and Philippe. I helped them to unfasten the buckles that held them to the saddles, and to carry them, one in each hand, on to the ship. They were not heavy, probably containing little more than a spare set of clothes; they too must have been told to travel light. I climbed up on to the deck. It was some while since I had been aboard a ship; in fact the last time I had done so was during the crossing from Normandy, that autumn of the invasion.

‘Tancred,’ Malet called. His womenfolk stood beside him, speaking with?lfwold, who kept glancing up the road that led to the bridge, an anxious look on his face. Not far off, a war-horn blew; I could hear the clash of steel upon the wind, and I felt myself tense. I left the bags for one of the oarsmen to collect and jumped back down to the quay.

‘My lord,’ I blurted out, ‘this is not my place. I need to be here in Eoferwic, killing the men who murdered my comrades, who murdered Lord Robert-’

‘Tancred, listen to me,’ Malet said. ‘You will have your vengeance in time. But you must understand that my wife and daughter are more important to me than anything else in this world. I am entrusting their safety to your hands. Would you abandon them if they were your own kin?’

‘No, lord-’

‘All I ask is that you take care of them, and extend to them the same respect as you would your own womenfolk. Do you understand?’

‘I understand,’ I said, bowing my head. I knew that he was right: this was the service he had asked of me, and I could not go back on the oath that I had sworn to him. Revenge would have to wait.

‘As for the other matter, it is imperative that?lfwold reaches Wiltune safely. Remain watchful, and have your hand ready at your sword-hilt at all times, for you never know when you might have to use it.’

‘Of course, lord.’ I would hardly be fulfilling my duty otherwise.

‘These are uncertain times,’ Malet said. ‘I am relying on you, Tancred. Do not fail me.’

‘No, lord,’ I said. ‘I will not fail you.’

I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see Eudo and Wace at the far end of the wharves. They rode at a canter towards us, and across the black hawks painted on their shields there were streaks of blood.

‘Are these the last two?’ the man Malet had called Aubert shouted from amidships. Already the oarsmen were taking their places on top of the wooden ship-chests that they used for benches.

‘They are,’ the vicomte said.

The shipmaster fetched a long gangplank from beside the mast, which he laid across the gap between wharf and ship. ‘My ladies,’ he said. ‘If you would come aboard-’

He was cut off as another horn sounded from the city: one short blast quickly followed by a longer one.

‘Lord,’ said one of Malet’s knights. He reined in his mount as, restlessly, it pawed at the ground; behind him his comrades were glancing about nervously. ‘We cannot delay any longer.’

‘No,’ said Malet. ‘No, we cannot.’ He made his way quickly to his horse, a bay with black mane and tail standing by the storehouses that fronted the quay.

‘Be safe,’ Elise called to him as he mounted up. ‘Please be safe.’ Once more she rushed to his side; this time he held out a hand to her and she took it. She seemed to have regained her composure, or else she was simply holding back the tears.

‘I will,’ Malet said as he gazed down upon his wife and Beatrice. ‘God be with you both.’ He withdrew his hand to grip the reins, and gave his horse a kick. It whickered as it started into a trot. ‘Farewell.’

He waved to the half-dozen of his men who were waiting, then dug his spurs into the beast’s flanks and cantered away, past Eudo and Wace who were riding in the other direction. Not once did he look back.

‘The enemy are gathering,’ Aubert said. ‘We must go now if we’re to get away at all.’

The shipmaster was right. Again I could hear men chanting, filling the morning with their battle-cries, and if anything it seemed that they were closer now.

Wace and Eudo drew to a halt and quickly dismounted. Both looked drowsy still, their eyelids heavy; neither had shaven, and light stubble covered their chins. Like myself they had probably been sleeping when word had arrived. It was still not fully light, the river a grey smear broken by faint ripples where the rain fell, more heavily now.

‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ the priest said to them, a little sharply, I thought, given that we ourselves had arrived only a short while before.

‘We came upon some of the townsmen by the bridge,’ Eudo said as he unfastened his saddlebag. ‘The whole city is rising. You wouldn’t believe it.’

‘We saw,’ I said. ‘We had to fight our way through them from the vicomte’s house.’

Four boys whom until then I had taken for deck-hands were seeing to the horses that we had brought, and I recognised them for some of the stable-boys I had met at the castle.

‘Wait,’ said Wace, when he saw one taking the reins of his horse. ‘What are you doing?’

‘The vicomte has asked us to take them to the castle,’ the boy answered. In fact he looked to be almost a man grown, probably around sixteen or seventeen in years, although his voice had not yet deepened.

‘It is all right,’?lfwold said. ‘They’re Lord Richard’s men.’

For a moment Wace looked doubtful. I understood: I would never have entrusted Rollo to someone I did not know. But he must have known that there was not a lot of choice; we couldn’t take them with us.

‘Go on,’ he told the boy. ‘Take care with him, though. He’s not used to others riding him; he’ll try to bite you if he has the chance.’

The boy nodded, a little uncertainly, and climbed up into the saddle that Wace had left. The animal snorted and fidgeted, but the boy pulled firmly on the reins and kept him in check.

Eudo waited until he was firmly seated, then passed his own reins up to him. ‘See to it that he’s well kept,’ he said sternly. ‘Otherwise you’ll have my sword to answer to.’

A shout from the shipmaster caught our attention and we followed the priest and the two ladies across the gangplank. Aubert waved towards two of his deck-hands — one at either end of the ship — who unhitched the ropes from the mooring posts before rushing to their seats as the rowers pushed off against the wharf’s planked buttresses. On the other side, thirty oar-handles were fed through thirty rowlocks, until thirty blades broke the water, casting waves out into the river. They paddled backwards so that the prow pointed out into the midstream, and as the shipmaster began to beat his drum, larboard and steerboard fell into stroke, carving their blades through the Use’s murky waters.

The four stable-boys were already almost out of sight as they led the horses in the direction of the castle. But behind us, upon the bridge by the other end of the quay, the mist was beginning to clear and through it I saw the shadows of men as they ran, like ghosts in the gloom, bearing a forest of spears and axes.

‘Look at that,’ I murmured to the other knights.

There were dozens of them, perhaps even hundreds, roaring as they came, the light of their torches glinting upon the calm waters below. I felt my sword-hand itch again, and I wanted to ask Aubert to turn back, though I knew that I could not. Over the roofs of the houses between the castle and the minster I saw black smoke rising, and a glimmer of flames, and I heard, or thought I heard, men’s voices carrying on the wind: ‘For Normandy! For King Guillaume!’

?lfwold bowed his head. His lips moved as if in prayer and I wondered what he was feeling. He was Malet’s man, and so far as I knew had been for some time, but even if he had no especial liking for the rebels or for Eadgar, they were still his kinsmen. Was he praying for them or for his lord?

‘Row, you sons of whores,’ Aubert shouted, beating harder on the skin of the drum. ‘Row, if you want to get paid!’

The oarsmen found their rhythm and the ship surged forward, cutting through the waters with all the sharpness and speed of a sword. Stroke followed stroke, and with each one the wharves, the storehouses, the whole city receded further into the mist. Somewhere in those streets, I thought, rode Malet with his conroi. In his hands rested the defence of Eoferwic.

We passed by the castle, its palisade and tower rising in shadow high above us, and we stood there, not speaking to one another but simply watching while it grew smaller and smaller, until the river turned away to the south and even that great edifice disappeared from sight. Slowly the shouts and the battle-thunder faded into nothing. Before long there was only the sound of the drum and the oars upon the water, and then at last we were alone.