Sworn Sword

Thirty-two

The others took some convincing at first, most especially Wace, who like me was reluctant to risk his neck on Robert’s behalf. But once I told them of the reward he had promised, it wasn’t long before they agreed to the plan.

Thus it was that as the moon approached its highest we readied ourselves to ride out, donning mail and helmets, fastening our sword-belts to our waists, looping shield-straps over our heads. Around us the whole camp was rising; everywhere men were seeing to their horses, or kneeling in private prayer. A priest was doing the rounds of the men, hearing confession from those who wished it, and I heard him murmur back in Latin as he absolved them of their sins.

How I wished for such consolation then, but I knew we didn’t have the time. Already I could see gathering the men whom the king had chosen for the attack upon the rebels’ camp, although it seemed to me it was far more than a thousand, for when all the spearmen and archers were added to the knights it looked as if nearly half our army was there. We were to go with them, and that meant we had to leave shortly. They had many miles yet to cover if they were to cross the river and reach Eoferwic before dawn, which by now could be but a few hours away.

Tiredness clutched at my eyes. I had not slept much, for every time I had tried, I saw only Dunholm and the faces of my comrades rising before me. My leg throbbed where I had taken that blow, though I had not thought about it in some time. While the wound had all but healed, the scar remained, and buried in it was the memory of my failure. This would be the first true battle I had fought since then.

We were leaving our destriers at the camp, since we had no need for them, and saddled the rounceys instead. They had done us good service so far; now they only had to take us a few miles more.

Robert came over just as we were about to leave. Like us he was dressed in his mail, and his helmet-strap was tied, though his ventail was open, the flap of mail hanging loose by his neck. Certainly he looked formidable, if not entirely comfortable. But then not all men were born to be warriors. He was here not from a desire to fight but rather out of duty, to his father and to his king, and that was as much to be respected.

‘We will bring your horses,’ he said. ‘As soon as the gates are open, look for us. There is a place for each of you in my conroi.’

I thanked him and he smiled, but it was a weak smile, and one that betrayed his anxiety. ‘God be with you.’

‘And with you,’ I replied.

With that we spurred our mounts into action, riding out beyond the camp to where a mass of horses and men were assembling, under a banner which displayed a white wolf on a crimson background. I recognised it as belonging to Guillaume fitz Osbern, of all men in England and Normandy perhaps the closest to the king. I had met him more than once at the royal court, and knew how capable he was as a commander, for he had led the right wing of our army at HAestinges: the very wing on which we had fought. He had a reputation as a hard man, though thankfully I’d never incurred his wrath.

He sat mounted on a grey horse at the head of the host, marshalling men, surrounded by other lords, and I knew them for such because their scabbards were inlaid with precious stones, their helmets rimmed with gold. Probably many of them had never faced a proper battle before, or at least if they had, then they had stayed some way back from the real fighting. Otherwise they ought to have known that such things only marked them out to the enemy and so made them easier to kill. Whatever wealth they had, it counted for nothing on the field of slaughter.

I tried to force my way through the crowd, towards Fitz Osbern himself, hoping he might recognise either myself or Wace or Eudo, though the last time we had met with him we had been in the company of Earl Robert, and I was not sure whether he would recall our faces.

‘Lord,’ I called. Men on foot were in the way, but I kept riding forward and they soon moved aside, albeit not before cursing me.

He turned in his saddle, and his gaze fell upon me. ‘What is it?’

‘We are the men Robert Malet has sent,’ I said.

He glanced at each of us in turn. ‘You are the ones who will be opening the gates?’

‘That’s right.’

I gave him our names, though he did not appear to be interested. ‘Six of you,’ he said. ‘I was given to believe that it would not be as many.’ He sighed. ‘It matters not. There is a boat waiting by the river for your use. It is a small craft, but it ought to be enough for your purposes-’

He turned suddenly as a call came from behind him and another man rode up, flanked by two knights on either side. Fitz Osbern headed towards them as if he had already forgotten us, leaping down from the saddle just as the other man did the same. The two embraced, and it was then that I saw the banner — the lion of Normandy — carried by one of the knights, and realised that the other man was no less than the king himself.

He was then about forty or so in years, tall and set like an ox, with a thick neck and a powerful sword-arm that I knew had sent many foes to their deaths. His eyes were shadows beneath stern eyebrows and his face was drawn, but he bore himself with confidence, as a king should. It was the first time I had seen him at close hand, and though I had stood before many nobles over the years, I could not help but feel awed by him. For this was the man who by his will and his vision had brought us here, to England, and won us this kingdom. The man who had gone against the usurper in battle, though the numbers had not favoured him, and who had defeated him.

Hurriedly I signalled to the others to dismount, for it was not right to remain mounted when the king himself was standing. The two broke off their embrace and strode towards us.

‘My lord king, these are the men who will be opening the gates for you,’ Fitz Osbern said.

I had enough presence of mind to kneel. King Guillaume towered over me, all six feet of him, and I met his eyes, glimpsing the fire contained within. Quickly I bowed my head. It was often said that the king was prone to anger, and I had no wish to see if that were true.

He walked around the six of us. ‘You,’ he said, his voice stern. I looked up, wondering if he meant me, but in fact he was speaking to Wace. ‘What is your name?’

‘Wace de Douvres, my king.’ He, at least, did not appear perturbed.

‘You have served your lord long?’

‘I serve his father, the vicomte Guillaume Malet,’ he replied, his crippled eye twitching slightly, which I took as a sign of nerves. ‘Though before then I was sworn to the Earl of Northumbria, Robert de Commines.’

‘Earl Robert,’ the king said, more quietly. ‘I knew him well. He was a good man, and a good friend too. How long did you serve him?’

‘Since I was a boy, lord. Fourteen years.’

The king nodded, as if in thought. ‘Then no doubt you knew him far better than I,’ he said at last. ‘He met his end too soon, but I promise that you will have your vengeance upon the English who murdered him. We will fill the streets of Eoferwic with their blood.’

‘I hope so, lord.’

The king placed a hand upon his shoulder. ‘I know it.’ Then he turned, marching back to his own knights and his banner, where he mounted up.

‘Guillaume,’ he called to Fitz Osbern. ‘Show the enemy no mercy.’ And then he and his men were gone, heading back towards the main part of the camp, their horses’ hooves drumming against the earth as they disappeared into the night.

For a moment I stayed there, still kneeling, scarce daring to believe that I had come so close to the king himself. As I got to my feet I glanced at Wace; he seemed to be almost in shock.

‘You did well,’ I told him, but he merely nodded, and did not speak.

Fitz Osbern came over to us. He was mounted again, and had his helmet on and his lance in his hand, while a brown cloak covered his mail.

‘Come,’ he said. ‘Ride with me. We’re ready to leave.’

I glanced at the host assembled behind us: I could see now there were perhaps six hundred knights in all, with the rest comprising foot-warriors, and a few archers too. By itself it would not be enough to defeat the enemy, but it would certainly be enough to create a diversion, and that was all it had to do, until at least the king came from the south with his part of the army.

It was a couple of hours, and possibly more, before we came to the river Use. There was a bridge there, a simple wooden thing wide enough for two men on horseback to cross together. Fitz Osbern signalled for the host to keep moving — it would take some time before they were all gathered on the opposite shore — and took the six of us aside, down to the banks, where a small fishing boat had been drawn up beneath the drooping branches of a willow.

‘Captured earlier by our scouts,’ he explained. ‘I trust it is sturdy enough. I am not sure that the man who built her had in mind six knights dressed in mail, but it should hold.’

Even in the dark I could see that it was not the grandest vessel I had ever sailed in. Nails protruded from her hull and it looked as though some of the top strakes were rotten. But it was dry inside and there was space aplenty for all of us, even with our shields and our weapons.

‘It will be enough, lord,’ I said.

‘Then this is where we part. Once you are inside the city, wait until you hear us attack the camp. If nothing else you will surely hear the enemy’s horns sounding. That will be the signal to open the gates and let the king and his army in. Do you understand?’

I nodded. The others murmured their agreement.

‘We are trusting in you,’ he said, his face stern, lit sharply in the light of the moon. ‘I wish you good luck.’

He rode away and we were alone.

We pushed the boat out on to the river. I was pleased to see that it floated without letting in any water. Then we climbed in, placing our shields and our swords in the bows where it sat highest in the water. There were two benches and four oars, and so we took it in turns to row, while the other two rested and kept a watch over the river and the shores.

In truth there was not a lot to see. Under the stars and the crescent moon it was hard to see more than a few hundred paces, and harder still when the clouds came over. Of course if the enemy had scouts patrolling these banks, they would spot us far more easily than we would them, though it seemed unlikely, since what reason would they have to expect an approach by river, and especially one from upstream of the city? All the same, we wore dark cloaks to hide our mail and we tried to keep the splash of the oars as quiet as we could. Sometimes we would spy houses on the shores, and then we would haul the oars in, letting the boat drift on the current until we had passed. But most of the time we heard no movement save for the rustling of water voles amidst the reeds, and the occasional splashes as they entered the murky water.

The banks slid past and slowly the moon descended to the east, though there was no sign yet of day approaching. As far as I could judge we had made good time, but I also knew that Fitz Osbern and his men would be moving fast, and we had to be ready when they attacked. When I was not rowing I was watching the sky, praying silently not to see the first glimmers of dawn. But then as we rounded a bend in the river, set against the starry heavens I suddenly saw the black forms of houses and walls, of the bridge and the minster church, and rising above it all, the shadow of the castle. Eoferwic.

The city lay still. I imagined the enemy asleep in their beds, oblivious to the slaughter that was shortly to be visited upon them. Only the sentries on the walls would still be awake, and I hoped they were watching the gates rather than the river. I tried to look out over the marshes and fields that lay to the south, wondering if the king and his host were there yet, lying in wait, but of course I could see nothing.

‘Ship the oars,’ I said. Now that we were so close, it was more important than ever that we did not attract attention, for it was not just victory that was at stake, but our own lives as well. I tried not to think of the fates that could befall us if we were caught.

The oars were pulled from the water and, dripping, laid down between the benches. The boat rocked gently from side to side, settling slowly as we drifted on the current.

‘What now?’ Wace asked, keeping his voice low.

‘Now we have to find somewhere to moor,’ I said.

‘The wharves are the other side of the bridge,’ Philippe pointed out.

I shook my head. ‘We should land as soon as we can. Once we’re in the streets we’ll be safe, but the longer we stay out on the river, the greater the chance we’ll be spotted.’

‘And if there are any men waiting on those ships, we’re likely to wake them,’ Eudo said, pointing downriver through the arches of the bridge.

He had better eyes than I did, and I had to squint to see them. But indeed there they were, huddled close to both shores. Their masts were down but I could see their hulls, high-sided and narrow in beam: shadows upon the moonlit water. Longships, and as many as a score of them. Perhaps some were the same ones that had chased us on the Use, or perhaps not, but either way Eudo was right. We could not use the wharves.

At the same time we needed somewhere we could keep the boat hidden from sight, since if someone saw it empty and suspected something then they might raise the alarm. But inside the city I could see nowhere that we might easily do so; the land along the banks all lay open.

‘Where, then?’ asked Godefroi.

I gazed ahead of us, scanning each side of the river, and it was then that I saw. From far away the walls looked as though they ran all the way down to the river, but from this vantage it was clear that there was in fact a gap between their end and the water’s edge, where the rampart was crumbling away. It was not wide, nor did it look as if it would be easy to cross, as it was thick with reeds, and probably the ground underfoot would be marshy too. For any larger group it would surely prove impassable. But the boat could be easily concealed amidst the reeds, and besides, we were only six men, and difficult to spot. So long as we didn’t make too much noise we could land this side of the walls and cover the rest of the way on foot, I was sure.

‘There,’ I said, pointing towards the gap. ‘Between the walls and the river.’

‘It’ll be risky,’ said Eudo, after a moment. ‘If there are any sentries up there we’ll be seen for certain.’

‘But they won’t be expecting it,’ Wace put in, and I was grateful for his support. ‘They’ll be looking towards the south, watching for an army, not for a small band like us.’

I glanced at the others, to see what they thought.

‘I agree,’ Godefroi said.

Radulf shrugged, as if indifferent, and I wondered if he had been listening at all. He had better be concentrating, I thought, since otherwise he was likely to get himself killed here tonight, if not the rest of us as well.

‘Philippe?’ I asked.

‘If the wharves are closed to us, I don’t see we have any other choice,’ he replied.

That was as much agreement as it seemed I was going to get.

‘Very well,’ I said, scrambling to the stern. On the way I picked up one of the oars, which I used as a paddle to steer us out of the midstream, closer to the southern shore, where the branches of low-hanging pine trees would offer us some cover. Then I let us drift once more, only using the oar when the current took us too close to the bank, or too far from the trees.

The city loomed closer with each passing moment. Somehow by night it appeared far larger than it had done by day. So forbidding were the shadows that I found it hard to believe that this was the same place where I had spent my recovery all those weeks ago.

Slowly, taking care not to make a sound, I buckled my sword-belt to my waist, then made sure that my mail was hidden beneath my cloak as we approached the walls: banks of earth with a timber palisade running along the top. I looked up, but I could not see any men there. God was with us.

I steered the boat towards the reeds, breathing as lightly as I could, thinking with every slightest splash that we would be heard. The prow slid amongst the first of the tall stems, which rustled gently. By now I could see nothing beyond the clumps of reeds that were in front, behind, all around us. I wanted to get us as close in as I could, so that we had less ground to make on foot, and I steered us towards where I thought they seemed least dense. In the darkness, however, it was difficult to tell, and before long I could feel the bottom of the hull scraping against the riverbed, until, a few moments later, the boat gave a shudder as it ground to a halt. I tried to paddle further, in case this were merely a shallow patch with open water beyond it, but it was no use.

‘We’ll have to walk from here,’ I said.

I got to my feet, keeping my head low until I could be sure that there was no one watching. Some twenty paces away the ramparts rose up. I stepped outside the hull, feeling my boots sink into the soft mud, and then held out a hand as Wace passed me my shield, which I hung around my neck, over my back.

The rest followed, and we set off. The mud sucked, squelched beneath me; it was impossible to tell which parts I could trust with my weight, and so I led them carefully, thinking only about one foot following the other, testing the ground as I went. I glanced up at the ramparts, still ten paces ahead, realising just how exposed we were. This was taking too long. If anyone were to see us-

There came a stifled yell, followed by a great splash behind me and I turned to see Philippe flailing in the muddy water. He was trying to stand up, but his mail was weighing him down and his cloak was tangled about him. He was spluttering, coughing so loudly that I thought the whole city might wake.

I reached out a hand, swearing under my breath. From close by came angry quacking, followed by a clatter of wings as a flock of birds shot up into the night.

‘Philippe,’ I said. ‘Take my hand.’

It took a while for him to find it in the darkness, but at last he reached out and grabbed it. I tried to pull, but with his mail he was too heavy, and the mud and the river kept sucking him back.

‘Help me,’ I hissed to the others. ‘Someone help me.’

Wace was the first there, kneeling down beside the pool in which Philippe had fallen. ‘Your other hand,’ he said. ‘Give me your other hand.’

Together we managed to haul him out of the water and back to firmer ground, where he raised himself to his feet, still coughing up water.

‘I’m sorry,’ Philippe said, too loudly. He was dripping from his nose and his chin, and his cloak was soaked. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Shut up,’ I told him, looking again towards the palisade. ‘Shut up and keep moving.’

We went as quickly as we could after that. Thankfully the closer we came to the remains of the rampart, the easier it became to find our footing. We scrambled across, drawing our cloaks over our heads so as to be less easily seen.

‘Quickly,’ I said. The sooner we could get away from the walls, the better. Ahead a narrow alley passed between two large storehouses, and beyond it lay the city, a maze of shadows.

With every beat of my heart I thought that I would hear cries behind us, but I did not, and it wasn’t long before we had rounded those storehouses and found ourselves beneath the tower of a church. At this hour there ought to have been no one about, but nonetheless I made certain to check up and down the street before we laid down our shields and recovered our breath.

Philippe began to wring out his cloak by the corner of the tower. His mail and helmet were strewn with rotten leaves and mud, and other things he’d brought from the river.

‘Take more care,’ I said. ‘Otherwise you’re likely to get us all killed.’

But I knew that this was not the time to get angry with him. We had made it inside the city unseen, which was the first part of our task, but there was still much work to be done if we were to make Eoferwic ours.