The Splintered Kingdom

Twenty-eight

As intended, it wasn’t long before the fruits of Eudo and Wace’s labours were spotted and the alarm was raised. Of course the five ships by themselves weren’t important, but the Danes were known to be as fond of their boats as we Normans were of our destriers, and for this plan to work I was counting on what they would do next.

I wasn’t disappointed. We had all gathered by then, all nine Frenchmen and one Englishman, and we watched while the enemy raced in their dozens and their scores out across the mud towards the stricken vessels, trying desperately to douse the writhing, twisting, towering columns of flame, and when they realised that all their efforts were in vain, to retrieve what they could before it was too late. War-horns blasted; from the towers of some of the churches bells pealed out in a great discordant clangour. Soon there were spearmen rushing to defend the ramparts, no doubt thinking that the firing of the boats signified the beginning of an attack. Their helmets and the tips of their weapons gleamed in the reflected light of the blaze, and while they were all transfixed by the light of the fire or else watching the fields and the hills to the west, we crept towards Beferlic, with the mist concealing us.

By the time we reached the storehouses and fishermen’s hovels that faced out across the marshes, the flames had engulfed each ship so completely that all one could see of the timber framework within was a black skeleton. The air was filled with panicked shouts and calls to arms and dogs’ barking, the whole town rousing from their dreams into confusion. Jarls and thegns barked orders to their hearth-troops, trying to form orderly bands under their pennons and their banners, to little avail. Men wielding torches and spears and seaxes, swords and knives and long-handled axes, some only half-dressed and others wearing mail or leather or hides, emerged from the houses where they were quartering, running in all directions, and in the disorder we managed to slip largely unnoticed from shadow to shadow between the buildings, making in the direction of the minster and the halls surrounding it. Of course, with so many people rushing about it was difficult to stay entirely hidden, and once or twice I thought we would be seen as suspicious by those who were passing, but no one stopped us or questioned what we were doing there. Men will see what they want to see, and at that moment their minds were elsewhere. They were looking for a Norman army numbering in the hundreds or the thousands, and so no one thought anything of a group of just ten men, most of whom were dressed and armed for battle in a similar fashion to them. Like me, the rest had foregone their mail and their tall kite-shaped shields in favour of leather and small, round bucklers that were both lighter and less cumbersome.

In truth we could have been anyone. Most likely the Danes assumed we were some of Eadgar’s men while the English probably took us for hirelings of King Sweyn, or else some of the Flemish or Frisian adventurers and freebooters that had joined his fleet. It almost made me smile to think of it. Almost, but not quite. I was only too aware of how much danger we were in, and how slender were our hopes of escape should we be caught now.

‘Which way?’ I asked Runstan once the burning ships and the throngs were far enough behind us. Keeping our hands close to our sword-hilts, we hid behind a long storehouse that stank of fish. From here I could see up each one of the main tracks that led across the town: to the monastery ahead, and to the great halls that stood upon the higher ground on the western side. I saw, too, where several houses had been torn down for their timber, so that it could be used in the building of the rampart and palisade.

‘I don’t know, lord,’ the Englishman replied.

I stared at him. ‘You don’t know?’

We had brought him all this way because of his familiarity with the town, and I had been relying on him to show us to the place where Robert and the other hostages were being held.

‘Not exactly,’ he said hurriedly, clearly realising that if we had no further use for him then he was no longer worth keeping alive. ‘The kings made the monastery their stronghold. That’s where your friends will be, although I cannot say in which building.’

A monastery was a large place, and I didn’t want to have to spend this entire night searching it when our foes lay at every turn and a single false step spelt death. Still, that small piece of knowledge was better than nothing at all. So long, that was, as it proved true.

‘You had better be sure of this,’ I said to the Englishman. ‘If I find you’re lying to us, I will see to it that your death is a painful one.’

He nodded, understanding, but did not change his story. I only hoped he was not leading us into a trap.

We were about to set off when I heard raised voices close by, and gave the signal to retreat further into the shadows between the storehouse and the pig-pens that lay behind it. We were just in time, for a column of horsemen perhaps forty in number rode into sight under two banners. The first was decorated in alternating stripes of purple and yellow, which I recognised as the colours of Northumbria, while the other depicted a white raven in flight clutching a cross in its talons. Beneath them at the head of that column, bellowing instructions, were two figures. One I did not know, although to judge by his haughty bearing, the intricate decoration upon his sword and his shield and the gold-threaded and fur-trimmed cloak that hung about his shoulders, he could be none other than the Danes’ king, Sweyn, about whom so much had been spoken. Despite his grey hair and beard, he was still known as a fierce swordsman, unyielding in battle and lacking in any Christian mercy in spite of his professed faith in our Lord.

The other man I recognised in an instant. His features were obscured in large part by his helmet with its gleaming cheek-plates and its gilded nasal-guard, but I knew it was him. A head taller than most of his men, he was possessed of a robust stature and a confident manner. Already he had the look of a seasoned fighter, even though, if one believed the stories told about him, he was then but eighteen years of age. His unkempt, straw-coloured hair trailed from beneath the rim of his helmet, falling to his shoulders. Nephew to the old king, Eadward, he was the last of the ancient English royal house. But all the noble blood had long since run dry in the veins of that vile oath-breaker and murderer. He had sworn his solemn allegiance to King Guillaume in the weeks after H?stinges and been received with honour and dignity at court, only to reveal his true aspect two winters ago when he had fled and raised an army in rebellion.

Eadgar. The one they called the?theling: the good and noble, the throne-worthy. The one the Northumbrians dared to acclaim as their king. The one I longed to kill above all others.

This was the first time I had laid eyes upon him since that day at Eoferwic more than a year and a half ago, and I hated him even more now than I had then. I hated him for what he had done, for the injury he had inflicted upon me, for the lives he had taken. Because of him so many lay dead: not just my old lord but so many of my sword-brothers too, and Oswynn-

‘Tancred,’ Eudo hissed, grabbing my arm and shoulder, dragging me backwards with such force that I almost lost my balance. ‘Are you trying to get us all killed?’

Without realising I’d been creeping forward, until I was crouching almost in full view, unhidden by the storehouse and the shadows. Fortunately Eadgar, Sweyn and their huscarls were some thirty or more paces away, or otherwise they would surely have spotted me. My fingers were gripped tightly around my sword-hilt, and my heart was thumping so loudly it seemed a wonder that the whole town didn’t hear. Sweat ran off my brow, stinging my eyes.

‘Eadgar is there,’ I said breathlessly as I blinked and drew a sleeve across my face, trying to clear my sight. ‘His huscarls as well. I saw him-’

‘And they’ll see us too, if you’re not careful. Did you think you could fight them all by yourself?’

He was right, of course. Not for the first time, revenge would have to wait.

‘We’ll have our chance,’ Eudo said. ‘But not yet.’

I breathed deeply, trying to calm myself while we waited for the band of men to disperse before emerging from our hiding place. Pons kept his knife-edge at Runstan’s neck, ready to slit his throat if he so much as coughed, but thankfully the Englishman was not that stupid, and he stayed silent.

Eventually I could make out the sound of hooves upon the hard ground, steadily fading as they receded further and further. I glanced around the corner of the storehouse at the party of horsemen in the distance, riding towards the burning ships. I couldn’t spot Eadgar among them, and so whether he had gone with them or not was difficult to say.

‘Come on,’ I said when it seemed that the way was clear enough. The diversion provided by the burning ships would keep the enemy occupied for a while, but as soon as they realised there was no French host descending upon them from the marshes or the hills, they would return. We had not a moment to spare.

We found the gates to the monastery open and unguarded, which struck me as somewhat careless of the enemy, but rather than pause to dwell upon that fact I took it simply as a sign that luck and God’s favour were shining upon us. Of course Eadgar and Sweyn would be expecting a threat from outside, not looking to defend against an enemy within their own stronghold, and so perhaps the men who would usually have been posted there had been ordered elsewhere.

Indeed it was strangely quiet; no one demanding to know our names or what our business was. Forbidding stone walls rose up on all sides, reminding me of the place close to Dinant where I had grown up all those years ago, more like a fortress than a house of God. Outside in the streets men called to one another; boots and hooves thudded upon the dirt as they ran past. Some fifteen or so tents were pitched in the yard close to the well and the workshops that abutted the outer wall. Fires glowed, although whoever had been tending them was no longer there. Neither was there any sign of the monks, and I asked Runstan what had happened to them.

‘The Danes captured the town for us, and some of the pagans among them sacked the monastery. They killed the abbot and the monks and looted the church before anything could be done. When King Sweyn found out who was responsible he ordered their right hands cut off and their noses slit as penance, and their leader hanged as a warning.’

And yet Sweyn’s respect for this place hadn’t prevented him from occupying it and using it for his own ends. Oxen had been allowed to graze in what had once been the monks’ cemetery in one corner of the grounds, and there were goats foraging in the herb-garden. Empty ale-cups, flagons and leather flasks lay scattered all about and there was horse dung everywhere, while latrine pits had been dug outside the church, polluting the holy ground. I wondered that Eadgar and his followers, who were Christian, could stomach allying themselves with a people as rapacious and as inconstant in their piety as the Danes.

Nor did it seem as if this was the first time this house had suffered at the hands of the pagans. Most of the buildings looked as though they had been repaired and rebuilt at least once; a few of the walls were in stone but the larger part of the monastery was fashioned either in timber or even in wattle and cob more befitting a peasant’s hovel. There was nothing resembling the arches and columns and sheltered walkways of a cloister, but rather three long halls arranged in a rough square, with the nave of the church forming the fourth side, around a yard in the middle of which rose a yew tree.

From within that yard came voices and the softly flickering glow of lantern-light. So the enemy had left someone after all, which meant there had to be something worth guarding in those halls. Maybe I had been wrong to doubt Runstan. We would soon know. Moving as quickly but as silently as we could, taking care to keep to the shadows, we approached. How many there were I couldn’t say for sure. From the number of voices I guessed no more than ten, but that was still more than I had bargained on us fighting. Most likely they were Danes, since I didn’t recognise their speech.

That was when the barking began: deep-throated and loud enough to fill the night air.

‘Hide!’ I called, but it was too late, for they had found us. First one, then a second and a third of the animals came racing around the side of one of the halls towards us: large and long-muzzled with rows of fearsomely sharp teeth. They were closely followed by their masters, eight mailed and helmeted huscarls bearing shields that had the raven and the cross emblazoned upon them. They whistled and called to the hounds, and shouted out challenges that I did not understand.

I held up my hands to suggest that we meant no harm, hoping that they understood the meaning behind the gesture, as desperately I tried to think of a plan that would see us through this. We had the slight advantage of numbers, being nine against their eight, but they were much better armed, and I knew what fearsome fighters the Danes could be.

‘Call off your dogs,’ I shouted out in English above the barks and snarls, hoping they might be able to understand that tongue. ‘My name is Goscelin, from Saint-Omer in Flanders, adventurer, sea captain and loyal follower of Eadgar?theling, ally of your King Sweyn. I command the ship Vertu, the fastest twenty-bencher to weather the German Sea,’ I added, as if to make my story seem more credible. The names were invented, being merely the first that came to my mind.

Their leader stepped forward. A giant of a man, he had an axe slung upon his back as well as a sword upon his belt. His face and chin were hidden behind a fair and well-combed beard that clearly marked him out for a Dane. While renowned for their barbarity, as a people they were fastidious in their appearance.

‘I don’t know you and I’ve never heard of your ship,’ he said. There was a slight slur to his speech, as if he had been drinking. ‘What do you want?’

I shouldn’t have given a name to my made-up vessel, I thought. If these were Sweyn’s huscarls then it was probably their duty to know which ships’ crews were here in Beferlic.

I was still trying to think how to answer when Eudo spoke up: ‘The?theling sent us to speak with the captives.’

Perhaps it was a risk to mention them, since we still didn’t know they were necessarily here. But it was better than no answer at all.

‘Eadgar himself sent you?’ the Dane asked doubtfully, glancing first at myself, then at Eudo. His right eye gave a twitch that might have been comical had it not been for his size. ‘To speak to them about what?’

The warning bells had ceased tolling by then, although beyond the abbey walls I could still hear men shouting as they ran to defend the palisade and gates against their imagined foe. With all that happening, it was no wonder that the huscarl captain was suspicious. He wasn’t as stupid as I might have thought.

‘Do you think we’re going to tell you?’ Eudo countered. He was the tallest among us, but even when he drew himself to his full height he still did not match the Dane.

The three dogs were still growling, despite their masters’ hands on their necks trying to calm them, as if somehow they could see our lies for what they were and knew that we were dangerous. One of the huscarls had managed to attach a leash to the collar of the largest, but the animal was too strong, straining at the rope, and the man could barely hold him back.

‘Skallagrim! Gunni! Alfketil!’ the Dane called to the three men in charge of the dogs, including the one with the leash, then pointed to the animals and said something in his own tongue. He turned back to Eudo. ‘If you want to see the hostages then yes, you’ll tell me what you want with them, and why it needs ten of you.’ He glanced at Runstan. ‘And what about you, Englishman?’ he asked, clearly recognising him by his dress and his features to be different from the rest of us. ‘Are you with these Flemings?’

The Englishman began to open his mouth, and suddenly a cold feeling overcame me as I thought he was about to give us away, when Pons, who was standing not far behind, clouted him about the back of the head, sending him sprawling upon the dirt.

‘Keep your mouth shut, slave,’ he said. ‘Remember your place.’

That was quick thinking, I thought. It took me but a moment to recover my voice.

‘He belongs to me,’ I told the Dane. ‘He speaks only with my permission.’

Pons had obviously hit Runstan harder than I’d realised, for he was crying out in pain, shouting insults at us, calling us sons of whores and even worse. I nodded to Pons, who kicked him in the gut, and that discouraged him from saying anything further.

Still, the Dane seemed convinced by our story. Shouting now to make himself heard over the dogs’ barking, which I reckoned loud enough to wake the dead from their graves, he began: ‘Tell me what your business is with-’

He didn’t get the chance to finish, for at that moment the man holding the leash found himself dragged to the ground by the beast on the other end. Suddenly free, the animal hurled itself at one of Wace’s knights, who was not expecting it and fell backwards.

‘Harduin!’ Wace shouted, drawing his sword and rushing to his retainer’s aid even as the other two dogs broke free of their masters’ grips and charged, their teeth bared. One made for Wace himself, but he had enough time before it was upon him to raise his sword, plunging the tip of his blade into its breast as it leapt up at his chest. The other sank its teeth into Serlo’s ankle, and he swore violently as blood streamed from the wound, soaking into the hem of his trews.

The three huscarls who had been in charge of the hounds came forward, seeking at the same time to restrain them and to stop us from killing them. Most of the others were laughing, enjoying the spectacle as if it were some game, and among them was their captain.

Our ruse wouldn’t hold for long, and so this seemed to me as good an opportunity as any we would get.

Roaring through gritted teeth, I pulled my blade free of its scabbard and, with all the might I could muster, heaved it towards the chest of the big man, who all of a sudden was no longer laughing as he saw the sharpened steel glinting wickedly in the light of his men’s torches. He ducked just in time, and my strike only succeeded in glancing off his upper arm, failing to penetrate the chain links of his hauberk.

‘Kill them,’ I shouted. ‘Kill them!’

I had thought somehow we might manage to get in and out of this stronghold without having to fight. A hollow hope that seemed in hindsight, since a fight was exactly what we had found.

As I recovered my sword ready for another strike, the giant drew his long-handled axe from over his shoulder, hefting it in both hands, bellowing with fury as he swung it at my head. Having only a buckler with which to defend myself, it was all I could do to throw myself to one side, rolling away from the path of his blade as it clove the air inches from my ear. But he wielded no shield either, which meant he had no protection against the low blow. Even as I scrambled to my feet, I aimed a slice at his shins, hoping to take his feet out from under him or at the very least cripple him so that he would be easier to kill. But rather than cutting through flesh and smashing bone, instead my sword found something like steel, and I realised that under his trews he wore hidden greaves.

The Dane smirked at my surprise and swung his axe again, confident now that he had the better of me. This time, however, rather than stepping back or diving aside I lunged forward, inside the reach of his weapon, seeking an opening higher up as I thrust my knife towards his face. The weight of his weapon and the strength of his swing had drawn him off balance, and that was all the chance I needed as I drove the thin blade up and under his chin, into his throat. Blood bubbled and trickled down the Dane’s chest, over my hand, and in an instant his expression changed. The smirk vanished and it was his turn to look surprised as his eyes opened wide and he saw his death approaching. I twisted the knife hard and wrenched it free, and the force of that was enough to pull him off his feet and to the ground, where he lay heavy and still.

The rest of the enemy were by then in disarray. The suddenness of our attack had worked in our favour for I counted only four of them still standing and one of their dogs. Another Dane, who shared the same build and who might well have been a brother or a cousin of the first, rushed towards me, screaming, his eyes filled with hatred and thoughts of revenge. Like his countryman he was not quick, or perhaps it only felt that way because the battle-calm was upon me, that peculiar sense of quietness that often descends during the melee. Time itself seemed to slow; suddenly everything seemed so easy, as if I knew even before it happened exactly how and when and where my foe would make his attack. Thus as the Dane lunged with sword drawn I was able to dance around and behind him, landing a kick upon his backside to send him flailing forwards. He rolled on to his back so as to face me, but no sooner had he done so than I laid my foot upon his chest and was thrusting my sword-point with both hands down through his ventail into his neck.

At the same time the last of the three dogs writhed upon the ground, giving a great howl of distress, so terrible as to rent the sky asunder, its lifeblood draining away before at last it was run through by Eudo’s hand. Having seen their leader and friends felled, the remaining three Danes preferred not to waste their lives in a hopeless cause and instead tried to flee. Burdened with shields and mail, they didn’t get far. One failed to spot a latrine pit in his path and tripped — Pons made short work of finishing him — while the other two threw down their arms, vainly pleading mercy before they were struck down by Eudo and the second of Wace’s two retainers, a broad and large-jowled Gascon whose name I had forgotten.

I glanced about to check upon the rest of our party. Wace had dropped his sword and was standing hunched over, clutching his side. Blood, dark and glistening, stuck to his fingers and his expression suggested he was in some pain, although at his feet lay the corpse of the man who must have struck him, so it couldn’t have been too grievous an injury.

‘Is it bad?’ I asked him.

‘I’ll live, if that’s what you mean,’ he replied breathlessly, a grimace upon his face. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he gestured towards his knight Harduin, who had not got up from where he lay, his face and neck crossed with savage bite marks where the dog had buried its teeth.

This was not the time to mourn him, however. Most of the others looked unhurt save for perhaps some scratches and bruises, although Serlo was limping and cursing violently while one of Eudo’s men was nursing a wound to his arm below the sleeve of his hauberk. But still there were eight of us standing.

Eight, when there should have been nine. Our guide, Runstan, had gone. Sheathing my sword and my knife, I glanced about in all directions, hoping to spot him amongst the corpses, but it was a futile hope. He was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where’s the Englishman?’ Pons called as he and Eudo returned from their slaughter.

‘I thought you were watching him,’ I said, unable to restrain my anger. ‘If he’s gone-’

‘I killed three Danes!’ Pons protested, interrupting me. ‘How was I supposed to fight them and watch him at the same time?’

I swore. Runstan would take word to his countrymen; they would bring men before long and we would never get out of Beferlic alive. If we’d had little time before, we had even less now.

One of the Danish corpses twitched. At least, I’d assumed it was a corpse. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed and his limbs splayed out on both sides, but then I glimpsed the faintest cloud of mist forming in front of his half-open mouth, and the rise and fall of his chest, so slight as to be almost unnoticeable. I stood over him.

‘On your feet,’ I said, and when he didn’t respond I stamped down hard upon his groin.

That broke his pretence. Howling and shouting curses in his own tongue, he rolled over, clutching his nether regions with both hands.

‘Get up,’ I said, and with the help of both Eudo and Pons stripped the Dane of his helmet and dragged him to his feet, so that I could look him in the eyes and spit upon his wart-ridden face. ‘Where are the hostages?’ I asked him in both French and English.

At first he pretended not to understand what I was saying, and began jabbering something in Danish, but the moment my hand went to my knife-hilt he discovered he could understand me after all, and suddenly he was pointing to the smallest of the three halls, on the opposite side of the yard from the church, where the kitchens usually were. I thanked him for his kind help before burying my knife in his gut and slitting his throat.

At the same time the Gascon called to me, brandishing a set of four iron keys attached to a ring that he’d found on the belt of the huscarls’ captain. Leaving Wace and Serlo to take charge and keep watch while they tended to their wounds, I took the keys and, signalling for Pons and Eudo to follow, went around the hall to the side facing the yard, where I found the doors lying open. Inside, the only light came from a lantern set upon a large round table beside several flagons of ale. Casks and crates were stacked everywhere; skinned carcasses of deer dangled from hooks fixed into the ceiling-beams; bunches of herbs hung, tied by their stems, upon one wall; logs and kindling had been piled in a corner. At one end of the hall was a wide hearth with a flue above it, though no fire had been lit. At the other, a staircase led downwards towards an ironbound door with a sturdy lock.

‘Bring me that lantern,’ I said to Pons as I descended the steps and tried each one of the keys in turn. The first and the second didn’t fit, and I was beginning to think we would have to break the door down when thankfully the third turned cleanly and the door swung open into darkness.

Pons handed the lantern to Eudo, who passed it down to me, and I shone it into the cellar, lighting the way ahead.

‘Lord,’ I said. ‘Are you there?’

Even as the words left my tongue, I saw him, blinking in the lantern-light, dazed as if half-asleep. He looked considerably thinner than when I’d last seen him. His eyes were heavy, his face was unshaven and his black tunic and trews were torn and frayed.

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, and he found his voice. ‘Tancred,’ he said. ‘I thought-’

‘That I was dead,’ I finished for him. ‘And I almost was.’

His hands were tied behind his back and I went to free them, picking at the knot. The rope was tight around his wrists and ankles, and I could see the marks where it had rubbed his skin raw.

‘How did you get here?’ he asked. ‘Has the king arrived with his army? Or have you come with the ransom?’

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we had come alone, and in any case explanations could wait until later. The sooner we escaped this place, the better.

Instead I said: ‘Are your father and sister here?’

‘My father’s over there,’ Robert replied, pointing to the far corner of the cellar and a stack of barrels from behind which I could just see a pair of feet. ‘Father!’

In reply there came a low, drawn-out groan. While Eudo saw to the elder Malet’s bonds I helped Robert to his feet. He could stand well enough, although it took him a moment to find his balance.

‘He’s been gripped by fever and sickness for days,’ he said. ‘They’ve kept us down here, in the damp and the dark, for I have no idea how long.’

‘What about Beatrice?’ I asked. ‘Where is she?’

Robert shook his head. ‘They took her somewhere else. I don’t know where.’

I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. I should have kept that wart-faced whoreson of a Dane alive so that he could lead me to her.

I rushed to the door, yanking the ring of keys from the lock. ‘Pons, show Robert and his father the way to the others. Find them food and drink and keep the vicomte warm, but be ready to leave as soon as I return.’

‘Where are you going?’ he shouted after me as I charged up the wooden steps.

‘To find Beatrice,’ I answered without so much as turning around.

And I prayed to God that she was safe.