The Splintered Kingdom

Six

We reached Scrobbesburh at dusk. The castle was the first thing we saw, the whitewashed timbers of its tower and palisade gleaming in the late sun and dazzling us even from several miles away. The Saverna curved around in a great circle here, almost turning back on itself, and the castle stood at the neck of the loop that it made, overlooking the river and the wharves which ran along its banks. I saw merchant ships, their crews busy unloading whatever goods they had brought upstream, from Wirecestre and Glowecestre and places more distant than that: from Normandy and Dyflin and even Denmark, I didn’t wonder.

The western skies were burning orange, fading to a pinkish hue where feathery wisps of cloud drifted slowly overhead. On the almost-island which lay inside the river-loop were encamped the first men who would make up our host. The banks of the Saverna were thick with willows and other trees, but through the gaps between them I glimpsed clusters of tents arrayed around glowing campfires. Smoke wafted across the river on what little breeze there was, and with it came the smell of roasting meat. Men laughed; some sang, though from so far away I could not make out their words, and in any case it was not a tune that I recognised.

‘Look,’ said Robert. He was pointing to the centre of the camp, where a banner stood suspended between two sturdy poles outside a long pavilion. In the evening glare it was difficult to make out the symbol upon it, but I squinted and then it became clear: the wolf, white as snow, on a field the colour of blood.

Fitz Osbern’s device. He had already arrived, then, and presumably that meant Beatrice had too.

‘I see it, lord.’ I tried to keep the tension from entering my voice, but I could not keep my fingers from tightening around the reins.

This was only the second time I had visited Scrobbesburh since first I’d come to the Marches. Little had changed so far as I could see, except that where before the only approach to the town from the south had been across a narrow ford, now the fast-flowing waters were spanned by the five arches of a newly built bridge. Around it stood storehouses and wattle and thatch hovels where craftsmen worked and tried to sell their wares to passing travellers. Familiar smells wafted towards me: cattle dung and piss that meant a tanner’s place was near.

A handful of beggars were waiting by the bridge and we had to slow as they crowded about with outstretched hands and plaintive eyes. They knew that men of the sword like us usually had silver to spare, and unlike many of their kinsmen they were not afraid to approach us, though our swords and our helmets and our polished hauberks should have marked us out as men who were not to be crossed.

Our mounts’ iron-shod hooves raised a clatter against the timbers. On the open ground on the opposite bank lay the camp. Several men rose to their feet as we approached; Robert called a greeting to them and in return they lifted their fists and their wooden flasks to the sky.

‘The black hawk!’ one cried out, recognising the pennon nailed to my lance. ‘It’s Tancred a Dinant!’

A cheer rose up. Robert was right about my fame going before me, although I hadn’t believed it until then. Unsure what else to do, I raised a hand, acknowledging them as we passed by.

Along the riverbank, where the grass was lush and plentiful, paddocks had been marked out with wooden stockades and horses grazed contentedly, or else drank their fill at shallow inlets. In the shade of a broad-bellied oak a dozen men were training with cudgels and wooden practice swords, circling patiently about each other, each one looking for an opening, waiting for his opponent to make a mistake before they came together, raining blows against each other’s shields and then backing away once more.

At a guess I would have said there were probably fewer than five hundred fighting men encamped there, with as many horses. If truth be told, it was not much of a host, not yet at any rate, though it would grow as more of Fitz Osbern’s vassals arrived over the coming days. Robert had said the summons had gone out all along the borderlands, which meant there could be men coming from as far afield as Ceastre in the north and Estrighoiel in the south. It would take time for them all to muster, and I could only hope that they did so before the Welsh and their English allies began to march.

Ahead, Robert gave a shout, and he spurred his mount into a canter. I turned to see what the noise was about, shielding my eyes against the glare. The flaps to the pavilion were drawn apart, and a figure emerged. She stood beneath the wolf banner, and with the light behind her she was almost entirely in shadow, but it took only a moment for me to recognise her. Her hair shone like filaments of gold, and her face was full of warmth, her cheeks radiant as the sun.

Robert reined in his horse in front of her, leaping down to the ground and striding forwards to throw his arms around her. I followed slowly behind.

‘Sister,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to see you safe.’

‘And you, Robert,’ Beatrice replied, as they broke off the embrace.

She was exactly as I had remembered, from her large eyes to her milky-pale cheeks and her fair hair, which was bound and all but covered by a wimple. Tall for a woman, she was also slender, with a good figure that it was hard to tear one’s eyes from, and delicate features that many men would have given anything short of their lives to hold and to caress. A silver band decorated her wrist, and she wore a simple linen gown, loosely draped in the English fashion and a perfect white in colour.

All of a sudden I was there in her chambers in Lundene again, feeling her pressed against me, the warmth of her breath upon my cheek, the softness of her lips upon mine. I felt that pang again, and tried to bury it, but it would not go away.

‘You remember Tancred, don’t you?’ Robert asked, clapping a hand on my shoulder as I dismounted and joined him.

Smiling, she turned to me. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Although it’s been some time since we last met.’

My throat was dry all of a sudden and I swallowed to moisten it. ‘You look well.’

‘As do you,’ she said, glancing up and down, from my helmet to my boots. ‘You look like a lord.’

‘Lord and defender of Earnford,’ Robert put in. ‘Last month he pursued a Welsh raiding-party for an entire day just to avenge the men they had killed. Ten of the enemy were slain by his hand alone.’

I regarded him with a questioning look. Only last night he had sought to chastise me for my actions, yet now he made light of it.

‘Is that so?’ Beatrice asked, in a way that left me unsure whether she was impressed by that, or whether she believed it at all.

‘He exaggerates, my lady. It was only four.’

Robert laughed. ‘You are as modest a man as I have ever known.’

‘Not modest, lord,’ I said. ‘It’s the truth, that’s all.’

I glanced at Beatrice and her eyes, chestnut-brown, met mine. I gazed into them, searching for I knew not what. Some hint that she acknowledged what had happened between us all those months ago, maybe. But there was nothing.

She turned to Robert. ‘Fitz Osbern asked to see you as soon as you arrived. There is some business he wishes to discuss.’

Robert nodded. ‘Where is he?’

‘At the hall in the castle,’ she replied. ‘He and the castellan have been in council for the past hour at least.’

‘I’ll join them straightaway and see what it is he wishes,’ Robert said.

‘Let me take you to him.’ Beatrice gave a flick of her hand, and suddenly I noticed two maidservants waiting behind her at the entrance to the pavilion. One was plump and in her middle years, while the other was younger, probably not more than thirteen or fourteen summers old, with brown hair that fell loosely past her shoulders, and it was she who hastened away.

‘Has there been any further word about the Welsh?’ I asked Beatrice.

‘Nothing yet,’ she said. ‘At least, not as far as I’ve heard. But then people rarely think to tell me much about what’s happening.’

‘Fitz Osbern will know,’ said Robert. ‘I’ll find out from him, and when I do, I’ll make sure to tell you.’

The girl returned with a dappled grey mare. Without a word to her, Beatrice took the reins and climbed up into the saddle.

‘It has been good to see you, Tancred,’ she said. ‘I trust it won’t be so long before we meet again.’

‘I trust not, my lady,’ I said.

She smiled once more, warmly but without the affection that I had grown used to. It was as if we had barely met, as if she had forgotten everything that had passed between us, or else buried those memories so deep that they could no longer be raised up. It shouldn’t have mattered to me, and yet for some reason it did.

Beside her, Robert had also mounted up. ‘I’ll be back before long,’ he told me. ‘Keep a pot of stew and a jug of ale waiting for me.’

With that, brother and sister rode away. I watched them as they made their way from the camp towards the castle on the hill, and I was left standing there alone, numb with a strange sense of hurt and disappointment.

Ansculf was marshalling Robert’s men, sending some to take care of the horses while directing others to fill wineskins from the river. Some of Robert’s servants had travelled ahead with Beatrice and Fitz Osbern, and had set up camp in a good location, in the lee of a clump of birches not far from the water’s edge.

I signalled to Serlo and the others, who were pacing about, stretching their legs. Together we followed Robert’s men to their fire, where already a pot of water was boiling. The smell of carrots and fish filled my nose, but I did not feel hungry.

‘Start putting those tents up,’ I said to my knights as I unhitched my saddlebags from our horses, and then to the twins Snocca and Cnebba: ‘Fetch some more wood for the fire.’

We would need it, I reckoned: the wind was rising, changing direction, and the skies were clear. Even though the day had been warm, the night ahead would be a cold one.

Shaking my head to clear it, I got to work.

We retired almost as soon as it was dark. Robert came back from the castle shortly after that, though all I heard was his voice as he bade good night to the few of his men who were still drinking and playing dice in the dying light of the flames. I did not try to get up. By then I was bone-tired and barely able to keep my eyes open. Whatever news he had, it could wait until the morning, I decided, and that was the last thought to cross my mind before at last I fell asleep.

When next I stirred it was still night. Morning was some way off, for the birds had not yet begun to sing. All was silent, and at first I could not work out what had roused me. I strained my ears but could make nothing out, and I was about to roll over and try to get back to sleep, but then I heard movement: the muffled sound of feet upon grass.

Staying as still as I could, hardly breathing, I listened. There was someone just outside the tent, close by the fire, I reckoned, though it was hard to tell. They circled about, moving slowly, softly, as if trying not to be heard. It was unlikely to be any of my men or Robert’s, but who else would be lurking around our camp at this time of night?

Whilst on the march we usually slept two men to a tent, except that as a lord and a leader of men I always made sure I had one to myself. Whereas many barons were accustomed to taking whores and camp-followers to their tents, I had not shared mine with anyone since Oswynn. In those days my only bed-companions were my sword, which lay on the blanket at my side, and my knife, which rested beneath the rolled-up cloak I used for a pillow. Slowly, so as not to alarm whoever was out there, I reached for the latter, sliding the blade silently from its sheath. If it came to a fight at close quarters, a short blade was better than a long one.

Trying not to make a sound, I made for the entrance to the tent. The flaps were closed over but not laced up, and I opened them just enough to be able to see through. The stars were out but the moon was behind a cloud; the campfire had died long ago, leaving only gently smoking ash. Of whoever had been here there was no sign. Brandishing my knife in front of me, I ducked my head and ventured out.

The night was indeed cold. I was wearing just my tunic and my trews; I could move more quietly in bare feet and so I left my boots behind. Keeping low, I looked around. Eight tents stood around the fire, of which mine was one, but a few were pitched a short way back from it, and as I rounded the side of my own, I saw a short figure dressed in a black cloak, crouching in the shadows outside Serlo and Pons’s tent not half a dozen paces away.

The figure reached for the flaps, and as he did so I rushed forwards. He heard me coming and started to turn, but I was on him before he could do so, dragging him to his feet, reaching one hand around his torso and clamping it across his mouth, while with the other I brought my blade up towards his throat. The steel gleamed softly in the starlight.

He struggled and tried to cry out, but I was by far the stronger and I held firm, wrenching his head back so that the flat of my blade rested against his skin.

‘Make a sound and I will slit your throat,’ I said.

He couldn’t have been much more than a child, and a scrawny one at that, slight of build and half starved too, I didn’t wonder. A thief, most probably, or else one of the beggars we had passed by the bridge. Either way he had some nerve if he thought to try to steal from men like us.

‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘What are you doing here?’

His breath came in stutters as he shuddered, too afraid to answer, and then those shudders turned to tears as he began to sob.

‘Stop crying, boy.’ If he thought he was going to get any sympathy from me, then he was sorely mistaken. ‘Speak.’

‘Don’t k-kill me, lord, p-please.’

I froze in surprise. That was a girl’s voice. I lowered my knife and spun the child around, and as I did so her hood fell from her head and I saw her face. She was the young maidservant who had been with Beatrice earlier, her brown hair shining in the faint light.

‘P-please, lord,’ she said, her face streaming with tears, not daring to meet my eyes.

‘Why are you here?’

But she was sobbing so much that she did not answer. Still in shock, I didn’t doubt. We could not stay here, or someone would soon hear us. With my free hand I grabbed her wrist as I made for the river glittering under the stars. She did not resist, but let me pull her along, until I thought we’d put enough distance between ourselves and the camp that we could talk freely, without having to lower our voices.

‘I’m sorry, lord,’ she said as soon as we had stopped. ‘I didn’t know which one was yours. I didn’t mean to-’

The words came tumbling out and I raised my hand to quiet her. ‘It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?’

She bowed her head. ‘Papia.’

‘You’re one of Lady Beatrice’s maidservants.’

She nodded, still trembling, although at least her tears had ceased flowing now.

‘Do you know who I am?’ I asked.

‘Tancred a Dinant,’ she said, and I saw a lump form in her throat as she swallowed. ‘Seigneur of Earnford and once knight of the Earl of Northumbria, Robert de Commines, may God rest his soul.’

Clearly she knew my face; she must have recognised me from earlier. But my fame was not so widespread that every serving-girl would naturally have heard that I had once served Robert de Commines.

‘Did Lady Beatrice send you?’

Again the girl nodded. ‘She would meet with you tonight, if you wish to see her.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Even as I speak she is waiting for you at the church of St Ealhmund.’

That she would send for me so soon seemed more than a little strange. Even as my heart stirred, suspicions were already forming in my mind. How could I know that this wasn’t some kind of trick?

‘Is she alone?’ I asked Papia.

‘She is alone, lord.’

Of course it was a pointless question, and that was no answer at all, for it was exactly what she would tell me if this were indeed a ruse designed to trap me.

‘We must go now if at all, lord,’ the girl said. ‘The longer my lady is out, the greater the risk she takes that someone will find her missing.’

I closed my eyes and offered a silent prayer for guidance, but none was forthcoming. The decision was mine to make, and God would not try to sway me.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Wait here while I fetch my cloak.’

It was not especially cold out, but I could hardly go to meet Beatrice in clothes that were covered in dust from the road, and I had brought no better tunic to wear instead.

I returned to my tent, found the sheath for my knife and buckled my copper-bound scabbard on my waist. I did not know Scrobbesburh, but all towns were dangerous places by night and I wanted to be ready for whatever danger might be lurking. Besides, I felt naked if I went anywhere without some manner of blade with which to defend myself. I lived by the sword, someone had told me once: probably the truest words I had ever heard.

After putting on my boots and my cloak I slipped away again, down to the spot by the river where I’d left Papia. At first I thought she had gone, but then I found her sitting on the ground, her back resting against the trunk of a birch. She stood up as I approached, brushing grass and dirt from her cloak. Her tears had dried and her composure had returned.

‘Come on,’ I told her. ‘Show me the way.’

We headed up the rise towards the maze of shadows and narrow streets, of squat timber houses and long merchants’ halls that made up Scrobbesburh. The only sound I could discern was of men laughing and shouting drunkenly on the other side of town, probably out enjoying the many pleasures of the night.

A dark alleyway branched off from the main thoroughfare, and Papia led me down it. Some of those voices were nearer now, and I heard English words as well as French. Dogs were barking and infants, woken by the noise, began to wail. I wondered what the commotion was about. The girl did not stop, though, but hurried onwards, bunching her skirts in her hands, raising them so that they did not trail in the mud and the clods of cattle dung that littered the street. We turned a corner and then I saw the church. Its stone belfry rose before me, so tall that from the top it must be possible to see for miles in every direction.

‘Lady Beatrice is waiting inside,’ Papia said as we reached the door by the nave. ‘I will keep watch here in case anyone comes.’

I nodded but could not speak as I stared at the door: the only thing now keeping me from Beatrice. I felt a lurch in my stomach, of sickness mixed with anticipation. Taking a deep breath, trying to still my beating heart, I grasped the ring that served as a handle, curling my fingers around the twisted rods of cold iron, turning it until I felt the catch lift.

I pushed. The door opened easily, without so much as a murmur, and before I could think twice, I stepped inside.