Sworn Sword (18 page)

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.

Ælfwold 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 Ælfwold 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 Ælfwold, 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 Ælfwold 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.