Goles shivered, and not from the cold. He had done everything in his power to help William. He thought now of the duke’s mother, Herleva. She would have no idea that her son was in mortal danger. He lifted his eyes to the heavens and prayed for her, hoping above all else that the next tidings she received about her son were not the news of his death.
4
The Cotentin peninsula and the Bay of Veys
William had listened hard to what Goles had to say. Fool or not, he had spoken with a conviction that overcame any scepticism. Besides, his story had been too detailed, with too many character touches that rang entirely true to William’s ears, to be a matter of invention. So William had slipped on his signet ring, strapped on his belt and scabbard, wrapped a cloak around himself to keep the night’s chill at bay and pulled on a pair of boots, for he could not ride far, or fast, barefooted. He told all his companions and servants to make their escape as fast as possible: ‘But make sure to scatter in all directions so that it’s harder for the traitors to track you.’
William’s groom alone had stayed for long enough to race to the stables and throw a saddle on his stallion’s back and a bridle over its head. He had barely buckled the girth before William had kicked the beast into action and set off at a gallop along one of the tracks that led away from the lodge into the surrounding forest, heedless of the danger that his horse might catch a hoof in a hole or a protruding tree root and send him flying as it fell, or that a stray branch growing out across the path might knock him clean out of the saddle. If he died making his escape, so be it. Such a fate was a risk. But to go carefully and slowly was to invite the absolute certainty that Guy of Burgundy would catch him and kill him. And that, so far as William was concerned, could never be allowed to happen.
William had acquired his horse a little over two years earlier, not long after his victory at Falaise, and named him Bloodfang, in honour of his father’s favourite hunting dog. He was a towering stallion, chosen to make William stand out above the melee in the midst of battle, so that his men might see him and draw heart from his presence, and his enemies would know that he did not fear to show himself to them. The animal had a long stride, a deep chest and the heart of a true warrior. If he could have picked any horse in all Normandy to carry him to safety, William would always have chosen Bloodfang. Now he crouched in the saddle so that his head was almost lying on his horse’s neck and spoke to him, encouraging him, praising him and telling him again, ‘We can do it, Bloodfang. You and me together, we can do it.’
He had been riding for several minutes, ignoring the sting of leaves and twigs whipping against his face, twice having to use all his skill as a horseman to keep Bloodfang from falling and himself from leaving the saddle, when a thought struck him and chilled his blood, for all that he was sweating from the effort of riding so hard: the dogs. In the mad rush to flee the hunting lodge, no one had thought to take the Alaunts with them, or even just set them free to roam. William knew what Guy would do, for it was the same as he would do in that situation: he would use the dogs to hunt their master.
So now he would have to race even harder to stay alive. Before he had disappeared under the canopy of trees, William had taken a bearing from the Pole Star. He was heading south-east, making for the Bay of Veys, where four rivers flowed into the sea. The land thereabouts was marshy, treacherous and all but impassable for anyone who was not a native of the region. But right on the shoreline there were dunes and beaches. If he could just use one of the rivers to get to the sea, and ride along the water’s edge, he would leave no trace for the dogs to follow. Maybe he could lose them that way.
The bay was around eight or nine leagues away across flat country. Under normal circumstances William would consider that a good, steady day’s ride. But tonight he would have to ride flat out, for he had to be across the bay before the first light of dawn crossed the sky and made him visible to the eyes, somewhere behind him, that were even now gazing into the darkness, waiting for a glimpse of their prey.
On through the night he rode, thanking God for the light of the moon that made it possible for him to find his way, and marvelling at Bloodfang’s ability to maintain a steady gallop for league after league, hour after hour, eating up the ground beneath his hooves, until finally William, pausing for a moment to catch his bearings, smelled the salt tang of the sea breeze blowing into his face and knew that he was near the Bay of Veys and must soon reach the western bank of the River Ouve, the first of the four waterways that emptied into it. The paths along which he rode were becoming sandier now, and he did his best to take those that seemed to be bearing towards the sea, often running along natural causeways, with reed beds on either side. Finally he caught sight of the river, which was quite broad, but with a slow-flowing stream that wound its lazy way to the sea. He followed the Ouve downstream as far as he could, until the path ran out and there was nothing for it but to walk Bloodfang into the river, his hooves slipping and sliding in the muddy water. The horse was so tall that they were almost in the middle of the stream before he was out of his depth. Then William turned him to face downstream and let him swim.
Bloodfang was as confident and powerful in water as he was on land, and William grinned as he thought of the pursuers and their dogs coming to that dead end and wondering where he had gone. He could hear the sea now, and then they were round one last bend and he could see the whites of the waves rolling in to the beach. Only now did it occur to him that he and his horse were in very real danger of being carried into those waves by the force of the river, and swept out to sea. With a sudden surge of alarm, he pulled hard on his right rein, trying to turn Bloodfang towards the bank. But there was no clearly defined separation of land and water, for the river seemed to be ending its life in a myriad of channels and rivulets that splintered off the main channel, so that even when he had guided Bloodfang away from the immediate danger, a new one arose. They were no longer going to be lost at sea, but they could yet be trapped in the mud and marsh, for there was nowhere for Bloodfang to get a solid footing as he scrabbled for purchase on the mud and sand beneath his feet.
The water was barely up to the horse’s chest now, so William slipped off his back to lighten the load and dropped into the icy water, gasping at the shock of it against his body. He stumbled for a moment as he too struggled against the current and the treacherous riverbed, then grabbed the rein and led Bloodfang onwards. Up ahead he saw something glinting in the last of the moonlight, for dawn was not far away. He narrowed his eyes as he peered through the reeds and grasses and realised that the light was reflecting off sand. It was a dune: dry land. With renewed energy, he plunged through the marsh, which seemed still and almost completely silent as he and Bloodfang made their splashing, puffing way through it. And then, without warning, that silence was broken by a sudden deafening cacophony of honking, crying and frantic flapping as a flock of geese, disturbed by his presence, burst from the reed beds, crying out in alarm as they erupted into the sky and flew away towards the sea.
Damnation! William cursed beneath his breath. I might as well have shouted, ‘Guy, I’m over here!’ But there were any number of reasons why birds could be frightened into flight. Why should anyone assume that it was him that had spooked them? Calm down! he told himself sternly.
They had reached the dune now. William led Bloodfang up on to it and then down the other side on to the beach and the flat, hard sand by the water’s edge. As he looked to the east, he saw the first hint of grey morning light on the horizon. The sun would be up soon and the same clear skies that had blessed him with moonlight would now expose him to the sun, and illuminate him for all the world to see, for there was no shelter here. Bloodfang was exhausted, but there was no time to rest. William stroked his muzzle and spoke to him again, then swung back up into the saddle and rode him hard along the beach, the horse’s hooves splashing in the incoming waves. They covered almost a league, William guessed, swimming across th
e mouths of two more rivers, smaller ones this time, until they had gone most of the way across the bay. Then he saw a break in the dune, and below it a mass of footprints in the sand. This must be where the locals walked down to the sea, so there was probably a path beyond it, leading inland.
Sure enough, there it was, snaking away along a causeway. William followed it, and soon found himself alongside another river, which he realised must be the Vire, the largest of the Bay of Veys’ four rivers. He had to cross it, but it was wide, and flowing much more quickly than the Ouve, and he hesitated to plunge Bloodfang into the water again. The horse was blowing hard, and even his indefatigable spirit might baulk at another such struggle. Then, up ahead in the dawn light, he spotted the sparkle of shallow water flowing quickly over rocks and stones.
A ford! William thanked God as he turned Bloodfang off the path and down into the shin-high current. He heard a bell ring somewhere close by, and as they came up the far bank, he saw a cluster of buildings around a church. It was a small monastery, and the bell was calling the monks to chapel for matins. For a moment, William was tempted to approach the monastery and ask for bread and water, and feed for his horse. The monks could hardly refuse a hungry, thirsty traveller, particularly if he was their duke. But that would be to expose them to danger, for Guy and his men might come this way, and he did not want to force some elderly abbot of a small and doubtless impoverished house to choose between betraying his duke and endangering his own life and those of his monks. Instead, William dismounted, bent a knee to pray and gave thanks to God for getting him this far, promising that if he were to survive his present danger, he would be sure to make a donation to the monastery. Then he led Bloodfang back to the river and let him drink. Every second they stayed in one place brought their pursuers closer, but the horse needed water and would not be able to keep going without it, so there was no choice but to tarry for a while.
The moment Bloodfang lifted his head and gave a snort of contentment, William was back up in the saddle and leading him onward, ever onward, once again.
‘Damn and blast and fuck that bastard to hell!’ Guy did not so much shout as scream in frustration as he and his men caught up with the hounds milling about in circles at the point where the path reached the Ouve river and stopped dead in its tracks. Behind him his men, too, were shouting and cursing as they crammed together in an ever tighter press of horses and riders and desperately tried to make room for themselves on the narrow causeway.
‘If you ask me, he went in the water,’ said Longtooth Haimo, trying to say something helpful to calm Guy down.
‘No, you don’t say? I’d never have thought of that,’ Guy replied in a voice oozing sarcasm like pus from an infected wound.
‘You don’t have to be like that. I was only trying to help.’
‘If you want to help, tell me where he went after he jumped into the river.’
‘Downstream,’ said Nigel of the Cotentin, who knew the Bay of Veys as he did the whole region, for it was his family’s domain.
‘Why?’ Guy asked, seriously this time.
‘Well for one thing, it’s easier. His horse must have been shattered. Ours certainly are. Would you want to try to get them upstream against the current?’
‘So then what? Did he just sail on out to sea? Where else is there to go from here?’
Nigel puffed out his cheeks. ‘Well, you wouldn’t want to go into those marshes. Not without a guide, that’s for sure.’
‘Not unless you were desperate and convinced you could survive anything, and William is both.’
‘He wouldn’t survive the marsh; there are quicksands all over them. Step in one of them and you don’t step out again. And if you get caught when the tide comes in, that’ll drown you.’
‘Maybe he did go out to sea,’ said Haimo. ‘But not all the way out. Is there a beach?’
‘Sure,’ said Nigel. ‘Stretches right across the bay.’
‘So if he could reach that, he could ride along the sand . . . all the way across the bay.’
‘If he could reach it, yes, but I wouldn’t want to try it.’
‘William would, though,’ said Guy. ‘Well done, Toothy. Maybe you don’t have shit between your ears after all.’
‘Thanks.’ Haimo grinned, revealing the oversized incisors from which he took his name.
‘You’re not suggesting we go in there after him, are you?’ Nigel asked.
‘What, take that lot through a marsh?’ Guy jerked his head towards his milling, swearing soldiers. ‘No. But supposing William did go that way. He’d need to get off the beach somewhere and back on dry land. Where would he end up?’
Nigel thought for a moment. ‘By the ford across the Vire. If he made it off the beach, that’s where he’d go.’
‘And if he didn’t make it off the beach, or even on to the beach in the first place, we don’t need to worry because he’s dead anyway. So . . .’ Guy looked at Nigel. ‘Can you get us to that ford without getting us soaked in the process?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’
5
The village of Ryes, Normandy
Hubert de Ryes was not one of the nobles who had become caught up in the fighting and banditry that raged elsewhere throughout the years of anarchy. He was a vavasour, which was to say a very minor baron, quite content to mind his own business on his estate, which lay to the north-east of Bayeux at the head of an inlet that ran down to the sea. His tenants were farmers and fishermen, so they and he all ate well enough, for even in the years when the harvests were poor, the sea still gave up its bounty. His health was good and he had the ruddy complexion and broad shoulders of a man whose life was spent outdoors and who was not too grand to lend a hand when work needed to be done. He had a wife he loved and three strong, dutiful sons, and if his castle was only constructed of wood, and protected by a wooden palisade rather than high stone walls, that was of no concern to Hubert. He had no enemies on land: the only reason he had any walls at all was to keep out pirates or raiders who might come in from the sea.
On this particular morning, Hubert was standing by the lowered drawbridge across the deep ditch that ran beneath his stockade, chatting to the local priest, whose church stood next to the castle at the heart of the little village of Ryes, when his eye was caught by the sight of a horseman coming up the dirt road towards him. Even at a distance, the man and his mount gave off an almost tangible air of extreme exhaustion. The horse was certainly a mighty specimen, yet it could barely put one hoof in front of another, and its rider was slumped in his high wooden saddle, his head hanging down, with a shock of bright ginger hair falling like a curtain over his eyes, so that Hubert suspected he might actually be asleep.
‘Well there’s a traveller who’s been too long on the road,’ said the priest.
‘Hasn’t he just,’ Hubert agreed. ‘I don’t know who looks in more need, him or his horse.’
The man rode closer. ‘Good day to you, sir!’ Hubert called out. ‘May I offer you some assistance?’
With a supreme effort, as if bearing a huge weight on his shoulders, the rider raised his head and looked towards Hubert and the priest. He said nothing. All he could manage was a feeble grunt before his head flopped forward again.
But that brief glimpse of his face had been enough. A year earlier, Hubert and the priest had both been at a mass at Bayeux Cathedral attended by Duke William and various members of his household. The priest, in fact, had taken part in the service, carrying the communion wine beside the Bishop of Bayeux, Hugo d’Ivry, as he went along the line of communicants. He had thus seen the duke at very close quarters. For his part, Hubert had been like every other member of the congregation, straining his neck to get a good look at his duke as he entered and left the cathedral and observing him as discreetly as he could during the service itself.
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br /> Now the priest looked at Hubert and said, ‘It can’t possibly be him, can it?’
‘If not, he must have a twin.’
‘What do you think we should do?’
‘Help him, of course.’ With that, Hubert stepped forward and took hold of the horse’s bridle, stopping it in its tracks. The poor beast was lathered in sweat, and its bit was almost lost in the crusted white foam around its mouth. Hubert held a hand out towards William. ‘Please, my lord, let me help you down from the saddle.’
The duke’s eyes narrowed, and Hubert saw suspicion and also a trace of fear on his face as he asked, ‘Who are you, sir?’
‘Hubert de Ryes, my lord. But what brings you here like this, all alone?’
Again that look of anxiety crossed William’s face, and Hubert’s heart went out to him. He might be Duke of Normandy, and built like a full-grown man, but he was no older than his own eldest son, and Hubert knew how much uncertainty his boy concealed behind his bullish facade.
‘Can I trust you, Hubert?’ William asked.
‘Of course, my lord. I’m yours to command.’
A bone-weary attempt at a smile pulled feebly at the corners of the duke’s mouth. ‘Thank you, Hubert,’ he said. ‘The truth is, I’m on the run. Some men tried to kill me last night. They’ve been chasing me ever since.’
‘Then come with me, and I will make sure that they do not catch you.’
Hubert led the horse across the drawbridge and past his stockade with William still on it, for he looked too shattered to walk. They came to a halt in the yard before the castle keep, and he did not so much help William from the saddle as catch him when he fell into his outstretched arms.
The Leopards of Normandy: Duke: Leopards of Normandy 2 Page 35