It was growing late in the afternoon when I heard a knock upon the door. Even before I could answer, a man entered.
It wasn’t the priest, for this man was lean and tall – as tall as myself, perhaps, although without being able to stand opposite him it was difficult to tell. His hair, cut short in the French fashion, was a dark grey in colour, his face angular, with thick eyebrows and a scar – albeit one long-healed – down his right cheek. He was dressed in a scarlet tunic, embroidered with golden thread around the neck and cuffs. Silver rings adorned two of the fingers on his left hand. He was evidently a man of some wealth, and I wondered if this were in fact the vicomte himself.
‘Tancred a Dinant,’ he said. His voice was deep but not harsh; nevertheless its tone was that of one used to authority.
‘My lord,’ I answered, and lowered my head. It was the closest to a bow that I could manage while seated.
‘My name is Guillaume Malet. I am sure you will have heard of me.’
I couldn’t tell if that last remark was intended to be ironic or not, but there was no sign of humour in his face.
‘I’m honoured to meet you,’ I said. In my time with Lord Robert I had grown well used to dealing with men of standing. As one of the men closest to the king, he was often required at court, and many were the times that either I or Wace had accompanied him with our conrois to Westmynstre.
‘Similarly,’ Malet said. ‘Your reputation as a man of the sword is well known to me.’
He sat down on one of the stools at my bedside and held out a hand. I clasped it in my own. His grip was firm, and I noticed there were calluses on his palm, which struck me as unusual for a man of his status.
‘I knew Robert de Commines,’ he said as he released his hold. ‘I have been praying a great deal for his soul since I heard the news. His loss will be felt most keenly by all of us. He was a good man – something that seems to be increasingly rare these days.’
I felt moisture forming in the corners of my eyes, but fought it back. ‘Yes, lord.’ I did not know what else to say.
‘As I’m sure my chaplain Ælfwold has said, we have heard all about what happened at Dunholm. To lose so many men in one night is without precedent.’
‘The enemy came upon us by surprise, in such numbers that we had no hope of defending the town.’ Though if we had retreated to the fastness and rallied our forces as I had argued, perhaps we could have prevailed.
‘Nevertheless, there are those who would say that the earl should have been better prepared. That he was over-confident. He gave permission for his army to go raiding the town; he let them get drunk even though he suspected the enemy were still about.’
I hesitated, surprised at how much Malet knew about events. But then he would already have heard from all those who had returned – from Eudo and Wace and other knights besides, from all the noblemen who had served under Lord Robert.
‘Everything he did, he did with the counsel and support of the other lords,’ I said. I knew because I had been there with him in the mead-hall as the discussions had taken place. It was shortly after that meeting that I had been sent out with Eudo and the others to scout the hills.
‘Perhaps,’ Malet said, ‘although with Robert dead it has become highly convenient for them to place all the blame on him.’
I remained silent, as his words worked their way through my mind. There were many among those other lords whom I had disliked, but none I had thought capable of deceit of this kind. It amounted to nothing less than a betrayal of Robert.
‘And then,’ Malet continued, ‘there are others who would question how it came to be that Earl Robert’s two most trusted men managed to survive, when he himself did not.’ He raised an eyebrow.
He was suggesting that Wace and I had deliberately abandoned our lord to save ourselves. I felt a rush of anger such as I had not felt since the battle, but held it back. I couldn’t afford to lose my temper before a man of such influence as the vicomte, especially given the generosity he had shown me by sheltering me in his own house.
‘Do you question it, lord?’ I asked instead, holding his gaze.
The corners of his mouth turned up in a faint smile. ‘Rest assured I do not,’ he said. Then his expression became serious once more, his lips firmly set. ‘Robert trusted few men, but those he did, he always held in high regard. He knew how to win their respect and loyalty, and I have no doubt that you did all you could for him. Nevertheless, there are many who may think otherwise, and who will consider twice before taking you into their employ.’
‘My lord,’ I said. ‘It’s less than a week since his death—’
‘Earl Robert spoke highly of you,’ he cut me off, as if he had not heard me speak. ‘Indeed I have heard much of your prowess, Tancred. I know that you saved his life, and more than once. You gave him your horse at Hæstinges after his was killed beneath him. You were the one who pulled him from the mêlée when he became surrounded.’
Again I was surprised at the extent of Malet’s knowledge. Everything he had said was true: I could see it all in my mind, as clearly as if it had happened only the day before. But none of it changed the fact that, in the end, I had failed in my duty.
‘Why do you mention this, lord?’ I asked, though I sensed that I knew the answer.
‘I have need of good swords, now more than ever,’ the vicomte replied. ‘The enemy have tasted Norman blood; they will soon be wanting more. Dunholm will not be the end of it.’
‘You believe there is more trouble to come in Northumbria?’
Malet studied me for a moment, and then he rose from his stool and made his way to the window. He peered outside; pale sunlight shone upon his face. ‘The Northumbrians are a seditious people,’ he said, ‘proud and disdainful of outsiders. That has ever been the case, and it will not change now. You have seen their savagery with your own eyes.’
‘The enemy have Dunholm,’ I said. ‘How can you be so sure they won’t stop at that?’
He turned back to me, his face in shadow once more. ‘Of course I cannot,’ Malet said. ‘But remember that until now they have known only defeat at our hands. The murder of the earl will have given them confidence such as they have never had. I believe it will not be long before they start to march south.’ He sighed. ‘And you should know that Northumbria is only a part of it.’
‘What do you mean, lord?’
‘Hardly a week goes by without disturbances somewhere in the kingdom. We are constantly hearing tell of Normans being murdered by bands of Englishmen in the shires. On the Welsh borderlands the enemy are becoming bolder, their raids at the same time more penetrative and more destructive. King Guillaume’s forces have never been more thinly spread. And there is worse yet to come.’
‘Lord?’ I asked, frowning.
His eyes were fixed upon me. ‘Invasion.’
‘Invasion?’ It seemed scarcely possible. We ourselves had held England but a couple of years.
‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘It has been known for some time that the Danish king, Sweyn Ulfsson, has laid claim to the English crown, though he has thus far possessed neither the means nor the opportunity to pursue it. However, for some months we have suspected that he has been making plans for the coming summer. This we now know. Already he has begun to gather his ships, and it is believed that by midsummer he will have a fleet to rival our own of two years ago.’
Suddenly I understood Malet’s anxiety. Even if we succeeded in driving off the rebels, there remained still a second enemy, and the Danes were fighters of some renown, feared as much for their barbarity as for their skill at arms. Indeed I remembered it being said that they had conquered this island once before, though it was many years ago now.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ I asked.
‘It is no more than what will soon be commonly known,’ he replied. ‘But now you see why Robert’s death could not have come at a worse time. You understand why I need the services of men such as yourself. For, sooner or later, the enemy will
come, and we must be ready to fight them when they do—’
He was cut off by a sharp knock at the door.
‘One moment,’ Malet told me, as he went to open it.
A boy in a brown tunic stood outside. There was charcoal on his face, his tunic and light hair were unkempt, and I took him for a servant. ‘My lord,’ he said. ‘The castellan Lord Richard is here. He wishes to speak with you as soon as possible.’
‘What does he want?’ Malet asked, and there was a hint of weariness in his tone.
‘He didn’t say, lord. He is waiting for you in your chambers.’
Malet let out a sigh. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Tell him I will be with him shortly.’
The boy gave a cursory bow and hurried away.
‘Forgive me, Tancred,’ Malet said. ‘The castellan is a tiresome man, but if I ignore him, he will only grow more persistent. I trust that you are comfortable here, that you are being brought everything you require.’
‘I am, lord.’
‘Very well.’ He smiled. ‘I do not seek an answer from you now, but I hope that you will consider what I have said over the coming days. No doubt we shall speak again before long.’
He left, and I was alone again. I thought over everything that he had said, about Lord Robert, and about the rebellion that he believed was to come. If it did, then I wanted to be able to fight, even if for nothing else than the opportunity to avenge Robert’s death. Although if Malet spoke truthfully, then there were few lords who would be willing to accept my service.
Few lords except, naturally, for him.
Eight
EUDO AND WACE came to see me the next morning, and never had I been more glad to see them. We did not talk of the battle or of Lord Robert, for there was little more to say, though I could see from the looks in their eyes that it was in their minds as much as it was in mine.
I learnt from them that Rollo had not survived the journey. They had stopped briefly at dusk to let the horses rest, but when they made to leave, he had not got up.
‘The battle must have all but exhausted him,’ Eudo said. ‘When we saw that he wasn’t going to live, we decided it was better to end his suffering ourselves. I’m sorry.’
Perhaps my heart was already so filled with grief that there was no room for any more, but for some reason I felt no sadness, only regret. I had been given Rollo in the weeks after the battle at Hæstinges, at the same time that I was entrusted with a conroi of my own to command. He had been with me almost as long as we had been in England, seen me through two years and more of campaigning. In all my years I had known no better mount than him; strong yet at the same time quick, steady and obedient. And now he too was gone.
I changed the subject. ‘The vicomte came to see me yesterday. His chaplain too, a man named Ælfwold.’
‘The Englishman,’ Eudo said with a look of distaste.
‘You’ve met him, then?’ I asked.
‘He was the one who received us when we brought you in,’ Wace replied. ‘Malet has more than a few Englishmen in his household. He’s half-English himself, you know.’
‘Half-English?’ I said, disbelieving. When I had met him there’d been nothing in his appearance or his speech to suggest that he was anything but Norman.
‘It’s said that his mother was of noble Mercian stock, though no one seems to know for certain,’ Wace said. ‘I gather he doesn’t speak of it much.’
I was not surprised; it was not something that many would readily admit to.
‘His loyalty to the king is not in question, you understand,’ Wace went on. ‘He fought alongside him at Hæstinges, and fought well at that. But his parentage means that he also has the trust of many of the English thegns.’
‘Which is no doubt part of the reason he was made vicomte here,’ I said. Whereas the south of the kingdom was now firmly under the control of Norman lords, much of the north was still in the hands of the same men who had held it under the usurper three years ago. As a result, whoever held Eoferwic needed to be able to treat with them. ‘How do you know so much, in any case?’ I asked.
‘Malet was at the king’s Easter council last year, when I was there with Lord Robert,’ Wace said. ‘All this I learnt from speaking with some of his men.’
However he had obtained it, it was useful knowledge to have, and I was grateful, just as I was for the news that they brought from outside. It seemed that there were rumours of risings in the very south of the kingdom, stories too of certain lords who had fled back to Normandy. Among them were Hugues de Grandmesnil, who had been the vicomte in Wincestre, and his brother by marriage, Hunfrid de Tilleul, the castellan at Hæstinges: some of the most prominent men in that part of England.
‘I didn’t realise there was so much unrest in the south,’ I said. It was only a matter of weeks since we had left Lundene with Lord Robert, and there had been little trouble then. I wondered if these risings were what Malet meant when he had spoken the previous afternoon of bands of Englishmen, of Normans being killed.
‘Even here in Eoferwic there is disquiet,’ Wace said. ‘You can see it in the way the townsmen stare at you when you ride past. They resent us, and they’re no longer afraid to show it.’
‘Only yesterday evening a fight broke out down by the wharves,’ Eudo put in. ‘Some of the castellan’s knights were set upon by a group of Englishmen; I saw it happen from the bridge. It was a complete slaughter. They rode them down, killed half a dozen before the rest ran away.’
For knights to be attacked so openly meant that things were even worse than I had realised. No doubt the townsmen had learnt that a thousand Frenchmen and more had been killed at Dunholm, and now thought that they had less to fear from us. But that could not account for those risings in the south, for it was still only a week since the battle – too soon for them to have heard, and for us to have heard back. News often travelled quickly, but not that quickly.
‘What will you do now?’ I asked them. ‘Now that Lord Robert’s dead, I mean.’
They glanced at each other, and I sensed that they had not given it much consideration. Of course had Robert had a son through lawful union, I would not have needed ask the question, for then we would simply have returned to Commines and sworn our swords to him. But he had fathered only bastards, and though that in itself did not mean they couldn’t inherit, none of them were of an age to take control of his manors, which would now revert to King Guillaume.
‘Probably we’ll try to find a new lord here,’ Wace said. ‘Otherwise we’ll return to Lundene, maybe from there even go back to Normandy.’
‘At any rate,’ Eudo said, ‘we won’t do anything until your leg is healed and you’re well once more.’
I wondered whether I should mention the offer the vicomte had made of taking me into his service, but decided against it. Though he had been generous with his praise, I was not sure that I wanted to remain in Northumbria, given what had happened in recent days. And I did not know if his offer would extend to my comrades as well – certainly he had not mentioned them when he had spoken to me. I would be reluctant to part with them, whom I had known for so long.
‘You know that I’m in your debt,’ I said. ‘If it hadn’t been for you …’
I did not finish the thought, for in truth I didn’t like to think what might have happened. Almost certainly I would not be alive to speak to them now.
‘We only did what we had to do,’ Eudo said. ‘We could hardly have left you there.’
‘Even so,’ I said, ‘I owe you my thanks.’
Wace put a hand on my shoulder. ‘We’re at the alehouse at the top of the street the townsmen call the Kopparigat. Come and find us once your leg is healed.’
‘Once the priest lets you out,’ Eudo added, with a grin.
They left after that, though I was not alone for long, as soon Ælfwold came to see me, this time with a fresh poultice to place over my calf. He was pleased, for the irons had worked even better than he had hoped: the cut had closed up complete
ly and there was no sign of any pus. I would forever bear the scar, he told me, but that could not be helped. It would only add to those I already had from battles past: upon my arm, down my side, across my shoulder-blade, although admittedly none of those were as severe as this one.
Later that same day I was visited by a monk. The hair around his tonsure was short and grey, his habit dirtied with mud, and he smelt of cattle dung. He brought with him a glass jar, which he handed to me without a word. I asked him what it was for, but he stared blankly back at me; clearly he did not speak French. But if nothing else he must have understood my puzzlement, for he held one hand down in front of his crotch, extending his forefinger, while with the other he pointed to the jar I was holding.
I tried to sit up, realising what he meant for me to do. My head was still heavy and my limbs weak from the fever, but the monk made no attempt to help me, instead merely gazing out of the window. At last I managed to perch on the edge of the bed, and with my back to the monk, I filled the jar.
He took it once I’d finished, lifting the golden liquid to the light and swirling it about, muttering some words that I did not understand as he examined it. He sniffed at the jar in disdain, and then put the rim to his mouth. I watched in disgust as he sipped at it, and he must have seen my expression for he gave me a quizzical look before walking out, nodding thoughtfully, still muttering to himself.
When the chaplain came to see me that evening, I asked him what the monk had been looking for.
‘If the urine is dark and cloudy,’ Ælfwold explained, ‘it shows that there is more healing work to be done. But if it appears pale and clear, does not smell stale, and most importantly is sweet upon the tongue, it is a positive sign of good health. Is this not common wisdom where you are from?’
Perhaps it was, though I did not know it. It was not something the infirmarian had ever taught me at the monastery, and, to tell the truth, I was glad for it. But Ælfwold wouldn’t allow me to venture out until the monk was satisfied that my waters were sufficiently clear, and so for the next few days I was kept confined to my chamber.
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