‘How should I know, lord?’ Godric said, a note of despair in his voice. ‘I haven’t counted them myself.’
From another man’s lips that might have sounded insolent, but it was the fact that he spoke with such sincerity that made me laugh. Straightaway I tried to stifle it. The noise that came out was somewhere between a cough and a choke. The king glared at me, and I glimpsed the fire that lay behind his cold demeanour.
‘Has your uncle not spoken to you of such things?’ Atselin suggested. ‘Perhaps you can recall something of what he might have mentioned about their numbers and disposition.’
‘He tells me little,’ Godric answered. There was a look in his eyes that might have been anger or hurt, and perhaps it was a mixture of the two. ‘He says I am still young, that he values my loyalty but I am not a warrior yet, that I should worry about honing my sword-skills first before troubling myself with such details. I had to beg to be allowed to lead the scouting-band last night.’ He shook his head and sniffed. ‘I failed even at that.’
Atselin narrowed his eyes. ‘How old are you?’
‘Fifteen summers this year.’
He was barely out of boyhood. Were he not my enemy I might have felt sorry for him. Eager to impress and to win respect, he was nonetheless a long way from fulfilling his ambitions. Doubtless I’d been much the same at his age, although he held one advantage over me, for he was only too aware of his shortcomings, whereas I had never been able to see them. That youthful arrogance had nearly proven my undoing on more occasions than one.
The king, however, was unmoved. ‘Tell us something you do know.’
After swallowing to clear his throat, Godric began to speak of the enemy’s defences, while Atselin scrawled upon his tablet, although in truth we learnt little that was new. Once in a while the king would interrupt to press the Englishman further, but otherwise he seemed content to let him talk. And so we learnt that nothing resembling a castle had yet been erected – not that we had expected any among the English to have the expertise to do so – but that Morcar and the other leading thegns had thrown up all manner of walls and earthen banks around the monastery, dug ditches and arrayed sharpened stakes in them to deter against attack, and behind those defences they waited for us to come to them. They had food enough to last until winter and even beyond, Godric assured us, although how he could possibly say that when he had no real notion of how many mouths they had to feed, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps that fact had come from his uncle, since it didn’t sound like the kind of judgement he was likely to have made on his own. Indeed he seemed almost as ignorant as the eel-catchers and other marsh folk, upon whose sparse knowledge and occasional observations of the enemy positions we had thus far come to rely.
Still, everything he told us confirmed our worry, which was that the rebels were secure in their fastness and unlikely to be prised from it in the foreseeable future. Indeed, if their defences were as formidable as young Godric made them sound, we had only one choice: to lay siege to that stronghold, bombard them with our mangonels and try to starve them into submission, but that might take months: months that we didn’t have, and I suspected the king was coming to the same realisation. He paced in front of us, every once in a while tapping a finger against his chin as if in thought, no doubt wondering, as I was, what we should do with the Englishman now, and whether he might make a reliable guide through the marsh-passages that led to the Isle. I could not speak for the king, but certainly I wouldn’t want to entrust my life to him.
Godric went on to describe the rich halls of the monastery at Elyg, which the abbot and monks had surrendered to Hereward and Morcar to use for their councils of war and as private chambers for themselves and their households. Had he any sense, he would have shut his mouth before going on any further, but desperation was loosening his tongue, and he could not stop himself. Oblivious to the king’s darkening expression, he told of the lavish feast his uncle had held there three nights before, of the various dishes of hare and boar that had been laid out, of the wine, ale and mead that had flowed and how men had fallen about insensible with drink, of how a poet had sung of the great victory that would soon be theirs.
‘I have heard enough,’ the king said eventually, cutting Godric off as he was telling of his uncle’s great hoard of gold, and the largesse he had bestowed upon the abbot of Elyg in gratitude for his generosity. ‘Unless you have anything worthwhile to offer, I have no more time for you.’
He signalled to two of his scarlet-clad knights, who stepped forward from the shadows where they had been waiting, took hold of the Englishman’s shoulders in spite of his protests and hauled him to his feet.
‘Take him outside and kill him,’ the king said. ‘Then hang his corpse somewhere by the marsh’s edge where his countrymen might come across him. He will serve as an example.’
Godric tried to struggle, but his arms were pinned. ‘No, lord!’
‘You are of no use to us, and I have wasted my breath speaking to you. I do not wish to look upon your loathsome face any longer.’
‘Wait,’ I said, as the king’s knights dragged him towards the entrance. They stopped, glancing first at me, and then at the king. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Robert cast a warning glare my way, but I was not to be discouraged.
I could have held my tongue and left the Englishman to his fate without risking incurring King Guillaume’s wrath, but an idea was beginning to stir within my mind: an idea that just might help bring a swift end to this war. In all the weeks we’d been fighting, the rebels had never once sent us an envoy, nor us them, since showing one’s enemy that you were willing to talk was often taken as a sign of weakness, and neither side wished to admit to that. In Godric, however, I realised we had been gifted an opportunity, and one that we had to take.
The king rounded upon me. ‘What is it?’
‘My lord king,’ I said. ‘If I may speak, I have a suggestion to make.’
He stared long and hard at me, then at Eudo and Wace, who were standing beside me. ‘I recognise you,’ he said. ‘Your faces are familiar, though I cannot say from where. Our paths have crossed before, haven’t they?’
They had, though I hadn’t expected him to remember. It had been the briefest of encounters, and more than two years ago besides.
‘They were among the men who opened the city gates to your army on the night of the battle at Eoferwic,’ Robert said. ‘It was Tancred who led the charge on to the bridge, who faced Eadgar Ætheling in single combat and almost killed him.’
The account as he gave it was more or less true, although others had embellished those feats in their retellings of the battle. Robert, Wace and Eudo all knew well that if anyone had nearly met his death that day, it was I and not Eadgar, but I had rarely admitted this to anyone else, and thought it wise not to say anything now.
‘Of course,’ the king said, studying me with narrowed eyes. ‘Tancred of Earnford. The Breton. I’ve heard tell of your exploits.’
I did my best not to flinch beneath his gaze, and to quell my anger at the note of scorn in his voice. ‘Only good things, I trust, lord king,’ I replied as evenly as I could.
He ignored that remark. ‘Should I understand that you three are responsible for capturing the Englishman?’
‘There were others as well, lord, but yes, it was we who led the expedition,’ I said.
The king nodded as if in contemplation. ‘Very well, Breton. What is this suggestion of yours?’
I swallowed to moisten my throat. ‘I was thinking, lord, that we should send Godric back to Elyg.’
There was silence for a moment, in which only the sound of the rain and the geese in their pen outside could be heard. The king’s eyes narrowed but he did not speak.
‘Send him back?’ Eudo asked. ‘After all this, you would let him go?’
‘Think for a moment,’ I said. ‘Why does Morcar persist in stirring up trouble? Why does he ally himself to filth-ridden wretches like Hereward? What is he looking to gain?’
‘I – I don’t know,’ he mumbled, his voice quiet.
‘I think you do,’ I said. ‘You might be a poor excuse for a warrior but you know him well enough. If Morcar truly wanted to drive us from these shores, his best opportunity was to raise his banner in support of Eadgar Ætheling last year, but he didn’t. He doesn’t care whether an Englishman or a Frenchman wears the crown, so long as he profits. Am I right?’
Godric did not reply, but his silence told me all that I needed to know.
‘I think I understand what Morcar has in mind,’ I went on. ‘As much as he might act the war leader, the truth is that he is barely more experienced a fighter than his nephew. Remember that in two months not once has he dared meet us in open battle or so much as send a single raiding-band against our camp.’
Wace shrugged. ‘He is a coward. What other explanation is there?’
‘Maybe he is, but that doesn’t mean he is stupid. I’d wager he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s content to let others harry us and wreak destruction, while he shuts himself up inside the rebels’ fastness at Elyg and, week by week, wears us down. Hereward and his band might have made it their cause to shed Norman blood until the marshes run red, but for Morcar this rebellion is merely a way of furthering his own ambitions. He doesn’t want to dirty his hands if he can help it. In the end he’s not looking to fight us, but to bargain.’
All eyes turned to the king, who was looking into the hearth, his hands clasped together and his forefingers steepled in front of his pursed lips. The fire-glow reflected in the whites of his eyes.
‘If you’re right, that means that he can be bought,’ he murmured.
I nodded. ‘Every man has his price. But the longer this campaign continues and the more desperate we grow, the greater the advantage he and the rebels hold, and so the greater their demands will be if we find ourselves forced to sue for peace.’
I said if, but truthfully I knew that it was a matter of when. As I’d said to Robert yesterday, we could not keep fighting this war for ever.
‘You would try to come to an arrangement with Morcar,’ said the king. ‘You would pay a small price to him now, to avoid having to pay a larger one later. Is that it?’
‘That is it, lord king.’
‘You have no confidence, then, in our prospects of taking Elyg by force?’
‘I don’t doubt that it can be done,’ I lied, having to choose my words with care. ‘But it will be costly, and will mean the deaths of many hundreds if not thousands of our own men. Whether victory is worth that cost is not for me to say.’
The king turned to Godric. ‘For the right price, can your uncle be persuaded to renew his oath to me and abandon the rest of the rebels?’
‘I don’t know,’ the Englishman answered. ‘It is possible, I suppose. There has never has been any friendship between him and Hereward. They hate one another, and there are often fights between their followers.’
That was news to my ear. We’d long known that the rebels were an unruly and disparate lot, but that their disagreements were spilling over into open violence surprised me. I was about to press him further, but the king spoke before I could open my mouth.
‘You know Morcar better than most. What does he want? Does he wish me to furnish him with chests filled with silver and precious stones? Or does he want ships to take him far across the sea so that he may never trouble these shores again?’
‘His earldom,’ Robert put in: the first he had spoken in a long while. ‘He seeks the restitution of his old province of Northumbria, as it was granted to him by your predecessor, King Eadward.’ He glanced at our prisoner. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘It is all he has ever wanted, lords,’ Godric said. ‘He wishes for his rank, title and landholdings to be returned, and for his honour to be restored.’
The earldom of Northumbria. It had once belonged to my former lord, Robert de Commines, until he was murdered that night at Dunholm. Now it was held by the corpulent and grasping Gospatric, an Englishman who hailed from one of the ancient northern families and who commanded a great deal of influence in those parts. His loyalty to us had always been vacillating at best, and openly treacherous on occasion, and all he seemed to care about was adding to his already considerable treasure hoard and acquiring ever more slave-girls to help warm his bed. I knew the king had long been looking for someone to install in his place, although no Norman wanted to venture into that cold, wet province and risk meeting their end at the hands of the wild men who lived there.
‘Northumbria,’ the king said mockingly. ‘What would he want with such a miserable corner of land? Has he not heard what happened last winter?’
‘He has,’ Godric said. ‘But he believes he would be a better man to govern it than Gospatric.’
Despite the ruin the king had wrought there, he hadn’t managed to lay waste the entire province, and I imagined there were parts that had escaped the slaughter and the flames, where a man could easily prosper. Whether Morcar would prove any more dependable than Gospatric, or whether he could subdue the seditious folk who lived there any more successfully, remained doubtful, but none of that mattered at the present moment.
Atselin cleared his throat as if he wished to say something, but promptly fell quiet when the king held up a hand in warning. A stillness hung in the air. I hardly dared move, or even swallow to moisten my throat. Not until the king spoke.
After what seemed like an eternity, he told Godric, ‘If that is what your uncle wishes, I will give it to him gladly. You may go back and tell him that.’ He turned to Atselin. ‘Draw up a writ immediately confirming Morcar as earl as proof of my word. I will put my seal to it.’
The monk blinked in surprise. ‘Are you …’ he began, but then faltered, his brow furrowing. ‘My lord, are you certain of this?’
‘Do you question my judgement, Atselin?’
‘No, lord, but—’
‘Then simply see that it is done.’
The monk bowed. ‘Of course, my king.’
‘Now, in return for this generous gift, Godric of Corbei, your uncle must be willing to renounce whatever oaths he may have sworn to his countrymen, and to swear allegiance to me, and me alone.’
‘I will tell him.’
‘Good.’ The king smiled. ‘If your uncle agrees to these terms, he must send word within three days. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, lord.’
He turned to me. ‘You, Breton, are responsible for escorting our friend back to the place where you captured him, or as close as you can manage if the enemy are afield. There you will let him go, and he will make his own way back to Elyg.’
‘When would you have us do this?’ I asked.
‘Tonight, under the cover of darkness. The sooner he is reunited with his countrymen, the less reason they’ll have to be suspicious. He has been gone long enough as it is. I will send further instructions this afternoon, along with the writ for him to deliver.’ He pointed a thick finger at Robert. ‘I entrust the Englishman to your care until then. He is your responsibility. If anything should happen to him, you will be answerable to me. You will receive your reward for his capture only if he returns, and does so in possession of favourable news from his uncle.’
‘Yes, lord king,’ Robert replied, more than a little stiffly, but if King Guillaume noticed then he said nothing of it.
‘Make sure that you remain true to your word, Englishman,’ he said as he gestured for his knights to unhand Godric. ‘Consider yourself fortunate and remember that I have been generous on this occasion, but remember, too, that even my generosity is not without limit. Should you cross me and find yourself at my mercy again, I will take great pleasure in seeing that your death is both slow and terrible.’
He did not wait for Godric to reply, but stalked out of the ha
ll, closely followed by his two guardsmen, their scarlet cloaks swirling behind them. Atselin paused long enough to fix me with his customary hard stare, but then he too was gone, leaving us alone with the Englishman. A part of me wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, although I knew that our work was barely begun.
For in a few hours we would send the boy to ply his uncle with promises of rich reward. In his hands rested our fates.
Seven
FOR THE SECOND time in as many nights, then, we found ourselves out on the fens, making our way through the maze of rivers and channels that made up the marsh country. After our ambush the night before, I expected the rebels to be more wary. Indeed had I been commanding them, I’d have made sure to set more sentries on duty, and sent more and larger scouting-parties out to roam the surrounding fens and keep a keen eye out for any signs of trouble. With that in mind, I dared not approach the Isle so closely this time around.
The mist hung a little more thickly over the water that night, with any luck veiling us from sight from the riverbanks, but it meant that once again we were relying on Baudri to steer us through the mist, to find the right channels and show us the way. We were all still bone-tired from the previous night’s foray, and even though it had been my idea to send Godric back as errand-boy to Elyg, another expedition into the marshes was the last thing I had wanted. I’d tried to rest for a few hours that afternoon, but the day had been sweltering and I hadn’t been able to settle for all the noise outside the thin walls of Robert’s hall.
‘He should be here,’ I muttered, and it was only after I’d said it that I realised I’d spoken aloud.
‘Who?’ asked Wace, who was sitting next to me.
‘Lord Robert,’ I said. ‘Godric is his responsibility as much as ours, and yet here we are, risking our skins once again for his sake.’
‘His father is sick,’ Eudo said. ‘Who knows how much longer he’ll live?’
Conquest 03 - Knights of the Hawk Page 11