Sleep did not come easily that night, and when it did come it was broken by swirling, confused dreams, in which I found myself travelling through places both familiar and strange, from Commines in distant Flanders to the fastness on the promontory at Dunholm, where my first lord had met his end, across barren wildernesses, through forests so dense that the sun’s light could not penetrate them, on high mountain paths and ancient roads that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. Everywhere I saw the faces of sword-brothers long dead, whose names I couldn’t remember, but who at one time had been good friends of mine. By the roadside stood men unknown to me, with scarred cheeks, broken noses and blood-encrusted hollows where their eyes had once been. They shouted at me, accusing me of being the one who had sent them to their graves, and tried to crowd around me, to drag me from my horse. Wildly I struck out with my blade, hoping to dispatch them back to the earth where they belonged, but the moment its edge found flesh they began to flee, running faster than I could pursue them, in every direction, through twisting alleyways and streets thick with mud, between collapsing houses and writhing towers of flame. And then I heard a woman’s voice calling my name.
Oswynn.
I glanced about, searching for her face, but could not find her whichever direction I looked in. And then I turned once more and saw his face. The face of the man I had been seeking: the Danish jarl, Haakon Thorolfsson, with his wiry, greying hair trailing down his back, riding a white horse whose eyes burnt bright orange and whose nostrils spouted clouds of smoke, like the dragon that decorated his banner.
He saw me then, but no words came from his lips. Instead he began to laugh: a great thunderous sound that seemed to echo through the very ground and which caused flaming brands to topple from the nearest building, showering me with sparks, blinding me with their light, and my cloak and tunic and hair were suddenly ablaze, and my mount was rearing up and I was thrashing around, trying at one and the same time to tear the clothes from my back and to put out the flames before they consumed me too—
And that was when I awoke, breathless, my brow running with sweat, the linen bedsheets and woollen blanket that covered them wound about me, the chamber spinning. I blinked, trying to clear the image of the blaze from my mind. The hall was dark, although I could see a glimmer of grey light breaking in through the crack under the door, while from outside came the chirruping of thrushes, heralding the dawn.
A few strands of straw from the mattress had become stuck to my tunic, and I brushed them off as I rose and made my way towards the door, stepping lightly between the sleeping forms of the rest of my party, trying not to rouse them.
Out in the yard all was quiet save for a few chickens scratching at the dirt, but I noticed that the door to the stables lay open, which suggested Ædda was already about. I had seen him the previous night, although the last light was fast fading when he returned, having spent the day taking one of the palfreys to be reshod, which meant a journey of ten miles each way to the nearest manor with a farrier. One of my closest friends among the English, he was a quiet man, who kept largely to his own company, and I was pleased to see he hadn’t changed since I’d last seen him, except in one respect.
‘I have a wife, lord,’ he’d said.
‘A wife?’ I asked, overjoyed though at the same time more than a little surprised. We’d been gone a matter of months, after all. ‘Who is she? When did this happen?’
‘I first met her at the market in Leomynstre, about a week after you left for the Fens. Sannan, her name is. A tanner’s daughter, and a widow at twenty-three.’
‘Twenty-three?’ I repeated.
He gave a boyish grin, and there was a glint in his one remaining eye, which was a rare thing from someone who was usually so sombre. Ædda had long ago lost count of how many summers he had seen, although to judge by his weathered appearance I reckoned he was probably a good ten years older than myself.
‘She met my eye, and I met hers, and for both of us it was love in that moment,’ he said. ‘I’ve never known a creature so beautiful. I saw her again the next week and the one after that, and then the one after that I went to her father with the bride-price and we were wed two days later.’
I was glad for him. Men, women and children alike often feared him on account of his disfigured face, partly the result of an enemy spear that had put out one of his eyes as a youth, leaving only an ugly black scar, and partly due to the burns he’d received in an incident he’d never wished to discuss, which had left the skin across one cheek white and raw and painful to look at, though undoubtedly not as painful as it was to bear. Ædda Aneage, he was sometimes called, which meant Ædda the One-eyed, though people were careful not to speak that byname in his presence lest he became roused to anger. He was, at heart, a gentle soul, as any who knew him well would confirm, and it pleased me that he had found someone who could see past his appearance to the person within.
‘Do you want to meet her, lord?’ he asked. ‘Her mother was Welsh, but her father is English, and she speaks both tongues. She’ll be glad to meet you at last. I’ve told her all about you.’
He’d led me to his small cottage next to the sheepfolds, where Sannan was building up the fire with twigs and broken branches gathered from the woods. Truly Ædda had been blessed, for she was a fine girl, red-haired and slender, who blushed as she smiled and who was at every moment attentive to her man. Though it does me ill to admit it, I was a little jealous of him. They invited me to stay and sup with them, there being just enough food to make a meal for three, and I accepted. We filled our bellies with boiled mutton, beans and fresh-baked bread, and though the fare was simple, I was content to be there and to enjoy their company.
All this I would miss.
Now, though it was barely first light, the stableman was already at work, placing feedbags on the doors to each of the stalls.
‘Lord,’ he said with some surprise when he saw me. ‘You’re risen early.’
‘For the first time in weeks I find myself with a comfortable mattress to lie down on and I can’t even sleep the whole night through,’ I said ruefully.
Ædda did not join me in a smile. The mischievousness he’d shown yesterday was gone, and his usual sombreness had returned. Last night it had been possible to pretend that all was well, but now the day had come when I would leave Earnford behind, and we both knew it.
‘I took a stone from the hind hoof of the girl’s palfrey,’ he said. ‘He’ll need to rest that foot for a day or two, but she can take one of the others.’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t mean to pry but I was wondering, lord. That girl, Eithne. Is she your—?’
‘No,’ I said, laughing, before he could finish that thought. ‘Too quarrelsome for my liking. But she’s going to help me find the one who is.’
He nodded. ‘The rest of the horses are groomed and fed. They’ll carry you as far as you need to go to.’
‘I’m going to leave Fyrheard,’ I said. ‘I don’t know if I can take him where we’re going, and I couldn’t bear to sell him to another master. But I don’t want whoever happens to be lord here after me to have him either.’
‘I’ll see that he’s well taken care of, lord, and the other destriers too. I have a friend at Clune who owes me a favour. He’ll gladly keep them for you, make sure they’re well exercised and given the finest grazing, at least until you return. I’ll make sure to visit them when I can, too.’
I gave him my thanks. The Englishman went to fetch a bundle of hay from the lean-to that served as a storehouse.
‘Has there been any sign of the Welsh while we’ve been away?’ I asked when he came back.
‘None. It’s been quiet. There was only one raid, if you could call it that. Two lads tried to steal a pig from the pens the night of the feast of St Oda, but the animal squealed and woke half the manor. Galfrid caught them, but they were so young that he took pity on them and sent them away.’
I didn’t bother asking when St Oda’s feast was. The English had so many sa
ints, some of them barely known outside of the shire they hailed from, that it was a wonder they could remember even half of them.
At least there hadn’t been any further attacks, and that was some relief. Probably the Welsh were still licking their wounds after their defeat at King Guillaume’s hands last autumn, which had sent them fleeing back to the hovels that passed for halls in their land.
‘Has there been any news of Bleddyn?’
The King of Gwynedd and Powys, Bleddyn had held me captive for several weeks last year, and even tried to sell me to some of the English rebels. His was yet another name on the list of men who had wronged me, and whom I’d sworn to kill, although as yet I hadn’t succeeded in delivering on any of those promises.
‘Nothing,’ said Ædda. ‘As I said, it’s been quiet.’
‘With any luck things will stay that way a while longer.’
‘I hope so, lord.’
We embraced. ‘I wish you well,’ I said. ‘Both you and Sannan.’
‘And the same to you, lord. God willing, we’ll see you again before long.’
‘You will,’ I said. ‘I know it.’
And I wished I believed it.
One final thing remained for me to do before we left. As the first of the sun’s rays gleamed through the woods to the east, I ventured down towards the half-built church. In its yard, amidst the fallen leaves, I found what I had come for. There was no stone cross, no grave-marker to show it, but I knew by the way the ground rose and dipped and the way that the grass grew thickly that this was the place.
Kneeling down on the dewy ground, I closed my eyes, bringing back to mind Leofrun’s face and all the happy times we had enjoyed together. It was probably true that I had never cared for her quite as deeply as she cared for me, although whether she ever realised that, I wasn’t sure. I had known few women as warm in heart or as generous in spirit as she. Now I was leaving Earnford behind to go in search of another. I only hoped that, if we met again in the heavenly kingdom, she would understand. After giving a prayer for the safekeeping of her soul and that of Baderon, our son – the son I’d never known, who had died almost before he had lived, and was buried beside her – I breathed a long sigh, reluctantly raised myself and made back in the direction of the hall. Day was upon us and we couldn’t tarry here any longer.
We set off not long after that, as soon as the horses were ready and our saddle-packs had been crammed with provisions for the days ahead. In a chest hidden in the hollow space beneath the timber floor of my new hall were six leather corselets, one reinforced with iron studs, that I’d taken from a Welsh chief and members of his household guard during one of our raids across the dyke a few months earlier. They were made for shoulders broader than my own, but they were in good condition and so we took them with us, thinking that if nothing else we might be able to sell them. There were also several knives and a rusted seax that I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d kept. We took the best of the weapons, since one never knew when a blade might shear. It would be useful to have spares, and so we buckled the sheaths upon our waists. I even gave one of the knives to Eithne, hoping that didn’t prove to be a mistake and that I didn’t end up with the blade buried in my back the next time I let my guard slip. That didn’t seem likely; the longer she spent in our company, the more comfortable she seemed to grow. This was my way of repaying her trust.
Lastly, buried at the very bottom of the chest, there was a small pouch of coins that I’d forgotten about. There wasn’t much there, but I knew that every slightest shaving of silver would prove useful in the days and weeks and months ahead, or however long it would take me to find this Haakon, and to be reunited with Oswynn, and so I took it too, hanging it by a leather cord around my neck, under my tunic. To that meagre hoard Galfrid offered me a purse containing gold and a few precious stones that had come from selling fleeces and fish to traders at market over the past few months.
‘I only wish there was more,’ he said as he bade me take it.
‘I can’t accept this,’ I said. ‘What if the winter is harsh, like last year? What if the harvest isn’t enough, and you need to buy more grain?’
‘We have all that we need. That’s what’s left. Your entitlement as lord.’
‘And I want you to take this, too,’ said Father Erchembald, who along with Ædda had also risen early to bid us farewell. He unfastened a silver chain from around his neck, from which hung a gold-worked and garnet-studded cross.
‘Father—’
He took my hand, pressed the cross into my palm and closed my fingers around it. ‘You have been a good lord to us, and a good friend too. A better defender of this manor and these people I could not have asked for. This is the smallest token of my gratitude. God be with you always, Tancred. I only pray that you will be safe on your travels, wherever they take you.’
‘I will,’ I assured him. ‘I promise. As long as we have our swords by our sides, no harm will come to us.’
I tried to sound confident, but the truth was that the thought of venturing beyond the sea to lands unknown filled me with not a little trepidation. Some of that uncertainty must have been betrayed in my manner, for the priest gave me a look that suggested he didn’t entirely believe me.
‘I hope that you’re right,’ he said. ‘But, please, take care all the same.’
They had been steadfast allies through all the recent tumults, and a part of me wished they could come with me, but I knew very well that they couldn’t. Their place was here, at Earnford. Asking them to follow me into exile as outlaws was something I could never ask them to do. Besides, they had already given me so much: more, indeed, than Robert had in the past year, in spite of all his promises. Merely by harbouring me they were making themselves complicit in my crimes and thus putting themselves in danger. Words could not express my gratitude.
Having made our farewells, armed ourselves, gathered what other provisions we might need for the days ahead, saddled the palfreys and the rounceys that would carry our packs, and been offered trinkets and various good luck charms by the alewives and their menfolk, at last we set out along the winding tracks, leaving Earnford behind us for what, for all I knew, could be for ever. In time, perhaps, the rift between Robert and myself would be healed and I would find myself back here once again. But despite my best attempts to convince myself otherwise, I couldn’t shake the feeling deep inside that I would never again so much as look out over that valley, or tread its soil.
I’d reasoned that anyone pursuing us would be coming on Earl Roger’s orders from Scrobbesburh to the north, and so with that in mind we struck out in the other direction, making first for Hereford, where we were given directions to Glowecestre, the town on the Saverna in which the king had celebrated Christmas and held his court a couple of years previously. There we sold our horses, and managed to secure a good price for them, too, though not without some negotiation on my part, before buying passage on a wide-bellied Norman trader, which was bound for Cadum, where its captain planned to sell fleeces in exchange for stone for building. He wasn’t planning to make port elsewhere, but at the sight of our silver quickly changed his mind, agreeing to take us to Brycgstowe, where I reckoned we were more likely to find a ship that would take us where we wanted to go.
News had only just reached those towns of the king’s victory over the rebels, and so I doubted we would find any trouble there, but even so I was wary of attracting too much attention to ourselves. Thus we took care to disguise our appearance as far as possible, carrying rough staves hewn from fallen branches and smearing our faces and covering our cloaks and trews with dust and mud, while those of us who had beards allowed them to grow. That way, if we did by some coincidence cross paths with anyone who might otherwise have recognised the faces of Tancred the Breton and his companions, they would see instead only five dishevelled, road-worn travellers. Or so, at least, I hoped. Thankfully no one challenged us during the five days it took us to reach Brycgstowe, by which time I reckoned we were probably safe.
The city was a busy port, and wealthy too, second in all of England probably only to Lundene: a place where merchants from all corners of Christendom and beyond came to sell their wares, where slavers sometimes held their markets, where wealthy pilgrims sought passage to holy places in far-off lands, all of them accompanied by bands of men for protection, so that a group of armed travellers such as us was far from unusual.
We jostled our way along the quayside, past snorting oxen laden with packs and horses pulling carts, around groups of dockhands vying for the attention of captains, who wanted only the strongest lads to help them unload their cargo. I tried asking some of them where I might find a ship bound for Dyflin, but failed to get much of an answer from them, until one of the younger ones pointed a short way downriver to where a broad-beamed ship some twenty benches or so long had been drawn up above the tideline on the mudflats to the west of the city’s ramparts.
‘That’s Hrithdyr,’ he said. ‘Her master is a Dane, from Haltland or Orkaneya or somewhere like that. I don’t know his name but I’ve heard from some of the others who’ve worked her that this is his last voyage before winter, that he’ll be sailing back north before long. If you’re wanting passage across the sea to Yrland, he’s the one to ask.’
‘Are there any others?’
‘Not so far as I know, lord. One sailed that way two days ago, and there might be another in a week’s time.’
That was useful knowledge to have, for it gave me some idea of the position I’d be bargaining from. I thanked him and signalled to the others to follow me.
‘You won’t find him there,’ he called as we were about to walk away.
I stopped and turned. ‘Where, then?’
He gave a shrug, but I saw in his eyes that he knew. The lad wasn’t stupid. He’d realised that if we had money for passage across the sea, then we must have coin enough to spare a penny or two for his help.
I drew one from my purse and held it up. His eyes gleamed and he reached for it, but I closed my fist and snatched it away before he got so much as a fingertip to it.
Conquest 03 - Knights of the Hawk Page 29