Laeghaire stood up. He took the man by the heels and dragged him out into the moonlight. It was the big dark man. He was still breathing. Laeghaire thought of killing him. He remembered Jehan and decided against it. He went back to where the brush was trampled down and found his dagger, covered with blood. He put it in the sheath, picked up his saddle, and went on down to the tent.
Hilde was asleep. Laeghaire washed his hands and face in the bucket of water. The water turned filmy. His hands were all scratches. His eye hurt. He lay down by Hilde and slept.
He leaped out of sleep and snatched up his sword. He heard Hilde’s soft cry. Guy’s voice said, “It’s me. Calm yourself.”
“You should know better.” Laeghaire took him by the arm and pushed him out of the tent. He went back and dressed, all but his mail and boots.
“Come back soon,” Hilde said. “I’m frightened.”
It was bad to wake in the night. He followed Guy. The knights were almost all sleeping. He heard their unguarded snoring… French knights who snored like that, knights never gone wandering. Guy moved before him and Laeghaire stopped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I forgot.”
“Go get a torch.”
Guy, who ran the fields at night, met his spies at night, who hated sunlight, who slept all the day through like a thief in the ditch by the road.
The torch threw light over him. Guy swore. “What happened to you?”
Laeghaire put a hand to his face. It hurt; it was swollen in places.
“Nothing.”
“He sent me to tell you that he will be here tomorrow.”
“Well, the wind’s bad.”
“It will change when he gets here.”
Laeghaire kicked up a little ridge of sand. The wind knocked off its top and rolled the sand grains down like boulders on the slopes.
“Your woman,” Guy said. “She’s Flemish.”
“German.” He wondered how much of her Guy had seen in the dim tent.
“And speaks no French.”
“No.”
“She must be lonely.”
“I suppose she is.”
They sat down. It was very dark outside the torchlight. The surf whispered, down on the beach.
“You fool, to bring her here.”
“She wanted to come. Anyway, she’s with me. I speak French.”
“You’re a fool anyway.”
Laeghaire shrugged. “Any news of the Norwegians?”
“No. You?”
“Sighted off Skye a while ago.”
“What’s Skye?”
“One of those islands up there. Up at the north end of the Irish Sea. You know.”
“Did you know Tosti?”
“Yes.”
“He was here a while. The lord gave him money. The lord thinks he went to Norway.”
“He hates his brother.”
“Yes.”
“What did he do with the money?”
Guy scratched his head. His long hair hung over his eyes. “He attacked that island, the big one, just off the south coast in the—”
“Wight.”
“Yes.” Guy grinned. His dog teeth were crooked. “He didn’t take it.”
“He’s a strange man.”
“Doesn’t it make you feel important, to be working so close to things that move the whole world? We are changing things, you and I.”
“Important? No.”
Guy scowled. “But why not?”
“Because whatever changes we make aren’t changes. And we aren’t the men who would make changes. Only great ones make changes. And nothing important ever really changes anyway.”
“I’m a change. I was a serf and now I’m a servant of the Duke of Normandy, who is going to be the King of England.”
“And you’re still a serf. To them, you’re a serf. To me, a serf.”
“I am no man’s man.”
“You are William’s man.”
Guy frowned. He turned his head from side to side. “I’m going.” He got to his feet, “I’ll be in tomorrow, with him”
“Don’t get angry, Guy.”
“Why not?” Guy said. He turned and was gone. Laeghaire watched him go. He flung the torch into the sand and covered it up. He listened to the men and the sea. His face hurt. Why not? He looked up. The great star was long gone. It had stayed only eight days. He felt his ribs burning. He turned away from the swarm of the camp. He thought, Big star, take me with you. He put his hand against his side. His heart was throbbing too hard. He hated those knights. He hated the fires and the sea. His heart pounded and he heard the sea break in conflicting rhythms on the shore. His heart leaped under his fingers. He heard the sea break and saw in his mind the waves curling in their foaming glowing break, a long progression down the shore into the dark.
“Laeghaire?”
She was beside him; she put her hand on his arm. “Laeghaire, what are you staring at?”
“Nothing. Come on.”
* * *
The knights knew when William had come and they calmed down for a while, but one night there was a great fight over some of the women, and William rode down on his gray gelding and flogged them with his voice until they quailed and drew off. The camp was too big to control, and the men fought despite William; but when William came they stopped and stood, watching him. He prowled around them like a wolf, waiting for one of them to do something wrong, and as soon as he was gone the turmoil and the fighting and drinking broke out again. There was never any silence, even at night. The summer was hot and the days full of sun. Hilde grew brown as a farmer and her hair hung dead- white down her back. No man touched her.
The boats lined the shore, hundreds of them, and the horses they led on and off to accustom them to riding on the sea. The men joked about it, but it was hard work. The horses were frightened of the boats and would rear and try to leap off when they saw the land going away from them. One of Fitz-Osbern’s horses climbed over the rail of one boat and swam all the way back, dragging his boy through the waves.
Guy taught Hilde a little French, more by his persistence than her learning, and she talked haltingly with him and with Laeghaire and listened when they talked. Laeghaire went to the councils, where the Duke gave out orders to stop the fighting and drunkenness and the women, orders that never had effect, and every day knights paid their fines to him. They said his treasury had doubled since the knights came.
The archers swaggered in bands and practiced on the hillside. Laeghaire went to watch them and heard them joking and saw them shooting their bolts over long distances straight to the mark, easily as if they shot quail. He heard them talking, and he answered questions that they asked him. They knew him; they all knew him. He shot a little with his long German bow, but the range of his bow was less than that of the crossbows.
By midsummer they knew they should have sailed. The winds blew contrary. The winds were north or west, never right. The wind blew steadily out of the north and there was a week of rain, and that only made them fight harder, while William rode along the shore in his fur cloak and cursed the wind and the rain and the boats that could not sail into the wind. The blue banner that flew by his tent hung sodden in the rain, or stood on the wind that blew from the north or the west. Every day the Duke came out of his tent and looked at that banner, blessed by the Pope, and swore up and down against it and the wind.
They said—the Saxon spies, fewer now, with the Saxon coast guard and Harold Godwinson the usurper and the breaker of oaths watching every day for the Normans to come—they said that the Norwegians had been seen off the coast of the Scots. The wind blew contrary, and William swore and said he would fight Harold, either Harold, the Saxon or the Norwegian, whichever held England. There was rebellion in the north of England, which did William little good, and William fretted that the Norwegians would use that to win England.
The King of Norway was Harold Hardraada, the great warrior, the fabled victor of the Bosporus. They told stori
es about him by the fires. Laeghaire heard them and half wished that Hardraada would win England, so that he, Laeghaire, could fight him. He wondered if Hardraada knew his name.
The summer ended in a fit of west winds. After the equinox, Laeghaire met a little wizened man from Wessex, and sat for a few moments with him in the tent. He went out of the tent, stopped only to call Guy, and rode to William’s tent. He spat at the base of the banner staff and went into the tent without a word. The guards said nothing to him.
“What now?” William said.
“Harold has summoned out the fyrd again. The Norwegians have landed in Northumbria “
William flung back his head. “By the glorious, the almighty, the magnificent splendor of the one true God. How is the wind?”
“Due west.”
“I am sinned against.”
Guy came in. Laeghaire told him of the landing. Guy looked at William. His eyes were hot and sharp.
“We sail,” William said.
“The wind,” Guy said.
“Nonetheless, we are sailing. We can go with a west wind up to the mouth of the Somme. To Saint-Valéry. It’s closer.”
“Do we hold the Somme?”
The Duke went by him. Guy looked at Laeghaire again.
“It’s the great ones who change things,” Laeghaire said. He could hear the horns blasting. He went out and rode back to get Hilde.
So they sailed to Saint-Valéry, on the mouth of the Somme. Hilda was sick all the way, and Laeghaire held her in his lap so that she would not slip under the hoofs of the horses. They went ashore at Saint-Valéry and camped, and during the night the wind came up in a full gale and veered around the circle. By dawn it was blowing steadily from the southeast. By the time the sun was fully up, the orders were out to board the boats again.
Laeghaire and Rolf led the horses onto their boat. The black horse kicked and reared. He broke from Rolf’s grip and charged across the boat and came up on the edge and snorted, pawing at the rail of the boat. He backed up in a wild rush and knocked over several barrels.
“Catch that horse—”
Laeghaire threw the stallion’s lead rope to Rolf. He shoved away two men that stood bewildered before him. He shouted, “Clear this boat.” The black horse was bucking on the deck. His hoofs rang on the boards. Barrels and a bale of hay skidded under his hoofs. Laeghaire dodged them and caught the rope. The horse reared. He bolted. Laeghaire braced himself. The horse dragged him a few feet. He reached out and wrapped his arm around the mast. The horse came up hard on the end of the rope and fell. Laeghaire ran to him and sat on his head. He shouted for more rope. Immediately there were men around him, dodging the horse’s striking hoofs. He took a rope and hobbled the horse and stood up. The horse got to his feet and stood, shaking his head.
“What happened to him?” Rolf said.
“Nervous.” Laeghaire took the horse to the back of the boat and tethered him.
“He was all right yesterday.”
“He gets a little wild sometimes. Besides, I led him on yesterday. Get the stallion up here.”
The stallion came on quietly, steadily. Laeghaire turned to look back. The whole shore was dark and swarming with men and horses. They floundered in the shallow breaking waves and howled for help. A horse broke loose and dashed back up the beach, and twenty men chased it, shouting and waving their arms, and the horse neighed, wild-eyed, and bolted on. The boats that were filled were moving away to make room, and the swarm spread out, pushing into the water, bobbing on the waves.
Laeghaire went back for Hilde and brought her on the boat. He stayed there with her for a while and they watched the crowd. She was flushed and happy. “It’s wonderful. It’s wonderful.”
The boat next to theirs shoved off. The sails opened. The canvas snapped taut. The horses quivered and arched their necks. Three men sat on the rail, their legs trailing over, and shouted to the people on the next boat.
“I have to go with William,” Laeghaire said. “Rolf will take care of you.”
“Why do I have to stay here?”
“Because I said so.”
“Cast off,” somebody shouted.
Laeghaire shouldered through the mob. He could smell the sweat of excitement on them. He pushed away from them, vaulted the rail, and waded ashore. The beach was almost empty now. He stood a moment, looking at the empty beach. Horse tracks and men tracks and scattered dung littered it, as far as he could see. A forgotten piece of equipment lay on the sand up by the hightide line.
“I’m going to England,” he said.
He smiled at the empty beach and spat into the sand. He turned and walked down the beach toward William’s boat. It was the last to cast off. The blue banner stretched out on the wind. He waded out and hoisted himself over the rail.
Guy was immediately beside him. Guy’s eyes were bright and his mouth worked. He pulled Laeghaire’s sleeve. “Isn’t it exciting?”
“Hunh.”
Guy turned on him. “It is. We are all going on a great adventure.”
“You sound like a child.”
“I’ve never gone far from my own place before. I’ve never left Normandy.”
“You’ll leave once too often, if you take up fighting for pay.”
Guy was angry. He turned and bulled his way through the massed knights. They stepped aside and called angrily after him, but he never turned; he went straight on and out of sight. Laeghaire stood at the rail and watched the waves and the fading shore.
He was violently sick as soon as they reached the rough water. The sight of the chopping waves and the gulls that followed them made black dots jump before his eyes. Half the others were sick too. They lay on the deck with their heads over the edge and vomited into the crisp blue sea. Or they lay in the middle of the deck and now and then stumbled to the edge, trampling on the men prone beneath them, because William did not wish his boat fouled.
Laeghaire recovered quicker than most of them and sat with his back to the mast, weak-legged, listening to the sailors tell stories to the knights. One of them had seen a sea serpent. He swore it was five hundred yards long and that it had three heads. The knights made appropriate noises. They moved carefully, watchful of their light stomachs.
Nobody ate anything all the day. By nightfall, Laeghaire was ready to try something. He got up and walked around, feeling much steadier and stronger. He found Guy playing the fingers game with an archer and said, “Do you have anything to eat?”
“There’s meat up on the foredeck.” Guy held up his clenched fist. He counted. Laeghaire stepped by him. On the foredeck he found a small fire and meat on skewers. The Duke sat cross-legged on the deck with his hands greasy from eating. William was talking to a man in a jongleur’s clothes. The jongleur said something and William laughed.
“Tell your jest to the Irish,” William said. “He’s the great wit of my captains. Irish, come here.”
“My lord.”
The jongleur reached for his lute. He sat back and began to play. William glanced at him.
“I saw you were sick,” William said to Laeghaire.
“Yes.”
“No fit place for a knight. What do you know of Wessex? What is Pevensey?”
“Old fort. Very old. Roman, maybe. Nothing but a bunch of stone walls.”
“Has it got a harbor, or a bay, or anything?”
Laeghaire shut his eyes. Wessex. “No. Not Pevensey. There is a harbor a little way up the coast from it.”
William’s head turned. “Guy.”
Guy came up to the foredeck.
“Is there a town near Pevensey? Northeast of it? Go on, Laeghaire.”
“It’s a fishing village,” Laeghaire said. Parts came back to him. He tried to fit them together. “Two rivers, and a low sandspit between them—that’s the town. Very well protected. There are hills just inland of it, good rolling hills.”
“Yes,” Guy said.
“Hastings,” Laeghaire said.
“Yes,” Guy said.
“Good,” William said. “We will occupy that town, if we can.” He paused. His eyes burned steadily on Laeghaire. “You have a good memory, Irish.”
Laeghaire nodded.
“From this town, if we can take it, we will attack all the country around. My lord d’Avranches.”
D’Avranches swung his head toward them. He was a broad-faced Norman and William’s greatest lord. William told him what they would do. D’Avranches listened calmly. He asked a few questions and turned away. He got up and went slowly down the deck, crowding men out of his way. He met the lord of Warenne, a way down the deck, and stood talking. William’s eyes stayed angrily on him.
“Someday,” he said, “I will make him a little less dangerous.”
“When it suits you, my lord,” Laeghaire said.
William laughed. “I hope your sons’ sons are as good as you, when my son’s son is on the throne.”
“Your Grace.”
“When you raid, Irish, burn and loot. Whatever loot you take is yours. You’ll need it, to furnish your earldom.”
“You are kind, Your Grace.”
“I’m not King yet.”
“Who doubts?”
William smiled. “Tailleford,” he said. He turned to the jongleur. “Tailleford, play us a war song.”
In the twilight they bound torches to each corner of the boat and to the top of the mast. The other boats also did so. Slowly, the torches multiplied, spreading out, glimmering on the water between the boats. The bits of fire, blown by the wind, stretched on and on and on, deep into the haze, past sight, and still went on. The sun was down, and the blackness closed in around them, but on the deck of William’s boat the light filled all the corners.
Laeghaire went to sleep on the foredeck, with his cloak wrapped into a bundle under his head. He woke up in the false dawn. The deck was littered with sleeping men. He went to the side of the ship and made water. On the way back to his place, stepping over the bodies of the sleepers, he paused by the mast and drank from the wine skin there. It was still chilly from the night air. He stood a moment, rolling the water on his tongue. The ship rolled slightly under his feet. He went back to his place. William sat in the bow, asleep, leaning against the angle of the rail. Laeghaire rested his weight against the rail and studied William. He smiled in his sleep. His hair was redder and his skin glowed in the first light of the sun. There was gray in his hair. The ridge of his cheekbone showed through the skin there.
The Firedrake Page 18