‘They have to be planning something,’ Wace said on the second day after we crossed the river. ‘Otherwise they would have attacked us before now.’
‘Unless they’re too afraid to fight us,’ Eudo suggested.
He was joking, of course, but Wace had ever struggled to understand Eudo’s sense of humour. ‘When have the Danes ever been afraid of a fight?’ he asked with a snort. ‘No, they wouldn’t have come all this way if they didn’t want a battle. They’re drawing us towards Eoferwic, most likely holding out within its walls, inviting us to assault the city just like last year.’
Except that it seemed Eudo had it more right than Wace, for the word from our scouts was that the enemy were abandoning the place altogether, escaping by ship down the Use and by foot and horse into the north. We learnt a fire had spread through the entire eastern quarter of the city, destroying one of the castles and the minster of St Peter, before the wind had carried the ashes and the sparks across the river, where they had settled on the thatch of the houses, leaving almost no building standing. And so, with nothing left to defend, the Danes and the ætheling had quit the place.
Still I did not quite believe it, not until the following day when we arrived at the still-smouldering ruins and I could see everything with my own eyes: the toppled, blackened timbers where the palisades and gatehouses had been; the wisps of smoke rising from the foundations of the great church and the long merchants’ houses; the mottes without their towers; the fallen-in roof of the vicomte’s palace, where I had recovered from the injuries I’d suffered in the battle at Dunholm and where I had first become indebted to the Malet family and mired in their many struggles.
Seeing how Eoferwic had been ravaged only drove the king to greater fury. The rearguard was only just catching up with the rest of us when he began organising the first of the raiding-parties: conrois of forty or fifty men that he sent both north and south of the Use with orders to harry the surrounding land, pursue those who had fled and drive them out from their hiding places, burn the storehouses and the crops in every village that they came to, seize the people’s chattels and put their animals to the sword so that the enemy could find no forage anywhere, and kill every man, woman and child of Northumbria in retribution against all those who would take up arms against him. When the king’s own chaplain protested, saying that such wanton slaughter was not God’s will, he was promptly stripped of his robes and his cross, his ankle tied by means of a rope to a horse’s harness, and then he was dragged naked and howling through the mud for all the army to see.
‘He has taken leave of his senses,’ Wace said one afternoon while we were patrolling along the riverbank immediately to the south of the city. ‘If he destroys everything of worth in this land, why have we come all this way to fight for it?’
I shot him a glance, though he knew as well as I how dangerous such words were. But apart from myself there was no one close by who might hear, and even if they did, such sentiments were already commonplace, to the extent that on the fringes of the camp men were beginning to voice them openly.
‘He wants to face the ætheling and King Sweyn in open battle,’ I said. ‘Nothing else will satisfy him. He hopes that by laying everything waste he might enrage Eadgar and his supporters enough to lure them out.’
By then it was known that they had retreated to their ships amidst the streams and the marshlands of that nook of land by the Humbre known as Heldernesse, though no one could say exactly where they were quartering. Even if they could, the king was not prepared to lead his host into such difficult country. Far better to wait until they broke out, when we might face them on ground that was more advantageous to us. That was the only part of the king’s strategy in which I could find any merit.
We followed the river downstream as it wound its way through that flat land, searching for we knew not what. Still, it was better than staying with the rest of the army, where we could only sit on our arses and wait for instructions to arrive from the king, and in the meantime entertain ourselves as bitter scuffles broke out between rival lords and their knights. They had come to fight the enemy, and since they could not do that, they fought amongst themselves instead.
As the light began to fade, we headed back. The city and the encampment outside its broken walls had just come into sight when Wace stifled a cry.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
About a quarter of a mile off, on a slight rise to the south of the city and the camp, stood a small clump of trees to which Wace directed my gaze. ‘There,’ he said. ‘One of the enemy’s scouts, do you think?’
From the branches rose a flock of some dozen or so pigeons, and amidst the trunks and the gently falling orange-gold leaves I caught the faintest trace of movement. The sun was low in the sky and though I thought I could make out the shadowy shapes of a horse and its rider, I was not sure.
‘He’s adventurous, I’ll grant him that,’ said Wace. There was precious little cover, and he was so close to our camp that I imagined he must be able to smell the bubbling cooking-pots.
‘How long do you think he’s been there?’
‘All day, maybe. He could have arrived under cover of darkness. He’s probably waiting for night to fall before leaving again.’
It didn’t seem that he had spotted us, or if he had he clearly did not consider us a threat, for otherwise he would surely not have risked venturing so close. All the same it made sense not to attract attention if we could avoid it, and so, pretending we hadn’t seen him, we turned around and rode back along the banks of the Use as if we were patrolling according to a determined pattern. But as soon as that clump was out of sight we left the riverbank, circling around until we had found what we reckoned was the path that he would follow away from there.
There we hid, and waited. Night fell, the stars emerged and still we waited, growing ever more impatient. I was beginning to think this had been a waste of time, that our quarry had somehow slipped away without our noticing, when about an hour past dark I heard the sound of galloping not far away and saw a single horseman, his black cloak flying behind him, riding hard in our direction.
At either side of the path were low bushes, and Wace and I lay low behind them, keeping as still as possible, having already tethered our horses some way off where they would not be easily spotted. Slowly I drew my blade from its scabbard. I did not dare raise my head in case the rider should see us, but as the sound of hooves grew louder I could imagine him approaching ever closer, oblivious, until he was almost on top of us—
‘Now!’ I shouted to Wace. I burst out from the cover of the brambles and swung my sword into the path of the oncoming horse. The rider had no time to swerve or halt; my blade struck the animal high on the foreleg, slicing through sinew and finding bone and bringing it crashing with a shriek to the ground. Its eyes were white as, unable to stand, it writhed upon the dirt, screaming in pain, blood bubbling from the open wound. At the same time Wace dragged the rider from the saddle, drew the man’s knife from its sheath and flung it far into the long grass where he could not reach it. The man gave a shout and tried to struggle, but Wace was much stronger than he, and soon had him pinned with his face against the ground.
‘Shut up,’ Wace barked at the man, who was whimpering what sounded like a prayer, or else a plea: he spoke too quietly and too quickly for me to make out the words.
I crouched down low so that he could see my face and the moonlight glinting upon my sword-edge. His eyes widened and he fell quiet. At a guess I would have said he was around eighteen in years, like Turold, and of a similar stature too.
‘Do you speak French?’ I asked him, at the same time trying to work out whether he was one of the ætheling’s men or one of King Sweyn’s. The Northumbrians wore their hair long in much the same fashion as the Danes; indeed there was much blood shared between the two peoples, and it was often difficult to tell them apart.
When he did not respond I tried in English: ‘Whom do you serve?’
‘Eadgar,�
� he said, trembling slightly. ‘King Eadgar is my lord.’
At that I recoiled slightly. I knew he had proclaimed himself ruler of this land, but that was the first time I’d actually heard one of his followers refer to him as king.
‘What do they call you?’ I asked.
‘R-Runstan,’ he said. ‘Runstan, son of Penda.’
‘My name is Tancred a Dinant. Does that mean anything to you?’
At that Runstan fell quiet.
‘You’ve heard of me, then,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘They say . . .’ he began, and then mumbled something that I could not make out.
‘Speak louder,’ I told him, and brought my blade closer to his throat. ‘What do they say?’
He swallowed. ‘They say King Eadgar is offering a reward to any man who captures you and brings you to him. You were the one who wounded him upon the cheek and gave him his scar.’
So he knew the tales that had been told about me, and that was a good thing, for he knew then that it would not be wise to cross me.
‘Tell me where your lord is now,’ I said. ‘And tell me truthfully, or else I will open your belly, string you up by your guts from the nearest tree and leave you there until you choke to death.’
He faltered, but fortunately he was not the sort of man who was prepared to die for his oath. ‘King Eadgar is at Beferlic,’ he said at last.
Beferlic. I had heard of that town in passing before, and knew it lay to the east of here, on the edges of Heldernesse.
‘And Sweyn?’
‘King Sweyn is with him, together with his two sons, his brother Osbjorn and all his jarls.’
It took a while to get all the answers I needed, but eventually Runstan explained to me how they had fortified the old monastery that stood there and were now waiting for King Guillaume to come to fight them by the swamps. Clearly the Danes hoped that the opportunity to destroy in one encounter all the leading men of their realm would be too tempting for us to ignore.
‘How many men do they have?’
‘In and around Beferlic, close to one thousand English and Danes,’ he said. ‘Those are the best warriors, the jarls and the hearth-troops. Another five thousand are waiting by their ships in the marshes by the Humbre.’
‘Six thousand in all?’ We could not hope to fight that many, not unless it was in open country where the might of our conrois could be brought to bear, and even then it would not be easy.
‘Yes, lord. And there is more.’
‘More?’
‘News that will interest you, though it may not please you to hear it.’
I was not in the mood for riddles. ‘Go on.’
‘Only if you swear to spare my life.’
Another time I might have laughed at his gall, but at that moment I was too intrigued by what he thought he might be able to offer me.
‘I swear it,’ I said. ‘Now tell me.’
He hesitated for a moment as if unsure whether my promise was truly meant, but then he must have seen that if it wasn’t then he was a dead man either way.
‘When Eoferwic fell there were hostages taken,’ he said.
‘I know that. What of them?’
‘There were five: the only ones who were allowed to survive the battle. Two of them are with the main part of the fleet by the Humbre.’
He gave me the names of the castellan Gilbert de Gand, a man with whom I’d had more than my share of quarrels over the years, as well as his mistress Richildis. Then he paused.
‘What about the other three?’
‘They were taken to Beferlic.’
With every moment I was growing more impatient. ‘Their names,’ I said. ‘Tell me their names.’
Something was troubling Runstan, as if he did not want to tell me what was next on his mind, but knew that he had to for his own sake. I saw the lump in his throat as he swallowed, and guessed what he was about to say.
‘The other three’, he said, ‘are your lord Robert Malet, his sister Beatrice and their father Guillaume, the vicomte of the shire of Eoferwic.’
Twenty-seven
THEY WERE ALIVE. In the hands of the enemy and the man I’d sworn to kill, but alive nonetheless.
For a few moments I didn’t know what to say, but simply stood rooted to the ground, open-mouthed as thoughts whirled through my head and the faintest glimmer of hope stirred within me, until I heard Wace speaking my name, asking what the Englishman was saying. Somehow I managed to recover my voice enough to tell him.
‘We have to take him back with us,’ he said afterwards, meaning Runstan. ‘We need to deliver him to the king and his advisers.’
‘What for?’ I asked, glancing at the wide-eyed Englishman, who understood none of what we were saying. Perhaps he guessed that we were discussing his fate, or perhaps not, though he seemed a clever enough lad.
‘So he can tell them what he knows,’ Wace replied, looking at me as if I were slow-witted. ‘So we can raise the ransom for the release of Lord Robert.’
‘It won’t make any difference. Don’t you see? The king won’t pay the Danes a single penny to leave these shores. He doesn’t want to bargain; he won’t even send envoys to parley with them.’ My ire was rising and I was aware that I was ranting yet could not stop myself. ‘All he wants is to trample their corpses into the earth and let his fuller run with their blood. If he won’t so much as talk to the enemy, do you think he’ll willingly offer up silver for the lives of Gilbert de Gand and his mistress, or for Lord Robert and his kin?’
Wace did not answer. He knew that I was right. Robert’s fool of a father, Guillaume, had failed the king on two occasions in as many years. For all his shrewd governance of Eoferwic, as vicomte the defence of the city and of the shire rested largely upon him. By allowing them to fall into the enemy’s hands not once but twice he had demonstrated his ineptitude. There would be no ransom for him, and were that the case it seemed unlikely that the freedom of Robert or Beatrice would be purchased either. It was well known that in the king’s eyes the Malet name was tarnished, perhaps irrevocably so. What if he decided it was easier to be rid of them altogether? For if the Danes’ price was not met, there would be no advantage in holding them prisoner, and their lives would then be forfeit.
I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t risk the lives of my lord and his family by doing nothing and simply hoping that the king would see sense. I owed my lordship, my reputation and, some would say, my life to the Malets. I had sworn solemn oaths not just to Robert but to his sister too, many months ago.
Beatrice. Despite all our differences I had loved her once, or thought I had. Having already lost Oswynn and Leofrun I was determined not to lose her too.
‘What do you suggest we do?’ asked Wace, his tone one of resignation.
And I told him.
‘This is madness,’ said Eudo when we arrived back and Wace told him what I planned. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘I’ve made my decision,’ I replied. ‘And I’ll do it with or without your help.’
Eudo made a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort. ‘And with what army do you propose to do this?’
‘With as many as will join me.’
It wasn’t much of answer, and we both knew it. Still, I’d had enough time to consider it on the journey back to camp, and knew there was no other choice. Whether it was through silver or some other means, I would find the men. I had to.
‘This is the worst folly I have ever heard spew from your mouth in all the years I’ve known you,’ Wace said, scratching at his injured eye as he often did when frustrated. He had ever been the most sober and level-headed of the three of us, and I didn’t expect to win him over to my cause now. ‘Talk some sense into him, Eudo.’
‘If we believe what he says’ – Eudo gestured at Runstan, who was sitting in silence with Ædda watching over him – ‘Eadgar and Sweyn have between them more than ten hundred warriors in and around Beferlic. They have fyrdmen and huscarls, spearmen and axemen an
d swordsmen, all of whom will have no hesitation in killing you the moment they find you. And find you they will.’
‘Listen to us,’ Wace said. He did not often lose his temper, but even in the dim, flickering light of the campfire I could see his face reddening. ‘We both want to see Robert alive as much as you do. But you cannot simply march into the heart of the enemy stronghold and expect to walk out again freely. You would give your life for no reason and at the same time lead every one of your men to their deaths.’
I gritted my teeth and turned away. My gaze fell upon the others in our small party, and particularly upon the lads Ceawlin, Dægric and Odgar. Laughing amongst themselves, they were taking it in turns to hurl small stones at the exposed head of a pot-bellied baron who was sitting, oblivious, by one of the other fires some forty or so paces away. Fortunately their aim was poor and each one of their stones disappeared into the night, missing by some distance, or else I might have done something. The last thing I wanted was to begin another quarrel and make yet more enemies: I had enough of those as it was.
‘You can’t ask them to go with you,’ Wace said, mistaking my thoughts. ‘They’re not much more than pups, barely weaned from their mothers’ teats. They will follow you because you are their lord, and because they don’t know any better.’
‘They trust you,’ Eudo added, ‘but that same trust will be the end of them if you take advantage of it in this way.’
‘I know that,’ I said, rounding on them. ‘Don’t think that I don’t.’
Ædda would come with me, and Pons and Serlo, and I would do my best to convince Galfrid too. Apart from those four, who else was there? Five men was no army in anyone’s estimation, and I still wasn’t sure how such a raid could possibly work, only that it must. Of course we would take Runstan with us, so he could show us the paths through the woods and the marshes, but I still did not trust him, and had no doubt he would try to betray us to his countrymen at the first opportunity unless we kept a close watch over him.
It was more reckless and dangerous than anything I had ever before undertaken, but I didn’t see that we had any other choice. Even if this path led only to failure and to death, still we had to follow it. Still we had to try.
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