The Splintered Kingdom

by James Aitcheson

  ‘Beatrice?’ I called. ‘Is that you?’

  There was no reply, but I was certain that there was someone in there. I tried the door only to find it locked, and I could not open it with any of the keys on the ring. Of course the abbot had probably possessed a separate key to his quarters that was not kept with the others, but it could be anywhere, and I had not the time to search for it.

  ‘Stand back,’ I said, and drew my sword. An axe would have been better had I thought of fetching one, but in that moment all I cared about was breaking down that door as quickly as possible by whatever means were at hand. Teeth gritted, I raised the weapon high and brought it down again and again, hacking at the timbers around the lock. At first it did no more than bounce off the surface, but after a couple of strikes the edge began to bite, and shortly splinters were flying, until eventually I cast the blade with a clatter to one side and hurled myself shoulder first at the door. The first time I heard a creak as the wood flexed; the second time I felt it budge. The third time it gave way, flying back on its hinges, and I found myself stumbling forward, breathless, into the chamber.

  There she was, sitting huddled in the far corner upon a mattress of straw. Her hands and feet were tied; her knees were drawn up in front of her chest; her mouth was bound with cloth to stop her from speaking. Her fair hair was loose and dishevelled and streaked with dirt, falling across her pale shoulders and breasts. They had stripped her of her clothes, leaving her with nothing so much as a coverlet to hide her modesty.

  Her eyes widened in relief as she saw it was me, and I rushed to her, untying the gag from across her lips and freeing her from her bonds.

  ‘Tancred,’ she said, gasping and almost in tears. ‘Is it really you?’

  She threw her arms around me and I held her trembling, naked figure close as a surge of affection coursed through me: affection of a sort and an intensity that I had not expected.

  ‘It’s me,’ I replied, partly to reassure her and partly because I could think of nothing else to say. My throat was dry. There were bruises upon her arm and upon her face where she had been beaten, and a graze to her forehead too. ‘Are you hurt? Did they—?’

  I didn’t want to finish the question, though she knew well what I meant. ‘No,’ she said hurriedly. ‘No, they didn’t.’

  That was some relief, although I already knew what fate would befall the men who had done this, if ever I found them. ‘Can you stand?’

  She nodded, and while she found her feet I brought her one of the winter cloaks I had noticed in the treasure chamber, wrapping it around her to cover her nakedness and keep her warm. It wasn’t much, but it would do for now. She was shaking hard, although whether that was born of cold and hunger or of the surprise of seeing me and the anticipation of escape, I couldn’t tell.

  Having first retrieved my sword, I took Beatrice’s cold hand, leading her down the stairs and out through the yard with the yew tree to where the rest of our band were gathered. Father, son and daughter embraced, overjoyed at seeing each other, at being reunited for the first time in what I supposed must be weeks.

  I would have liked to allow them more time together, but Wace as ever saw reason. ‘Come on,’ he said hoarsely, grimacing in pain. He’d wrapped a strip of cloth cut from the tunic of one of the huscarls in an effort to staunch the flow of blood, but the wound was clearly hindering him. ‘We can’t tarry here.’

  He was right. We set off towards the abbey’s gates, some of us, like Serlo, limping, others slowed by wounds or hunger. At all times I made sure the Malets remained at the centre of our party, protected at both front and rear. Robert had donned a sword-belt and shield taken from the corpse of one of the huscarls, but he looked far from ready to do much fighting. Still, he looked in better condition than his father, Guillaume, who was more haggard than I had ever seen him, ashen-faced and coughing so hard that he was barely able to speak. When last we had crossed paths his grey hair had already been turning to white, but now he appeared truly old, drained of vigour, no longer the man I’d known. No doubt his sickness had played a part in that, but I wondered whether there was something else behind that change as well: a kind of world-weariness, as if this latest ordeal had proved too much for his spirit to bear. As he stumbled forward I offered him my shoulder to lean upon for support.

  ‘After everything,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, ‘you come to my aid again. I owe you my thanks, Tancred. We all do.’

  Indeed, although the circumstances were very different, this was not the first time I’d had to rescue Malet’s hide. But then he was not the main reason I had come here to Beferlic.

  ‘Thank me if we survive this, not before,’ I said, more tersely perhaps than I meant, but we had some way to go before we could consider ourselves safe.

  An easterly wind blew in biting gusts that pierced my jerkin and my shirt, bringing with it the chill of the marshes and the German Sea, and the frozen homelands of the Danes beyond even that. A thin drizzle was beginning to spit from clouded skies as we left the monastery behind us.

  ‘How did you get inside the town?’ whispered Robert. ‘And how do you plan to get out? Are there others waiting for us beyond the walls?’

  I shook my head. ‘I brought every man I could muster. There are no others.’

  For a moment he regarded me with a questioning look, as if unsure whether or not I was joking, but as soon as he realised I meant it seriously his expression changed. Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. The only thing that concerned me was escaping this town before Runstan brought an army of English and even more Danes upon us, and then finding our way across the marshes to Ædda, who was waiting with our horses. All without being spotted.

  With cries and calls to arms still filling the air across the town, we made our way along the narrow paths between the houses. The fires of the still-burning ships on the edge of the town were our guide, showing us the way towards the marshes. But the main thoroughfares were busy with men, and we would surely be spotted if we ventured out upon them, though at the same time it was impossible to reach the marshes without first crossing at least one of those streets, and that one was the widest for it led towards the marketplace.

  ‘We don’t have any choice,’ Eudo said. ‘If we stay here, they’ll find us soon enough. We have to chance it.’

  So we did, in small groups, in twos and threes and fours: first Eudo with his man who had the injured arm and the elder Malet; then Wace and Robert followed by Serlo and Pons; and lastly myself with Beatrice, the Gascon and those that remained. And it nearly worked. The last of us had almost made it across when there came a cry come from further up the street. I turned my head and saw, not twenty paces away, Runstan pointing eagerly in our direction. With him were some two score men and more, and bellowing orders to them was a face I had not thought I would see again. A face with small, hard eyes that met mine with a piercing stare, quickly followed by a flicker of recognition.

  Wild Eadric.

  He had failed to capture me once before, but at that moment he must have thought that God’s fortune shone upon him, for he had his chance again.

  ‘Run!’ I said, gripping Beatrice’s hand and urging her and the others onwards. Eudo and Wace took up the cry, passing it on to those in front: ‘Run!’

  We raced through the yards behind the houses, ducking past goose houses and butts filled with rainwater, climbing over low fences, until we found ourselves in the middle of a grassy paddock. But it was no use. Half of our party were weakened or hurt, and they could not move as fast as the rest of us, and besides there was nowhere to go. For as well as those behind us there were spearmen running to block our route ahead and also coming around the sides of the houses, as the order to stop us was passed on to some of the other thegns.

  And I knew it was hopeless. We could not hope to fight our way through so many, not when we had Beatrice and her father to defend too. After everything, we found ourselves trapped and outnumbered and staring death in t
he face. To surrender would be to invite a slow and painful demise at the hands of the enemy. Which left us with but one option.

  ‘Shield-ring!’ I shouted in desperation, feeling a shiver run the length of my body as I did so.

  It was a command that every knight feared, for it was an admission of defeat, the final recourse when all else had failed, when there was no retreat and the end was near. We formed a close circle, each of us overlapping the rim of his buckler with that of the man to his left until we made a continuous wall of limewood and steel, presenting the painted leather faces and the bosses and the points of our blades to our foes, inviting them to come and die. At our backs, inside the ring, stood Malet and Beatrice. I gave a fleeting look over my shoulder and met her eyes: her wide, terrified eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, cursing myself for having brought this upon her and her family. But if she said anything in reply I did not hear her above the cries of the enemy, perhaps fifty or sixty of them in all by then, roaring instructions to one another in English and Danish, spreading out so as to entirely encircle us. Five or six spear-lengths separated our wall and theirs, separated us from death. Serlo stood on my left with Pons the other side of him. There were few men I would rather have had beside me in such circumstances. On my right, meanwhile, was Robert, carrying the tall kite shield with the raven and the cross that he had taken from one of the huscarls, and wearing a grim expression.

  ‘I never meant for it to come to this, lord,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’ He did not look at me but stared directly ahead at the forest of spears and axes upon which our blood would shortly be spilt. ‘You have served me well, Tancred, and for everything you have done I thank you. May we send many of them to their graves tonight. May the eternal kingdom greet us both.’

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  There was nothing else to be said. I made the sign of the cross upon my breast as, breathing deeply, I glanced about at the gathering hordes and prepared myself for battle for what was undoubtedly the last time, tightening my hold around my shield-straps and the hilt of my weapon, suddenly aware of all the small things: the leather grip pressing into my palm; the blood drying on my fingers; the drizzle falling gently upon my cheeks; the way the light from the still-burning ships in the distance glimmered off my blade and those of the enemy. My only consolation was that at least this way it would be quick.

  ‘Keep to the shield-ring,’ Serlo barked to those on the other side of the circle. ‘Don’t let them draw you out; don’t let them break the wall!’

  ‘Let’s kill the bastards,’ Eudo said. He began to beat his blade against the iron rim of his shield, and then one by one the rest of us joined him, raising the battle-thunder in spite of our small numbers: a warning to the enemy that we would not die easily.

  ‘Kill them!’ yelled Pons, and he was joined by Serlo and then by me, our bloods rising until we were all chanting as one: ‘Kill them! kill them!’

  And then through the ranks of the English and Danes came Eadric, the Wild One himself, marching with the same arrogant bearing that I remembered. Over his mail he wore an embroidered cloak with a golden clasp. He motioned for quiet among his men.

  ‘Tancred a Dinant,’ he called, his voice almost lost amidst the roar of our chants. ‘Once more our paths meet, only this time you won’t be getting away.’

  I did not offer an answer, but held his stare.

  ‘Are you the one to blame for all this trouble?’ He gestured towards the east where the fires still burnt. ‘To have come here you must be more foolish than I’d realised. Do you know what indignities I’ve suffered because of you?’

  ‘No,’ I said, although I sensed he was about to tell me. One by one my knights and companions broke off the battle-thunder.

  ‘Because of you I had to face Eadgar,’ he said. ‘I had to explain to him how Bleddyn and his men had been careless enough to let you escape before I could bargain with them. This after I’d already sent word promising to deliver you to him. Imagine, then, what happened when I arrived with nothing more than ill tidings to offer. I suffered not just his wrath but also the insults and constant mockery of those who said I’d been a fool to ever trust a Welshman.’

  ‘You should consider yourself fortunate,’ I retorted. ‘If you’d told the ætheling the truth your fate might have been far worse.’

  ‘He is King Eadgar now,’ said Eadric. ‘And he will be most pleased when I hand you over to him.’

  ‘A corpse is all you’ll be bringing him. You won’t take any of us alive.’

  I was worth nothing to him dead, and I knew he would much rather atone for his earlier failure and claim his prize than obtain the smaller satisfaction of killing me.

  ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I give you two choices. If you choose to stand and fight me, I swear that you will all die. Except for her.’ He nodded in the direction of Beatrice, who had frozen where she stood, her face white. ‘First I will delight in taking my pleasure from her, before offering her to my men and my fellow thegns, and only then will I kill her.’

  At that I saw Robert flinch, his jaw clench and his fingers tighten around his sword-hilt, but thankfully he managed to hold his temper and did not let himself be drawn into a confrontation that he would surely lose.

  ‘What’s my other choice?’ I asked before Robert could utter a word.

  Wild Eadric smiled. ‘Give yourself up and I will see to it that your friends, your lord and his kin are allowed to pass freely from this place and return whence they came.’

  I considered. If I did as he asked and surrendered myself there was at least the chance that they might all live, whereas if we gave battle in this place we would undoubtedly perish. Yet how could he possibly make such promises, especially if he’d fallen out of favour with the ætheling?

  The only answer was that he was lying. He’d already deceived Bleddyn by promising silver in return for handing me over – silver that was never paid – and then sworn falsely that it was the Welshmen’s fault I had escaped from Mathrafal. If he was prepared to perjure himself openly before his own liege-lord, how could I trust him?

  ‘You can’t do this, Tancred,’ said Robert warningly. ‘As your lord I forbid it.’

  I ignored him but asked Eadric: ‘What about Beatrice? Will you allow her to go free as well?’

  ‘I will,’ he answered. ‘Neither she nor any of the others will be harmed. You have my word.’

  ‘How do I know you’ll honour that word?’

  Eadric affected a serious tone and tried to conceal his smile, most likely scenting victory close at hand. ‘I swear it.’

  That in itself meant nothing. I knew as well as any man how easily such a pledge could be broken. And yet it gave me an idea. Casting down my shield but keeping my sword in hand, I stepped forward slowly out of the ring, into the space between the two battle-lines, albeit slightly closer to ours than theirs.

  ‘What are you doing?’ shouted Wace. ‘He’s nothing but a hollow excuse for a man. His oath means nothing; he only says this because he knows if he tries to fight us he’ll end up with half of his hearth-troops dead.’

  He was probably right, but I had no intention of presenting myself to Eadric without a fight, only of making him think that I did.

  Fixing my gaze upon the Englishman, I said: ‘In Brittany where I hail from, it is the custom when we swear oaths to do so over the symbol of the cross.’

  That was untrue, at least in the manner that I had in mind, but I was relying on him being ignorant enough of Bretons and our ways to believe it. One final attempt to work some cunning; beyond this we had no option but to stand and fight. And die.

  With my blade I carved one straight line about six feet in length in the turf, then another to form a cross-piece roughly two-thirds of the distance along the first.

  Eadric snorted. ‘Must we do this?’

  ‘If you wish me to surrender myself to you, then yes.’ I slid my blade back into its scabbard and hoped he did not notice the lump in
my throat betraying my apprehension as I swallowed. ‘We stand here at opposite ends of the cross, you make your promise to me, and then to solemnise it we embrace as equals. This is how it is done.’

  ‘Tancred!’ Beatrice said, and I heard the note of despair in her plea as she began to sob.

  A couple of the Englishmen began to object. Eadric raised a hand to silence them. After handing his own shield to a retainer, he paced slowly forward to meet me, frowning in suspicion, as well he might. But I stood alone, with weapons sheathed and arms held away from my body to show I meant no harm as sweat trickled down my back and my chest.

  He stopped at the base of the cross as instructed, while I took my position at the other end. If he’d wanted to strike me down at that moment, he could have done, since there was no way I could have drawn my sword in time to parry his blow. But he did not.

  ‘What do I say?’ he asked. Probably he was expecting some kind of ritual liturgy.

  ‘You make your oath in whatever form you wish. The exact words don’t matter.’

  He gave a tired sigh, then said: ‘Upon the cross I swear to make certain that, if you submit to me, your companions are set free. Is that sufficient?’

  ‘It is sufficient,’ I replied. ‘Now we embrace.’

  Again Wild Eadric smiled, and this time it was a broad grin that showed his cracked teeth, for in his mind he had won. I spread my arms to receive him and he did likewise as he stepped towards me. He clasped his arms around my back, and I made to do the same, except that with my right hand I seized the hilt of his dagger and in one swift movement tugged it free of its sheath, lifting it to his throat before he was even aware what had happened, while with my other arm I held him firm.

  ‘Move and I will kill you,’ I said, and then to his men: ‘Stay where you are and lay down your weapons, or else this steel ends up in your lord Eadric’s neck.’

  At first it seemed they did not hear me, but then I pressed the edge against the underside of his chin, to show that this was no idle threat. A trickle of blood spilt forth where I’d grazed Eadric’s skin, and they glanced nervously at each other before doing as I told them. No man wishes to be responsible for the death of his lord, and that holds true no matter whether he is Norman or English or of any other race.