Besides, even if they concealed both the killing and the body, there was the question of the horse.
Edwin stopped dead.
The horse!
He dashed back and untethered it. He stuffed the Norman’s knife in his belt on one side, the sword on the other, grasped the club and the pitchfork in his left hand, and took the reins in his right. After a last nervous glance towards the woods, he turned once again to follow Godric, who was now well on his way towards the mill and Rowena.
Ralph reached out for the jug, looked into its depths, sniffed as if he had been crying, and lifted the rim to his lips.
‘Spare a spot of that, lads, for two thirsty warriors?’
Ralph and Bruno looked up.
Two travel-stained, unkempt soldiers edged into the firelight. Behind them lurked the shadows of two horses and a groom. Leatherwork was blackened and frayed. Faces and hands were grey with dirt. Dried vomit clung to the front of their hauberks. They smelled to high Heaven.
Ralph burped. ‘Who are you?’
‘William Capra, knight of honour, fresh from our lovely Normandy. And whom have I the honour of addressing?’
The bow was a mixture of humour and insolence. The eyes had taken in the whole scene. The elaborate question was a way of throwing Ralph’s drunkenness in his face.
Ralph’s voice went quiet. ‘Ralph of Gisors. This is Bruno of Aix.’
‘Scouts,’ said Bruno, as if the word had been forced out of him.
William Capra laughed and turned to his companion. ‘You hear that, brother? The same name as yours.’ He turned back. ‘Then we are truly comrades in arms. May I present my brother Ralph Pomeroy.’ He bowed even lower. ‘Two knights come to win a kingdom for the Bastard.’
Ralph’s nose puckered. Dirty, sly, shifty, crude – the very worst type of riff-raff that was still drifting into the army at the last minute, hoping to snatch the profits without having had to work for them. No honour, no manners, no breeding – common as the dirt on their faces. And likely to run at the first onset. Fit only for wasting and pillage. Just right for Fulk and his Flemings.
Ralph pointed. ‘Go down that way, then turn right at the end. Past a line of privies. You will see two or three large wagons. Report to Fulk the Angevin, or his sergeant, Florens.’
William Capra reacted at the name Florens. ‘Flemings?’
‘Yes.’
‘They are infantry.’
‘They are scum,’ said Bruno, bent over his knife with a whetstone.
Capra glared, and his hand moved towards the hilt of his dagger. Bruno held up his knife and pretended to examine the point. Ralph laid down his jug.
Capra thought better of it, and drew himself up in a parody of dignity.
‘Come, brother. We know when we are not wanted. Men of honour never stay uninvited.’
They slouched off.
Bruno resumed sharpening.
Ralph picked up the jug again, and brooded into it. ‘You have a down on him. Yes, you do. A down. Go on; admit it.’
Rowena took charge.
‘Lay him here. Aud, some water.’
Aud glared, pouted, and finally flounced out carrying a bucket.
Rowena looked at Edwin and sighed. Edwin shrugged.
‘Edwin, go and get those fresh sheepskins from the loft. You will find them put to air by the stack. It is time they came down for the winter anyway.’
As Edwin climbed the splinter-shot wooden ladder, he heard Rowena’s voice soften as she spoke to Edith.
‘Here, Dith. Come here, my pet. See? He can not harm you.’
Edith crept from the corner where she was hiding. Rowena took her hand and pulled her gently forward.
‘See? He is like a baby. He is sick, and you must help us to make him well. You would like to do that? Help Rowena?’
Edith nodded, wide-eyed.
Rowena eased her forward another pace. ‘He is just like your baby, like Mimma.’
Edith’s eyes strayed to the corner where a toy cradle was propped. ‘Mimma?’
Rowena patted Edith’s shoulder. ‘Edith bring a clean cloth? We are going to wash our new baby.’
Edith clapped her hands. ‘Yes. Edis help. Edis help.’
Rowena hoped she had concealed the tremble in her hand as it lay on her sister’s shoulder. She had sent Aud for water partly as a means of keeping her mind occupied. Aud had been torn between terror and morbid curiosity. Sweyn, after one glance of wide-eyed horror, had fled – no doubt to find his father.
Rowena knew that it depended upon her to damp down the fear. She was too shocked to feel angry at this danger that was suddenly thrust upon them. The only hope of coming out of it was to do what they were doing. She agreed with Godric: they had no other choice.
Thank God it was a solitary scout; it could have been a fully-armed wasting party. Stories were flying. A fine irony it would have been – to have all the men away to save them from the threat in the north, and to be devoured by men from the south.
Godric built up the fire. While Rowena prepared an extra tallow lamp, he set up a trestle table, and covered it with Gilbert’s blanket. He laid the young Norman gently on it, and began to undress him.
Edwin returned with the sheepskins, and made up a bed as close to the fire as safety allowed. Aud came in with the full bucket, and tottered forwards with rapid, bird-like steps to show everyone how awkward it was. As the soldier’s clothes were removed, she glanced guiltily at the white flesh of his body, which contrasted so strongly with the deep tan of his face and neck.
Edwin sensed Rowena’s nerves, but could detect none in Godric. He watched the two of them at work. There were hardly any words. Not for the first time, he found himself admiring the stillness between them. If ever God made two people for each other, it was these two.
Edwin sighed. Was it not typical of God in His wilful way to give a glimpse of the most wondrous chances, and at the same time to deny their fulfilment? He had done it to Edwin two years before, and Edwin still felt the pain. He was doing it now to these two good people, who had led godly lives and never hurt a single soul.
Gorm had depended upon Rowena ever since his wife had died. It was Rowena who ran the household and tended the garden. It was Rowena who dealt with irate neighbours when her father was too idle or too drunk to operate the mill machinery. It was Rowena who tried to knock sense into her brother, Sweyn, when he was not telling tales to his father. It was Rowena who acted as a second mother to Edith and who alone tolerated her unpredictable moods. It was Rowena who sought to soften Aud’s constant bitterness about not getting a husband. It was Rowena who unceasingly strove to keep the peace between her father’s drunken rages, and Sweyn’s spiteful teasings, and Edith’s tears and furies, and Aud’s shrewish outbursts.
There was never any question that Gorm would let his eldest daughter go in marriage, certainly not until Sweyn was grown up. Probably not then either; she was far too useful.
Meantime, Godric served him loyally and uncomplainingly, on the land, in the mill, around the house, in whatever duty Gorm chose to lay upon him, and there were many. If Rowena’s character managed everything, Godric’s strength carried everything. Gorm was equally unpleasant to them both, in the usual way in which weak people dislike those to whom their debt is greatest.
Godric picked up the stranger, laid him on the fresh soft sheepskins, and placed two more over him. He was still shaking from head to foot, but he had ceased moaning. The fever in his mind seemed to have gone. As the flames of the fire warmed his face, and the thickness of the sheepskins began to take effect, the trembling slowly died away, and he fell into a deep sleep. Berry came and lay right beside him, and watched with his chin on his paws and the firelight reflected in his eyes.
Edwin came and stood over the invalid. What was going to happen when this young soldier recovered? What would he do?
‘How is Sawin?’
‘Still nursing his blisters. How is your Edward?’
‘Wel
l, at least he has stopped using his stick.’
‘God, these men! Think they are still eighteen years old.’
‘We can thank the saints, Fleda, that they never reached the battlefield. Fancy – joining the levy. Just because the King crooks his little finger. And who is this man Hardrada, anyway? Where does he come from? Is he a Dane or something?’
‘No idea. The King’s problem, not ours. And certainly not Sawin’s, not at his age.’
‘Nor Edward’s. Besides, a king is only a king. Harold or Hardrada – what is the difference? Kings are all the same.’
‘Yes. Remember Cnut? Foreign, but not too bad. So my father used to say.’
‘What happened anyway?’
‘What do you mean – what happened?’
‘At the battle.’
‘God knows.’
Gorm was furious.
‘Why was I not told? If it were not for Sweyn—’
Sweyn smirked beside his father.
Gorm swore. ‘How is he to be fed? Who will pay for it? Suppose we catch some foul disease?’
‘He is not ill like that, Father.’
‘All right – when he recovers. What then? Suppose he gets up in the night and cuts our throats.’
He constantly wiped his palms on the thighs of his rough sacking breeches. He spoke in hoarse whispers, with frequent glances over his shoulder at the sleeping invalid. As he leaned forward on his stool, his heavy jowls glistened in the firelight. Sweaty fear rose from him like fumes from a midden.
‘Have you heard the stories? I have three daughters. Do I have to spell it out?’
Aud surprised herself at the twinge of excitement that she felt.
Edwin sat silent. He was not of this household. If he spoke, Gorm would be within his rights to order him out. Godric, confident in Rowena, left the room.
‘We could do nothing else, Father,’ said Rowena. ‘If we had left him, he would have died.’
‘Good riddance.’
‘The Normans would have found him, and they would decide it was our doing.’
‘What if he dies now? They will think we killed him. They will not believe us.’
‘He will not die. He has only a sickness of the stomach. Godric says in a day or so he will be better.’
Gorm spat. ‘Godric! That ox. What does he know?’
‘He knows.’
Gorm knew that he knew. Godric always knew. It only worsened Gorm’s temper because it inflamed his fear. For the thousandth time he cursed his own good nature in taking on a bastard orphan because he owed a kinsman a favour. Where had the boy learned what he knew? Certainly not on their endless travels on the rutted roads of Anglia. All those plants. Always gazing into the fire. Never answering back. Never complaining. His eyes saw things beyond Gorm’s wit and comfort. Gorm had often struck in fear and bafflement as much as in anger.
And now look what he had done. Gorm stood up and looked about him.
‘God – I need a drink.’
Ralph tried to sleep, but saw again Michael’s pale face, drawn and racked in fever, the eyes wide and baffled, pleading for help that would never come.
Ralph opened his eyes, and searched the dark sky for answers. Why did it torment him when he could least cope with it? He turned over and groped for the jug. There were a few dregs in the bottom. He fell back and wiped his lips.
What if Gilbert did look a bit like Michael? Coincidence – pure coincidence. Gilbert had the makings of a good scout – he really did. Tall, strong, keen, anxious to learn. It was unnerving sometimes to notice how intently the boy listened. God’s Breath! It was rare enough these days to find somebody who was prepared to listen at all. Far too many thought they could learn it in a couple of weeks. And how long did they last? You could be good, and still get killed – if the odds were against you.
Like Aimery – patient, long-suffering Aimery, who put up with a companion’s moods and tempers with a shrug and a grimace – ‘very well, if you will have it so’.
Ralph made up his mind. He would teach Gilbert everything he knew.
And in the morning? In the morning, know-all Bruno could come with him or he could not come. Devil take him. He could please himself.
Rowena made sure the soldier was comfortable and put Edith to sleep. Edwin fed Berry, re-bound his leg, and curled up by the fire. Rowena asked him to stay the night. Having Edwin in the house was an added reassurance. Edwin readily agreed; he was curious to find out why his dog seemed so attached to this young Norman.
Godric stabled the man’s horse, and carefully hid the precious hauberk and the weapons.
Rowena lay back in her corner behind a woollen curtain. She could hear her sister hissing rapid prayers of mindless habit. She pushed a lock of hair from her face, and put her hands behind her head. She saw in her mind’s eye Godric climbing the wooden ladder to the loft and stretching out his massive limbs on the straw mattress beside the chimney stack.
In the mill house, Gorm groped behind some sacks, pulled out a dusty pot, and took a long draught. He wiped his lips and cursed his bad luck.
It was his good nature once again which had induced him to stop on his travels and get the mill machinery working properly. The silly old fool of a miller was never going to manage it. There was not much that Gorm Haraldsson could not make or mend when he put his mind to it. He had even married the old man’s wan daughter for him. And what had she done? Died giving him Sweyn, and leaving him with three daughters – one an empress, one a shrew, and one an idiot. He had nobody to talk to. It was not fair.
He sighed and had another swig. It would be up to him in the morning to see to it all. Man to man. A drink or two. Perhaps offer a daughter by way of good relations. Might do Aud a favour; she was desperate enough to find out.
That was all it needed – common sense and a bit of worldly wisdom. But they would not be grateful, not one of them.
8 October
‘Such wealth . . . adorns your bloody swords’
Ralph grappled with the fallen horse. Its eyes stared; it whinnied in fear; its legs flailed in frantic effort. Ralph tugged on the reins, and shouted in urgent entreaty. Suddenly one hoof caught him under the ribs.
He opened his eyes. Bruno was standing over him.
Ralph glared. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘It is time.’ Bruno turned away to murmur to his horse.
‘For what?’ said Ralph, and winced as iron spikes went through his head.
‘To go and look for him.’
Ralph struggled to his feet and looked to right and left. ‘So he did not come back?’
‘Have your piss and go and get some breakfast. I have told Sandor to have something ready.’
Bruno turned back to his horse.
Ralph sniffed. ‘You talk more to Sorrel than you do to me.’
‘Hurry. Do you want Fitz to find out what we are doing on our rest day?’
Gilbert thought it was raining when he woke up. Then he smelled dog. It had just come in from its morning run, and had shaken off the dew. Gilbert saw the fresh scar on the foreleg.
He made a noise that spoke reproach but meant affection. He put out a hand from under the sheepskins and ruffled the hair behind the dog’s ears. He could not help himself. He forgot where he was. His father had always said he was too soft with dogs . . .
‘But it might do you some good one day.’
‘No,’ said Gilbert. ‘I shall be a soldier.’ He easily topped his elder brother, the stolid Robert. ‘I want none of your ploughs and your middens.’
His father gave him a ringing box on the ears. ‘You shall do what you can do, and you will show respect. Wait for your chance.’
It came sooner than he expected. One day, Bishop Geoffrey of Coutances stopped by on his way to see his brother bishop at Avranches. Lord Geoffrey’s pack of hounds was his pride and joy. Gilbert’s father seized the moment. Before he could turn round, Gilbert was saying goodbye to his father and embracing his mother. Robert said
nothing, and his sister Mahaut cried – but Mahaut always cried.
Gilbert travelled all over Normandy with Bishop Geoffrey. He kept his ears and eyes open, and never forgot his desire to become a soldier. He called himself ‘Gilbert of Avranches’, though he had visited the town only once in his life. What a piece of luck it was that—
A noise from the doorway made him tense. A young Saxon stood there, blowing on his hands, and stamping off the worst of the dew, just like the dog. Each sensed the fear in the other, and each tried to hide his own. The Saxon put up both palms as he came forward. His cheeks were flushed with the freshness and good humour that came from sharp exercise with a favoured companion. Fair stubble stood out brightly on his cheeks.
‘You are – you are feeling better?’
Gilbert was surprised to hear French – and Norman French at that.
‘I think so – yes.’ He moved his head to indicate the whole building. ‘Where . . .?’
‘You were sick. We found you. You would have died, Godric says.’
Gilbert’s mind raced. Apples, pain, cascades of earth and badger droppings, blows on the head, the smell of vomit, grass blowing above his eyes, Adele’s crucifix.
He ran his hands over his body under the covers, half expecting to find himself stripped or bound. He was not.
Without thinking, he stretched his legs and flexed his toes. He winced at the pain in his right ankle. He put his right hand down again and felt a bandage. He put his left hand to his head and found another.
The Saxon watched him. ‘I did say you were sick.’
Gilbert lay back, and found himself savouring the warmth and softness of the sheepskins. He could not remember having had such a good sleep since landing in England. He heaved a great breath of wellbeing in spite of himself.
The Saxon crouched and began to revive the fire.
There was an awkward silence. The Saxon fiddled unnecessarily with a small log on the edge of the flames. At last he gestured towards Gilbert’s head bandage.
The Last Conquest Page 5