Such was their pride, though, that the brothers were not content with that for long, and so earlier this year they’d fled his court for a second time. Eadwine had ridden north, to seek help, it was thought, from the King of Scots, only to be betrayed by some of his men and overtaken on the road by a conroi of knights, who slew him and all those accompanying him. Morcar, on the other hand, had made for Elyg to join those rebels already gathered there. With him went many of those who had lent their weapons in support of his earlier rebellion, who saw him now as their only hope for a leader who would drive us out of England.
Robert would argue that it was because of Morcar that we were here, and few would disagree with him. Without the former earl’s leadership the rebels’ loose alliance of squabbling thegns would surely have collapsed months ago. Not only that, but his arrival had bolstered the enemy’s numbers by somewhere between, we reckoned, one thousand and twelve hundred men of fighting age: men who could carry swords and spears and shields into battle but who, more importantly, could also dig ditches, raise earthen banks and fell trees from which they could build palisades to surround their stronghold, so that by the time we’d arrived in force, the enemy were already well ensconced upon the Isle and easily able to repulse our attacks.
None of that, though, undermined Hereward’s importance, or made him any less of a threat.
‘Lord,’ I said, ‘if it weren’t for Hereward wreaking his ruin, the rebels would do nothing but sit inside their fastness. Morcar, Siward, Ordgar and the other magnates might possess greater wealth and standing amongst the English, and have larger followings, but Hereward is the one who inspires them and gives them confidence. By his raiding he alone brings them victory and delivers them booty, and so exerts an influence far above his rank. Destroy him and many of the others will quickly lose belief. Only when that happens do we stand a chance of being able to defeat them.’
Robert shook his head sadly. ‘I wish it were so simple.’
‘Do you believe that the king’s strategy is any more elaborate?’
‘You heard, then.’
‘Not all of it, lord, but enough. I understand that the king has been rebuilding the causeway on to the Isle.’
Robert nodded. ‘He’s moving most of his forces back to Alrehetha, where he has recently finished building a guardhouse to watch over the marsh. He is determined to break the enemy once and for all, and wishes to make another assault within the week.’
The manor of Alrehetha lay to the south of Elyg, separated from the Isle by a mile-wide bog that neither horse nor man could easily cross. We had tried to bridge it twice already, and both times without success. The first attempt, built of timber and loose stones supported by sheepskins filled with sand, had collapsed even as our forces streamed across it, brought down by the weight of so many knights and spearmen hungry for blood and for glory. God only knew the number that had drowned; we were lucky not to have been chosen to spearhead that first assault, or we would have been among them. Instead we’d watched from the banks, powerless to do anything as, shouting and screaming for help that would not come, our fellow Frenchmen floundered in the sucking mire, struggling for breath, burdened by their heavy mail, while their panicked mounts thrashed spray everywhere and the enemy hurled javelins and shot arrows into their midst. Even now, two months later, the marsh was still littered with many hundreds of swollen corpses. Together they raised a sickening stench that gripped men’s stomachs and caused them to heave, and when the wind was up could be smelt for miles around.
The second attempt had been barely any better conceived. By then more than a month had passed since the first causeway had collapsed, and the king was beginning to grow desperate, so much so that he had been persuaded by one of his nobles, a certain Ivo surnamed Taillebois, to put his trust in the power of a wizened Englishwoman with a harelip and only one leg, who claimed to be able to work the magic of the old gods. Wooden towers had been constructed by the edge of the bog while some of the marsh folk were put to work repairing and strengthening what remained of the bridge, and upon one of those towers the Devil-witch was set in order to protect them with her charms from the enemy’s depredations, and also to weaken the rebels’ resolve and sow ill feeling among their ranks.
Needless to say, the plan had failed. Before the causeway was even half repaired, a band of rebels, some said led by Hereward himself, had sallied from the Isle one night. Making their way by secret routes, they had set fire to the reeds and the briar patches that surrounded its main platforms and the bases of the towers, so that they and the crone were all consumed by writhing flame that some claimed had been seen from as far away as Cantebrigia. What became of Ivo Taillebois after that no one knew. Probably he had fled the moment word reached him, although it was also rumoured that the king had killed him and disposed of his body in the marsh.
Angered by this second setback and losing the faith of his barons, the king had gathered most of his forces at his main camp here at Brandune while he contemplated what to do next. For a while he had tried to cut Elyg off by land and water and so starve the enemy into submitting, but there was no sign yet of that happening. Indeed if the few reports we received were correct, their storehouses were sufficiently full to keep them fed for several months to come. And now it seemed he had no more ideas left.
‘Tell me what’s in your mind,’ Robert said.
‘Lord, if I may say, Eudo and the others are right. The king has taken leave of his senses. We will not take the Isle by sheer force, not by such a crude strategy, at least. The causeway didn’t work before. Why should it work this time?’
Robert had no reply to that and so I continued: ‘This attack will fail, just as the last attempt failed. Even if the new bridge proves strong enough to take the weight of our horsemen, the best it will do is channel our forces into a killing quarter where the enemy can easily pick us off. Even if we survive that, there is still the small matter of capturing Elyg itself, and that will be no easy task.’
‘What do you suggest, then?’
Probably Robert was hoping that would silence me, but our encounter with Hereward had set me thinking. ‘The enemy know the secret ways through the marshes. They know which channels are deep enough at high water for boats to sail down, and where to find the paths at low tide. They’re supposed to be the ones under siege, and yet they continue to move freely. They raid widely, waste manors and lay ambushes for our patrols-’
‘All this is common knowledge,’ Robert said. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘If we could discover some of those same passages, lord, or else capture one of the Englishmen who knows them, then we might be able to attack the Isle that way.’
‘If there were any such passages large enough to sail a fleet through or march an army across, our scouts would have spotted them long ago.’
‘Perhaps,’ I conceded. ‘But it wouldn’t require a whole army. The enemy travel in small bands, rarely more than thirty strong. If even a few of our men could penetrate the fens and get on to the Isle, they might be able to cause enough trouble to confuse or distract the enemy while the rest of our army attacks across the bridge.’
‘The king has forbidden any more raiding-parties venturing close to the Isle. We’ve lost too many good warriors that way already. You know this. And even if we could find some of those passages and succeed in landing a few men close to Elyg, what would be their chances of success? The men chosen for the expedition would be venturing deep into country that the enemy know well, cut off and with little hope of retreat if anything went wrong. Who would put himself forward to lead such a band? You?’
‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘I did at Beferlic.’
Indeed Robert might not be here talking to me if I hadn’t. Looking back, it was probably not the best-considered plan I had ever devised, and it had relied on a certain amount of luck, too, but I had always believed that a good warrior made his own luck. In the end it had worked, and that was all that mattered.
If an
yone could lead such an expedition, I could. Of that I had no doubt. Anything to avoid having to cross that causeway.
‘No,’ said Robert. ‘It is the most reckless idea I have ever heard, even from your mouth.’
‘Is it any more reckless than the king’s strategy?’
I meant it as a challenge, but should have known that he wouldn’t rise to it.
‘I won’t allow it,’ he said simply.
I shrugged. ‘You asked for my suggestion, and I have given it, lord. As I see it, we have only one more chance to capture Elyg, but we will squander it if all we do is repeat the same strategy as before.’
‘In what way?’
‘You only need to ask around the camp to see how confidence is waning. Few still believe we can win this fight. Another defeat as great as those we’ve already suffered and many will decide that they wish no more of this. Regardless of whatever oaths they might have sworn, they’ll begin to desert and return to their homes. Without men willing to fight, there can be no victory.’
I didn’t need to remind Robert that many of those same men had also been called out to fight Eadgar Ætheling and the Danish host last year too, and had little appetite for another long campaign. Nor did I add that many of the mercenaries the king had hired from across the sea, such as Hamo and his band of archers, would in time probably also leave the king’s service. Although they were paid a generous stipend from the royal purse, plunder was what they sought above all else, and if they saw little chance of receiving it then they would have no qualms about seeking employment elsewhere.
‘We have only one more chance to take the Isle,’ I repeated. ‘If we fail, then we’ll have no choice but to surrender it to the rebels.’
Four
‘Surrender Elyg to the rebels?’ Robert asked, his voice thick with scorn. ‘No. The king will never do that.’
‘It isn’t a question of whether he wishes to do so or not, lord — merely whether he has the men and the supplies to keep fighting this war. You know as well as I do that no army can stay in the field for ever.’
‘If we yield the Isle, what’s to stop more Englishmen allying themselves to the rebels? Or, for that matter, the Danes? If they return, we could find ourselves fighting last year’s battles all over again.’
The Danes, led by their king Sweyn, had finally left these shores at the beginning of this sailing season, their ships laden with chests brimming with the silver and gold that King Guillaume had paid them as an inducement to return to their own lands across the German Sea. But such peace was fragile. The moment they smelt another opportunity to win wealth and renown here in England, they would be back. Of that few had any doubt.
‘That’s why we cannot suffer yet another reverse,’ I said. ‘Tell me one thing, lord: do you really agree with the king’s judgement in this?’
Robert said nothing, and I supposed he was right to hesitate. It was one thing for petty lords such as myself and the others to speak ill of the king’s strategy, but for him to do so was far more dangerous. It didn’t matter that he spoke in private company; walls were thin and there were few places within the camp where a loose tongue was not easily overheard. If ever word got back to the royal household then it might be said that Robert was fomenting treasonous thoughts amongst his followers. King Guillaume was not the kind of man one did well to cross, and the events of the last two years had only served to harden him and make him more stubborn. From the many tales I had heard, he did not take kindly to being contradicted. Among his chief barons there were perhaps a handful whose counsel and criticism he accepted, and the Malets were not among them. Not any longer, at least.
‘What about your own oath?’ Robert asked.
I frowned. ‘I don’t understand, lord.’
‘If this latest assault fails, will you keep your oath to me, or might you be among the deserters you spoke of?’
Only then did I understand the real reason why he had hesitated. My words had betrayed my own frustrations.
‘If this assault happens, then I have to wonder whether any of us will even live by the end of it,’ I answered. It was evading his question, but it was the truth.
Robert, however, was not fooled. ‘You know that’s not what I asked.’
‘Lord,’ I said, ‘I am bound to your service. I pledged my allegiance upon holy relics, in the sight of God.’
He sighed. ‘I realise that I have not fulfilled my duties as lord as well I might. Would that things were different, that I had the means to reward you and your friends for all that you have done for me and my family, and I fervently hope that such means will come back into my possession soon. As things are, I barely have the money to repair my own halls and keep my retainers fed and equipped. I only hope you understand, and that you see I need good men now more than ever. I need your sword, Tancred, and your patience.’
I had been patient for nine months already without receiving so much as one silver penny, I wanted to say, but managed to resist the temptation. He was desperate; I could see it in his eyes. Everything around him was unravelling, while all he wished for was respect, both from the king and from his own followers. As long as I had known him he had been a good lord as well as a good friend, always fair in what he asked of me. A man of sound judgement, and honest too, which was more than could be said of many in these troubled times.
‘I will not desert, lord,’ I said. ‘You have my oath, and you may hold me to it, or my life is forfeit.’
He nodded, satisfied, as if there was any other answer I could have given. I couldn’t break my oath to him, especially after I had failed in my duty to his namesake, my first lord, Robert de Commines. He had paid for my failure with his life, and I was determined not to let the same thing happen again. I would not suffer such dishonour twice. Nor had I any wish to surrender Earnford, my home, which I held only as Robert’s tenant and which was worth more than anything in this world to me. That was what would happen if I broke my vow. I would become one of those lordless, landless, wandering warriors, despised and distrusted by all. That was not a fate I wanted for myself.
Beneath his cloak my lord’s shoulders hung low. His angular features looked more gaunt, and even in the gloom I spotted the dark patches beneath his eyes. Suddenly he seemed much older than his years: no longer as commanding a figure, or as confident. As always, he was dressed all in black from his shirt and tunic to his trews and boots, and even his scabbard. It was an affectation he had always considered fashionable, but which now lent him the appearance of a mourner, and perhaps he was indeed mourning: for the loss of his family’s former standing, for the loss of all his hearth-knights who had been slain at the hands of foemen in this last year.
Perhaps, too, he was already in mourning for his father, the once-powerful Guillaume Malet, whose health, it was said, was rapidly worsening. He had first fallen ill during his imprisonment by the Danes last autumn, and although he had recovered somewhat in the months since then, that illness had never completely gone away, but kept returning, and every time it did it left him all the weaker. None of the physicians summoned had been able to say exactly what it was that ailed him, or rather each one had his own opinion and clung rigidly to it, shouting down all the others whose assessment differed. Neither had they been able to agree on any one course of treatment, save for the usual bleedings and poultices and herb-infused ointments, none of which seemed to bring any relief.
Knowing how he was suffering, it seemed strange that King Guillaume should have demanded the elder Malet’s services on this campaign, especially since he showed no inclination to call upon his counsel. As with everything, the king wished it, and so it happened. For the first few weeks all had been well, and it was hoped that whatever ailment troubled him had passed. Within days of arriving here at Brandune, however, Malet had succumbed once more, and this time he seemed worse than ever.
‘How is your father?’ I asked.
‘He suffers still. This foul marsh air does him no good. Every day he is plagued wit
h bouts of flux. He eats little and what he does manage he often heaves back up. Let me take you to him, and you can see for yourself.’
I wasn’t sure that Malet would wish to see me, and doubtless Robert must have known that, but he was already halfway towards the door and so I kept my feelings to myself as I followed him outside. A scrawny grey cat that must have been left behind by whoever had previously owned this hall looked up from licking its paws as we crossed the yard towards a smaller building that stood opposite the turf-roofed hall. Smoke rose thickly from the hole in its thatch, obscuring the stars. I had hardly even seen Malet in recent weeks, let alone had a chance to speak to him. Much of the time he was too weak even to leave the house where he was quartered, while I was often out on patrol or escort duty. For a brief time I had served him, just as I now served his son, but after the business with the priest Ælfwold, he had dismissed me from his employ.
‘I fear he will not be with us much longer,’ Robert said, his voice low as we neared the building.
‘I pray that he recovers.’ In spite of the bad blood that existed between Malet and myself, the sentiment was heartfelt.
Robert shook his head sadly. ‘He will not recover. It is simply a matter of how long he can cling to life.’
I didn’t know what to say to that, but thankfully I did not have to, for at that moment Robert opened the door. Inside it was warm, much warmer than the hall. A freshly stoked fire burnt; against one wall was piled enough wood to last all night and all the next day too, I didn’t wonder. Malet, my erstwhile lord, sat on a stool facing the hearth with his back to the door, wrapped in furs as he sipped at a bowl of steaming broth. Beside him, stirring an iron pot that hung from a spit over the flames, crouched a man in his middle years, dressed in loose woollen robes. Around his neck hung a wooden cross carved with an intricate pattern of intertwining vines, and I took him for Malet’s chaplain. His face held a stony expression as he saw us come in.
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