Knights of the Hawk c-3

by James Aitcheson

  I sounded more confident than I felt. Wace and Eudo were right. If I were Godric I would think twice about returning to the lion’s den. At the same time we were relying on appealing to Morcar’s ambition, the depth of which we could not possibly know. What if our offer wasn’t enough to overcome his suspicion? What if he judged the risks to be too great for the reward?

  There was little point in wondering. The seeds had been cast, and there was nothing more we could do now, save to wait.

  And hope.

  Godric failed to show himself the next night, or the night after that. Twice we ventured out to the island, and twice we returned with heavy lids and empty hands.

  ‘I told you he wouldn’t come,’ Wace muttered as we made our way back that second morning under the grey light of dawn. ‘We’re wasting our time.’

  ‘He’ll come,’ I said, although I was steadily growing less sure of that. ‘If Morcar has any sense at all, he won’t let this chance slip from his grasp.’

  Once more, then, we set out for the island of Litelport. Since we didn’t know whether Godric would heed the instruction to come alone, we travelled in force. With me were Serlo and Pons, Eudo and Wace and all their knights, together with Hamo and a few of his bowmen. That way, if Godric’s friends tried to take revenge for our ambush, we would be ready. We were joined this night by Lord Robert, who brought a handful of his household knights, his father’s fever having abated a little, for now at least.

  ‘He grows weaker by the day,’ he told me. His face was drawn and his eyes hollow. ‘The bouts of sickness come more frequently, and though tonight he enjoys some respite, tomorrow he will grow worse again.’

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I confess I wasn’t much used to families, and had never really understood them. Whereas Robert was close to his father, I’d hardly known mine. A Breton lord of no great standing named Baderon, he had been killed in a feud with a rival when I was only five or six summers old. Of my mother, Emma, my memories were even more vague. She had passed from this world a year earlier while giving birth to the girl who would have been my sister. The only kinship I knew, and had ever really known, was that which existed between myself and my sword-brothers: the bond of the conroi.

  ‘I see such pain in his eyes,’ Robert went on. ‘He is determined to live to see our victory over the rebels, but God only knows when that may be, if indeed it happens at all.’

  ‘I pray for him,’ I said. ‘We all do.’

  He smiled in thanks, but it was a smile that quickly faded. ‘I sent word a few weeks ago both to my mother at Graville, and to Beatrice. I hope they will have a chance to see him before he passes away, although with each day that goes by, it seems ever more unlikely.’

  ‘We can but hope, lord,’ I said, although to speak truthfully I wasn’t looking forward to meeting Malet’s wife, Elise, again. A stern-faced woman lacking in humour, she hadn’t much taken to me the last time we’d met, and I had little reason to suppose she would be any better inclined now. With Beatrice, Robert’s sister, I was on better terms, and indeed counted her as a friend, one of the few I seemed to have in those days. She was married now, or so Robert had told me, to the vicomte of Archis in Normandy, a baron of moderate wealth and noble parentage, who was both a close friend and a tenant of the Malets. It could easily be a week before word reached them across the Narrow Sea, however, and another before they were able to make the crossing, depending on the wind and the tides, and perhaps another still to reach us here in the fen country. Whether Malet had strength enough to last out until they arrived, none but God could know. Doubtless Robert was making the same reckoning, for he had fallen quiet now, lost in his own thoughts.

  In silence, then, we rounded the northern shore of the island until we found the familiar inlet where the water ran shallow and the willows grew. We guided our punts close to the bank, where banks of tall reeds kept us out of sight from the river and the low-hanging branches provided a good mooring place. Leaving a few men behind to guard the boats, we ventured away from the inlet, up a gentle rise through long grasses and thick bramble hedges until we were just within sight of the marker stone that I’d chosen as our meeting place. And there, for the third night, we crouched in the shadows and we waited.

  And waited.

  Hours passed. The glittering stars became obscured as cloud spread across the sky. The wind rose, rustling the grass so that it seemed there were voices all around us, whispering, and the rain soon followed, hesitantly at first but quickly growing heavier. We huddled down inside our cloaks, our hoods raised, letting the water roll off the wool. The smell of moist earth rose up, reminding me of the green pastures of Earnford, and for a moment I was back there again, as it was during the spring with the new shoots breaking the soil and the first leaf-buds appearing on the trees in the woods.

  Thunder pealed out, like the roar of some fearsome beast unleashed from the caverns of hell to wreak its fury upon the world. I made the sign of the cross to ward off any evil spirits that might be lurking, hoping that it wasn’t a sign of ill fortune to come. No sooner had I done so than the rain began to ease. Another roar resounded through the night sky, but it seemed further away. It was followed some moments later by another, and another, each one quieter than the last, until all was still again.

  And through that stillness came a sound. A sound like a voice, except that this time I was sure it wasn’t just the wind. It came from the direction of the marker stone, though from so far away I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ I asked, taking care to keep my voice low.

  Robert nodded and put a finger to his lips, while out of the corner of my eye I saw Pons rest his hand upon his sword-hilt. Through the heads of the grass and the all-enshrouding mist I glimpsed twin points of orange light, the sort that could only come from torches or lanterns.

  Godric had not come alone.

  Shadowy figures moved around the light; in the darkness and from such a distance it was hard to tell exactly how many, but at a guess I would have said they numbered about ten, most of them warriors, if the glint of their spearpoints and their helmets were anything to judge by.

  ‘Show yourselves,’ a man shouted out in French, but I didn’t recognise his voice, which was deep and harsh and carried the proud tones of one who was used to being obeyed. ‘I know you’re there.’

  Serlo looked at me. ‘What do we do, lord?’

  I glanced at Robert, whose face bore a grim expression. ‘Don’t move,’ he said. ‘Wait until I say.’

  ‘I have no time for this,’ the man called. ‘I’ve come to talk, not to fight.’

  That sounded like the kind of thing Morcar was likely to say, although I hadn’t been expecting him to come in person. I’d thought he would prefer to stay where there was no danger, in his hall in the monastery at Elyg, rather than speak with us himself.

  ‘You’ve come to talk, have you?’ Robert shouted out. ‘You have a strange way of showing it.’

  He rose and strode forward, towards the flickering torch-glow, at the same time signalling to the rest of us to get to our feet, which we did, albeit a little stiffly after so long spent crouched in the cold and the damp. Hamo and his men nocked arrows to their bowstrings in warning, and I laid my sword-hand upon my hilt as I followed Robert, my boots sinking into the soft earth. A thin drizzle still fell; droplets rolled off the leaves, pattering on to the sodden earth.

  ‘I didn’t come with a whole army to protect me,’ the man pointed out. He stepped closer to the light and I saw him properly for the first time. What I was expecting, I wasn’t sure. There was little resemblance between nephew and uncle, for while the boy had been short of stature, fair in complexion and round in the cheek, the elder one was tall and dark-featured, with a face composed of hard lines that drew together to form a stern expression. How many he was in years, I could not say exactly, although I might have guessed around thirty-five.

  ‘Are you Morcar?’ Robert asked, com
ing to a halt about ten paces from the Englishmen.

  ‘Were you expecting someone else?’

  Robert shrugged. ‘At least you had the nerve to come yourself this night, rather than send a boy to do a man’s work.’

  ‘If you’re hoping to win my allegiance, you’re not doing very well,’ Morcar said. ‘I might decide I don’t want to parley after all, and go back to the Isle. Then you would have to face your king’s displeasure for having let your one chance at winning this war slip away.’

  ‘Or else I could kill you now and be done with it.’

  ‘You could, but you would as likely die trying,’ Morcar said with a sneer. ‘And several of your men with you, besides. Your little raiding-band might have managed to surprise my nephew the other night, but we both know that an open fight is another matter entirely.’

  Had the numbers lain more in our favour, I might have thought like Robert, but as it was I found myself agreeing with Morcar. Giving battle was always a risky business, and never a course of action to be undertaken lightly, unless victory could be all but assured, which in this case it could not.

  ‘Where is your nephew?’ Robert asked. ‘Is he here, or have you left him back at Elyg where he can do no harm?’

  ‘He is here,’ Morcar said, and gave a snap of his fingers. ‘Godric!’ One of the men I’d taken for Morcar’s hearth-troops stepped forward, untied his chin-strap and removed his helmet, revealing a plump-faced youth whom I recognised at once. He looked even more nervous, if that were possible, than he had three days ago while kneeling before the king. I could not recall ever seeing anyone so finely dressed for war and yet looking so uncomfortable, and so terrified.

  ‘Don’t forget that if I hadn’t let Godric lead the scouting-party that night, we might not be standing here now,’ Morcar said mildly. ‘Your king ought to be thanking me for making this meeting possible.’

  ‘I will make sure to tell him when we return to camp,’ Robert said, and there was no mistaking his sardonic tone. ‘Should I suppose that you have an answer for him?’

  ‘I do. I have listened to his offer and received his writ, and considered it carefully.’

  ‘And what do you say?’

  ‘That I accept his terms, and that I promise to lend my spears in your support when you make your next attack across the bridge in a few days’ time.’

  ‘How are you so sure that we’re planning another attack?’ I asked.

  Morcar snorted as he turned to me. ‘Do you think we are blind? We have all seen your men labouring to repair the causeway and the siege platforms, and to clear the ground all about of reeds and sedge. It is hardly any secret that King Guillaume is preparing for another attempt to capture the Isle, and soon, if the number of tents and banners that gather daily around the guardhouse at Alrehetha are any clue.’ He turned to Robert. ‘I’ll tell you what will happen. As soon as I hear that the first of your conrois has crossed the bridge, I’ll turn my spears against my countrymen, and send word to those of my loyal followers to do the same. The Isle will belong to us within hours. I will surrender Elyg to your king and at the same time make my formal submission to him.’

  ‘What makes you think you have the right to direct the course of the battle?’ I asked.

  A frown descended upon Morcar’s face, as if in his eyes I were a mere gnat, for whose buzzing he cared little. ‘Are you leader here, or is he?’ he asked, gesturing at Lord Robert. ‘Which one of you should I be speaking to?’

  ‘To me,’ Robert said before I could open my mouth. ‘I speak for the king.’

  ‘Then tell him what I have just told you.’

  ‘What if he has a different strategy in mind?’

  ‘Then of course he is free to pursue it if he wishes, but he will not succeed,’ Morcar said, swelling out his chest and drawing himself up to his full height. ‘Without my help he faces an impossible task. I have more than a thousand spears at my command. Without those spears he cannot succeed.’ He glanced at me. ‘That’, he said, speaking slowly, ‘is what gives me the right.’

  ‘You ask a lot of our trust,’ said Robert. ‘You say you will do nothing until we reach the other side of the bridge. By then our army will be committed. If you decide not to make good on your promise-’

  ‘That is a chance you must take. From what I hear, the king is determined to press ahead with this latest assault regardless of whether he has my support or not.’

  I frowned. ‘How do you know this?’

  He grinned. In the torchlight his teeth gleamed as white as a Welshman’s, and I wondered whether he obsessed about cleaning them in the same way. Certainly he seemed to think highly of himself; there was a look of self-satisfaction about him, as if he had us all acting according to his desires.

  ‘It doesn’t matter how I know it, only that it is true, and you have as good as confirmed it for me.’

  Robert glared at me, but I knew that Morcar was only trying to taunt us. He wouldn’t risk appearing foolish in front of us by saying such a thing unless he could be reasonably confident he was right. Possibly he had gleaned that knowledge from Godric after his return to Elyg, or it was merely an assured guess. Whichever, I was fast taking a dislike to his arrogant manner.

  ‘Come, though,’ said Morcar. ‘Let us not sow any seeds of suspicion between us. You have my word that I will fulfil my part as we have discussed, and as surety of my good faith, I give you my nephew as hostage. Should I break my word, you may kill him. Is there any greater guarantee I can give you than that?’

  That was why Godric looked so frightened, then. He already knew what his role would be. Although, I thought, should Morcar fail to keep his side of the agreement, his nephew’s death would be scant vengeance for the loss of hundreds of Norman knights.

  ‘Uncle-’ Godric started to protest.

  ‘Go with them, nephew,’ Morcar said, interrupting him before he could continue. ‘You will be safe. Upon my own life I swear it.’

  The flatness of his tone gave the lie to his reassuring words. Somewhat hesitantly the boy stepped forward, and not for the first time I felt something close to sympathy for him. He was but a playing-piece in a game he was too young yet to understand, although he knew well enough the penalty if he happened to find himself on the losing side.

  ‘I also present to your king a gift that I hope he might take pleasure in,’ Morcar said, smiling, and he gestured to his hearth-troops, who brought forward two women.

  I say they were women, but really they were no more than girls, both in the early flush of womanhood and probably around as many in years as Godric. So alike were they that they had to be twins. They were slim, delicately featured and obviously unmarried too, for their hair, wavy and chestnut-brown, was not braided and covered but instead hung long and loose to their waists. Were it not for the tears in their eyes, they might have been great beauties. Both were shaking, and not just, I suspected, because it was cold and their dresses were thin.

  ‘Their names are Acha and Tuce,’ Morcar said. ‘I forget which is which, but I’m sure they will tell you, if you care to ask.’

  Robert gestured for Hamo’s men to down their bows and seize both Godric and the twins, which was probably wise, before one or more of them decided to make a bid for freedom and lose us in the mist.

  ‘Bind them,’ he said, and then to Morcar: ‘Why should King Guillaume take any interest in these girls?’

  ‘Why do you think? For the same reason as any other man would.’

  ‘In all the years of his marriage he has never taken another woman to his bed. I thought you might have known that.’

  ‘So he says. You know as well as I that, kings or not, we all have needs, and these are the prettiest of all my slave-girls. But if he doesn’t want them, perhaps he will let you have them, Robert Malet.’

  If my lord was surprised that Morcar knew his name, he did well not to show it. ‘Have you any other gifts for us, or is our business here finished?’

  ‘I have nothing more to say.�
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  ‘Very well. With any luck our paths will cross again soon.’

  ‘I look forward to it, and to meeting King Guillaume in person.’ Morcar grinned again, and I caught another gleaming flash of his teeth. He had a look in his eyes, at the same time both rapacious and sly, that put me in mind of a wolf. If I didn’t trust him before, I trusted him less then. ‘I fervently pray, too, that your father recovers soon from whatever ailment it is that troubles him.’

  Robert opened his mouth but no sound came out. Before he could find the words with which to reply, Morcar had turned on his heels and marched away, beyond the marker stone into the darkness. As he did so his hearth-troops closed ranks about him, protecting his rear and flanks and keeping a close watch upon us, until the mist closed around them and I lost sight of their torches in the gloom.

  ‘He seems to know a lot,’ Eudo remarked after they’d gone. ‘Do you think he has spies in our camp?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Robert said. ‘Even if there are, it’s unlikely that they would be able to get near enough to the king to find out anything of much worth. He keeps close counsel, as you know.’

  ‘What about Brother Atselin?’ I asked. ‘He’s a weasel, if I ever saw one.’

  ‘The clerk, you mean?’

  ‘He’s part of the royal household, and has the king’s ear,’ I pointed out. ‘I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him, lord.’

  Robert looked sternly at me. ‘There are many men you don’t trust. That doesn’t make them all traitors. No, I don’t believe there’s any spy in our midst. All Morcar’s looking to do is sow doubt in our minds and that of the king. To turn us against one another, to make us hunt for enemies where there are none, to foment further dissent in our ranks and so strengthen his own position.’

  There was sense in that, I supposed. I only hoped he was right.

  ‘Come on,’ Robert said as he turned in the direction of the inlet where the willows grew, where Baudri and the others were waiting with the boats to take us back to Brandune. ‘Let’s leave this place.’