the kingdom these past five years. But no longer. Where once had been pastures and paddocks, now there were only wide quagmires. Livestock had fouled the pens and barns, while outside the slaughtering sheds and on the banks of the Lyteluse carcasses of pigs and cattle had been abandoned, left to the flies and the carrion birds, which swarmed around them, feeding upon the flesh as if it were the most lavish of feasts. The recent rain had only made matters worse, causing latrine pits to overflow and making rivers of all that mud and filth. The passage of several thousand feet had done the rest, churning everything into a reeking sludge that clung to one’s shoes and caused wagons to become stuck, horses to lose their footing, and men to sicken and die from the poisonous vapours it gave off.
Bordered on its western side by the marsh and on its eastern by an expanse of heathland thick with gorse, Brandune stood on a ridge of higher ground above the slow-flowing Lyteluse river, where rowing boats, punts and ferrycraft were moored. The low-gabled building that my lord had claimed for his own use lay on the very edge of the village, a good half a mile from the royal enclosure with its stables and gatehouse and surrounding stockade. Barely twenty paces in length and built of wattle and turf, it wasn’t much to look upon, although it was in better repair than some of the other houses. One of Robert’s household knights stood on guard outside the door, a spear in his hand to which was nailed a pennon in the Malet colours of black and gold. Around his shoulders was wrapped a thick winter cloak, though it was only late September. I didn’t know the man’s name but I recognised his face, and he recognised mine, and so he let me pass without challenge.
Heavy drapes hung across the doorway to keep out the draughts. I pushed them aside to find Lord Robert holding council with some two dozen or so of his vassals, who stood or sat on various stools, barrels and chests in a circle around him. They were men much like myself, minor barons who had sworn their swords to the Malets, and in return for loyal service had been rewarded with land. Most of those faces were unfamiliar to me, for they had only recently arrived from Normandy or else had been called from other far-flung parts of England to be here, but I spotted my long-serving comrades Wace and Eudo seated on the other side of the hearth, where a peat fire was gently smoking, the only source of light in that grim, dung-reeking hall. They nodded greetings to me but said nothing, for Robert was speaking. His back was turned as he paced around the room, addressing his barons, so he didn’t see me enter.
‘The banks have been strengthened and the roadway widened, with platforms for our bowmen and catapults to stand upon,’ he was saying. ‘If the enemy do send another band to try to destroy it, they’ll find themselves cut down under a hail of steel.’
One of the barons, a rotund, red-faced man in his middle years, gave a snort as he swallowed a gulp of ale from a wooden cup. ‘That’s what we were told before. And we all remember what happened when we tried to cross that first bridge, as I’m sure you must also recall, lord.’
‘I lost four men,’ put in another, before Robert could answer. A tall man, he had thick brows that in the dim light made shadows of his eyes. ‘The king has lost his wits if he thinks we’re going to risk our necks pursuing the same strategy again.’
I expected at least a murmur of protest, for no one ever besmirched the king’s name openly and in so light a manner, but there was none.
‘He is fixated on the idea of this bridge,’ Wace said. One of my oldest companions, he had a wise head upon his shoulders and was ever a source of shrewd advice, even if, as was often the case, he ended up being outspoken. ‘We would do better to attack by water from the north, where their defences are said to be weakest.’
‘The rebels have erected chains across the largest of the creeks surrounding the Isle,’ Robert replied. ‘And the smaller channels are too narrow and too shallow for anything but small punts and ferry-craft. It would take days to convey our entire army across that way, and in that time they would be able to throw up all manner of earthworks to obstruct us. Besides, think how many boats we’ll need for an army of four thousand men.’
‘Is that the king’s reasoning or your own?’ the ruddy-faced man asked, prompting laughter from a few of the other barons. Robert waited for it to subside before answering. More tolerant and mild-tempered than many men of noble birth I had known, it took a lot to stir him to anger.
‘It is the king’s reasoning, Guibert, but in this case I agree with him,’ Robert said.
‘You agree with the king?’ Guibert cried. He raised his cup aloft, sloshing ale over himself and the man sitting beside him. ‘This is indeed a rare occurrence!’
Robert stiffened. ‘I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night,’ he said as calmly and as evenly as possible, but there was no mistaking the warning in his tone.
‘No,’ Guibert said. He got to his feet, not entirely steadily. Even as he recovered his balance he managed to spill yet more contents of his vessel over his comrades, but he seemed deaf to their protests as he jabbed a finger in Robert’s direction. ‘No longer will I blindly obey our bastard king’s every whim. I’ve had enough of these foul marshes, of bedding down night after night on ground that might at any moment slip away into the bogs. I’ve had enough of-’
‘You forget your place,’ Robert said, raising his voice as he spoke over Guibert. ‘Now, be seated and keep your tongue inside your head, unless you want me to cut it out.’
The other barons were all calling for Guibert to sit down, but he wasn’t listening. ‘I will not be silenced,’ he shouted over the din. ‘Everyone here agrees with me, even if they are too afraid to say so. I speak for them as much as for myself.’
A hush fell. The high-pitched calls of waterbirds down by the river pierced the air; from further off the sound of a lyre floated on the breeze, and voices singing a bawdy tune that seemed familiar, although the words were different to the ones that I remembered.
‘Well?’ Robert asked, his face reddening now as he looked about. ‘Is this true? You haven’t yet spoken, Eudo. What do you have to say?’
Eudo shrugged, probably realising it made little difference what he said now. His feelings, like those of us all, had already been made plain. I had known him and Wace for many years, and he had always been the joker among the three of us, but the last few weeks had taken the edge off his humour, and his expression was sombre.
‘What the king has in mind is folly,’ Eudo said, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘We all think it. If another causeway is built and we try to attack across it as before, the outcome will be no different. Many of us will lose our lives, but what choice do we have, except to do as the king orders?’
A murmur of accord rose up. Although outwardly Robert maintained the same calm expression as before, inside I imagined he must be seething at such open defiance. Surely, though, he saw the truth in what we were saying?
‘There is nothing more to be said.’ He shook his head, a grim expression on his face. ‘It doesn’t matter whether you agree or not. The king wishes it, and so it will be. We have our instructions and we will follow them. Do you understand?’
No one answered, or at least not in words. A few of the men spat upon the ground, a clear measure of their discontent, for it was rare that men would disgrace themselves by insulting their lord with so vulgar a gesture. Others simply cast their gaze towards their feet, not daring to meet his eyes.
‘Very well,’ Robert said. ‘Go. We gather here tomorrow at midday. I expect to see you then.’
I alone remained while the other barons filed past me, grumbling amongst themselves. A few, recognising me, spoke a curt word or two of greeting, although most simply ignored me. With the exception of Wace and Eudo, they had all served the Malets far longer than had I, some of them for twenty years and more. They had heard of my exploits and resented my closeness to Robert, and shunned my company. Nonetheless, I shared their sentiments. Of all the campaigns we had fought since arriving on English shores, this had been without a doubt the most gruelling. And still it went on.
‘You try to speak with him,’ Eudo said, shaking his head as he passed. His expression was hard, his mouth set firm, his eyes dark in the gloom of the hall. ‘See if you can make him see sense, and hopefully he can sway the king’s mind in turn.’
‘Robert will listen to you if he listens to anyone,’ Wace added, scratching at the battle-mark below his right eye, as he often did when he was frustrated or angry. An English spearman had given him that injury at Hæstinges, and ever since he had only been able to half open that eye, so that he forever seemed to be squinting, although it had done nothing to dull his sword-skills.
As the hall emptied I approached the hearth, beside which Robert crouched. A chill had entered the
