Wace was more even-tempered and less hasty than either myself or Eudo, and I could always rely on him to give me sound advice. If he had any misgivings about our plan, or considered it a risk not worth taking, he would tell me. I trusted his judgement, and he trusted mine.
He and his knights were looking at me, waiting for my instruction. I felt the weight of expectation upon my shoulders. But we could hardly retreat now. Not after we’d come so far. I would not flee from this fight as I’d fled from Hereward.
‘We keep to the plan,’ I said. ‘But remember that the quicker we do this, the better. We’re stronger in numbers than we are if each man fights alone, so stay close to one another. That way we’re all more likely to make it through this with our heads still attached to our shoulders. I don’t want to be dragging anyone’s corpse back with me to Brandune.’
‘Nor I,’ Wace added. ‘So listen carefully, and heed what he says.’
The wind gusted suddenly, rustling the branches above our heads, and from somewhere out in the darkness came the piercing
‘Not a sound,’ I murmured to Wace. ‘Stay still, and don’t show yourselves until I say. We go together.’
He nodded, and proceeded to pass the same message down the line. I knew well what the battle-rage could do to a man. Too many times in my life had I seen able and well-respected knights, many of them sword-brothers of mine, charge alone from their ranks on to the bosses and blades of an enemy shield-wall, abandoning reason and long years of training in a desperate moment of folly, deaf to the warning cries of their comrades, their heads filled with the bloodlust and with visions of glory. More than once I’d come close to doing the same. I didn’t want any of the men with me that night to end their lives that way, and so I gave them this reminder, regardless of whether or not they thought they needed it.
Our fires still burnt, although not as fiercely as before. The wind, slight thought it was, was changing direction, blowing now from the south and sending thick swirls of smoke and ash towards us, making it difficult to see much farther than the circle of tents we’d set up. I raised a hand to cover my mouth, aware that any sudden noise now might give us away. Before long I began to make out what sounded like voices above the crackle of the flames, and shortly afterwards, through a gap in the grey tumbling coils, I spied the dark forms of men moving amongst the shadows of trees and reeds down by the channel, making their way, I guessed, by some of the secret paths that led from the Isle. They were about a hundred paces away now, which meant they were nearly within bowshot.
‘Wait,’ I said to Hamo, who was reaching for his arrow-bag. ‘Not yet.’
‘I know,’ he replied irritably. ‘Do you take me for a dullard?’
‘Just make sure your men know it too.’
A few members of his company — the younger and less experienced ones, from what I could see of their faces — were already nocking black-feathered shafts to their bows. The last thing I wanted was for their impatience to get the better of them. At this range the best we could hope for was one or two lucky kills, whereas what I wanted was to sow terror in the enemy’s hearts. To do that we needed to draw them in, where they would make easier targets. As soon as they saw those silver-tipped shafts bearing down upon them, they would know they’d walked into a trap, which meant that the longer we could delay our attack, the better.
Cautiously they climbed the rise towards the tents and the campfires. Steel helmets shone in the dancing orange light. Few of them possessed mail that I could see, but instead wore lighter corselets of leather. From their belts hung sheaths for blades both long and short, while a few also hefted stout axes and broad-bladed spears. They looked a disparate lot, but that did not necessarily make them any less dangerous. They held their shields in front of them, moving ever more slowly as they approached, glancing all the time to left and right and behind. One shouted out an order in English, gesturing at his fellow warriors to keep close to one another. I’d hoped Hereward himself might come so that I’d have a chance to atone for my failure to kill him before, but this man was neither as lofty nor as imposing in stature. Nevertheless I guessed from his wargear that he was not only the leader of this scouting-band but also someone of considerable importance. His helm’s cheek-plates and nasal-piece were inlaid with gold, while glistering scarlet and azure stones were set into his scabbard. His hauberk shone, and he wore mail chausses in the manner of a Norman knight, all of which suggested he was a person of considerable means, and probably, although not necessarily, a more than competent fighter too.
‘I want their lord alive and unhurt,’ I murmured to those either side of me, and urged them to pass the message on. ‘Kill or maim the rest, but leave him for me.’
They were nearly at the camp we had set up, a little more than fifty paces away: so close that I could almost smell them. The enemy had spotted the empty cooking-pots, the discarded wine-flasks and everything else we had laid out, and now their leader sent three men ahead to search the tents.
‘Wait,’ I repeated as Hamo rose and raised his bow into position. Concentration soured his expression as he fixed his gaze upon the enemy, no doubt choosing his first victim. ‘Wait until I give the word.’
One of the Englishmen emerged and brandished a coin-pouch with a whoop of delight, and the other two shortly followed with their own finds held aloft. Inside those pouches was the last of the silver and gold that I’d brought with me on campaign, together with some more that Serlo and Pons, Eudo and Wace had lent me for the purpose. Altogether it was a considerable treasure, and enough to bring the rest of their band rushing forward. Some tried to snatch those purses away from their finders, whilst others fought over the wine-flasks, or to be the first inside the remaining tents. Exactly why they thought we’d abandoned our camp, I had no idea. Perhaps they reckoned we were away scouting the land, or that we had fled at the first sight of them approaching. Probably most didn’t care: they saw a chance to obtain easy spoils, and for most that was all that mattered. Most, that was, except for their lord — he of the chausses and the inlaid helmet — who was left standing alone, bellowing for them to hold back, to stay close to him.
But his warnings were in vain, and now his men would pay for their greed.
‘Now,’ I said to Hamo. No sooner had the command left my lips than he’d drawn back his bowstring and let his first arrow fly. With a sharp whistle of air it shot up into the darkness, closely followed by those of his comrades. A cluster of glittering steel points soared out from the trees across the open ground, vanishing briefly into the night before plunging earthwards once more, towards the campfires and the Englishmen squabbling amongst themselves.
Too late they saw the arrows spearing down towards them. Too late a cry was raised. One man was struck between the shoulder-blades as he scrambled out from one of the tents, and he went down. Another, swigging from one of the leather bottles, took a shaft in the neck and fell backwards into one of the campfires, sending up a shower of sparks. Men were running, shouting, screaming as the silver-tipped shafts rained down in their midst. Volley followed upon volley as Hamo and his men drew the shafts from their arrow-bags. In all probably only three or four out of those twenty-odd foemen were killed, but it was enough to spread panic among their ranks.
And into that throng we charged, filling the night with our fury. We fell upon them before they could recover their wits and work out what was happening, before they could come together and form a shield-wall to fend us off. Usually I find that those final few moments before battle is joined are when my mind is clearest, and that I’m aware of the slightest details, from which way the wind was blowing to the sound of my own heartbeat resounding through my body. But not this time. Exactly when I gave the order to break from our hiding place, or what battle- cry I roared, I cannot recall. The next thing I remember is seeing the first of the foemen standing before me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, unslinging his red-painted shield from where it hung by its long strap across his back. I lifted my blade high, then struck down so quickly and with such force that it sliced through his leather sleeve into his shoulder. He bent over, yelling out in agony; I brought my knee up into his groin and buried my sword-point in his gut, twisting it so as to finish him all the quicker, then wrenching it free. The steel glistened crimson in the firelight. My first kill of the night.
We tore into the enemy, bringing weeks of pent-up anger to bear. Steel clashed upon steel, ringing and shrieking like the dissonant cries of some hellish beast. The hail of arrows had ceased and Hamo and his company were running to join us, adding their strength to ours, hurling themselves into the fray with knives and hand-axes and all manner of weapons: men both young and old eager to prove their worth alongside trained knights like myself. I raised my shield to deflect a spear, then twisted away and landed a blow across the back of a foeman’s head, and he was dead before he hit the ground. These were stout warriors we faced, and not lacking in skill at arms, but for all that they were ill disciplined and no match for knights of Normandy.
‘For St Ouen and King Guillaume!’ someone roared, and it might even have been me, except that the words seemed somehow far away, and I didn’t remember having willed myself to speak.
