precision from one hole to the next, lingering on each note, adding from time to time a wistful flourish that spoke somehow, in a way that I couldn’t quite explain but simply felt deep within my soul, of faded glories, of yearning and of home. My thoughts turned to my manor at Earnford. I wondered how Ædda and Father Erchembald and Galfrid were faring, and everyone else I’d left there. And I thought of my Oswynn, a captive in some unknown, far-off place, and wondered if she were thinking of me too. What small hope I’d held out of ever finding her seemed even smaller now.
Before I could lose myself in self-pity, the tune erupted like a tree blossoming into colour. Eudo wove sharp flurries and trills in between the longer notes, his hands running up and down the length of the pipe, and suddenly from out of that cautious and brooding song emerged one more familiar, that even in those days was popular in the halls and palaces and castles of France, from farthest Gascony in the south to Normandy and Ponthieu and Flanders. It was a tale of noble deeds and fearless sacrifice, which gave inspiration to all, from the lowliest hearth-knight to the greatest of barons. At once I forgot everything troubling me and instead found myself smiling. Men began to clap their hands upon their knees, keeping time with the rhythm set by Eudo as it rose once more both in speed and in vigour, his brow furrowed in concentration, until abruptly he broke off and began to sing the words that were so familiar:
The king our emperor Charlemagne
Has battled for seven full years in Spain.
From highland to sea has he won the land;
His sword no city could withstand.
It was a lay that every Frenchman who lived by the sword knew well: the Song of Rollant, the knight who, some three hundred years before our time, had given his life in the service of his king, defending to his dying breath the narrow mountain pass that they called Rencesvals against the vengeful pagan hordes.
Keep and castle alike went down
Save Sarraguce, the mountain town.
The King Marsilius holds that place,
Who loves not God, nor seeks His grace:
He prays to Apollo, and serves Mahomet;
But they saved him not from the fate he met.
But for the difference of a few words, Eudo could have been singing of King Guillaume and his struggle against the rebels holding out on the Isle. But whether the court poets would praise our names and set out lays of our deeds three centuries hence, were we to prove victorious tomorrow, or even were we each to meet a death as noble as Rollant’s, I very much doubted. More likely our names would not go recorded in any chronicle or verse, and if we were remembered at all in the years to come, it would be merely for being the first unfortunates to have our blood spilt in this great folly. On such things I tried not to dwell. There was nothing more that could be done or said about the king’s strategy and our place within it. God had already chosen my destiny, whatever that might be, and I could not escape it. I would not run from this fight, nor would I abandon Robert, my lord. He needed me, as he needed all of us.
Thus tomorrow we would ride, to glory or to death. For good or for ill, tomorrow we would fight.
Eventually I managed to sleep, though by the time I did finally close my eyelids there could have been only a couple of hours until first light. In my dreams I was Rollant, gazing down from the mountain pass towards the plains where the enemy massed beneath their banners: a horde of snorting horseflesh, painted shield-faces and gleaming steel; thousands upon thousands of men, together raising a clamour loud enough to raise the dead from their graves. In my hand was Durendal, the sharpest sword in all of Christendom, and hanging at my side was the Olifant, the great gilded war-horn that Charlemagne himself had gifted me, carved from the tusk of an elephant. And then came the foe, marching in a single column up the winding and stony road, steadily growing nearer, until their conrois broke free, their riders raising a battle-cry to the heavens as they dug their heels in and couched their lance-hafts under their arms, with every stride gaining in speed, gaining in confidence-
I never found out what happened next, for at that moment I was brought from my dream by a voice at the opening to my tent. It was not yet day, but as the flaps parted I caught a glimpse of the skies outside, which already were turning from black to grey, and in that faint light I made out Robert’s face.
‘It’s time,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Wake the others. Dawn is nearly upon us.’
As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone. Hurriedly I shook myself free of the coarse woollen blankets in which somehow I had become entangled, pulled on a tunic over my shirt, took a swig of ale from the flask at the foot of my bedroll to moisten my parched throat, and then scrambled out into the half-light. Across the camp men were stirring and dressing for battle, taking whatever food they could stomach and mounting up. Bleary-eyed, I went to Serlo and Pons’s tents and roused them, before donning hauberk and chausses and coif, fastening my helmet-strap, buckling my scabbard upon my waist, checking that both my sword and knife slid easily from their sheaths, and going to help the servant-boys saddle Fyrheard and the other horses.
We led the animals to our conroi’s arranged meeting place by the twisted stump of a wide-bellied oak. There we waited for the rest to assemble. First came Wace together with his three men, and he was soon followed by Eudo, who was doing his best to prise himself free from the grasp of Sewenna, much to the amusement of his knights. Her face was streaming with tears, her hair was loose, and in her eyes was such anger as I had never seen before. With one hand she clung to his arm, while with the other she kept trying to strike him, though he was able to bat each blow away easily, until another of the women — a fair-haired Danish beauty who had pledged herself to one of Eudo’s men — at last spoke some words in her ear and managed to tear her away, upon which the Englishwoman turned and, wailing, fled back towards the tents. Eudo bit his lip as he watched her go, but did not make any attempt to follow her.
‘What happened?’ Wace asked.
Eudo let out a weary sigh. ‘She said that before I rode into battle, we ought first to be wed, as I’d vowed. That way if I happened to die today, at least our souls would find each other in heaven. She even went this morning to find a priest.’
I understood. ‘But you couldn’t.’
He shook his head sadly. ‘You were right. I’ve been a fool. She claims that I misled her with false promises, but it’s not true. I loved her, only not as much as I thought.’
I rested a hand on his shoulder in sympathy, but only for a moment, since Robert’s vassals were almost all assembled, which meant that we were ready to ride. Among them I spied the ruddy-faced Guibert, who had spoken so loudly against the king in the hall at Brandune so long ago it seemed like months, though in fact it was only a week. Whatever ill feeling he might have held towards anyone as a result of that clash was now dissolved, or else buried deep. We could not afford to let petty quarrels divide us. Not now.
Robert himself was the last of all to arrive, flanked by ten of his sworn swords and one of his stable-hands, who bore the banner I had grown to know almost as well as my own: the same banner beneath which for two whole years and more I had rallied, charged and served. It was divided into alternating stripes of black and yellow, and the yellow was shot through with threads of gold so that it would catch the light and be more clearly recognisable in the midst of battle.
Robert passed his lance to one of his retainers, before dismounting and making towards me. His expression was solemn as he extended his arm in greeting. I gripped his wrist, and he mine, and then he embraced me, not as a lord might embrace a vassal of his but rather as if I were of his own kin.
‘I want you to know that you have my gratitude for all that you have done in my name and that of my family,’ he said. ‘I only pray this is not the last time we ride together.’
‘And I, lord,’ I replied. ‘A better lord I have never served.’
The falsehood tasted sour upon my tongue as I remembered some of the grievances I’d uttered against him recently, but what else was I supposed to say?
He attempted a smile, but it was a weak attempt and I knew his heart was not really in it. As nervous as I felt, he looked to me a dozen times worse. He was dressed like the rest of us, but somehow the helmet appeared to sit uneasily upon his head, as if it were too large for his brow, and the hauberk seemed to weigh heavily upon his shoulders. He had never looked entirely at ease in a warrior’s garb, and he looked even less comfortable then.
‘May God be with us, Tancred,’ he said, and with that he left me, mounting up and riding to the head of the conroi while I took my place with my knights. Everyone fell quiet as he unlaced his ventail, letting the flap of mail
