hang loose by his neck.
‘I’ve just had word that our foot-warriors have set out for the Isle,’ he said, raising his voice so that all could hear. ‘The moment we receive the signal that their attack is under way, we will begin crossing the bridge. From then on there will be no turning back.’ He paused to allow the import of that to settle, before continuing: ‘In all my years I have never known warriors more valiant than you. Regardless of what fate awaits us, I consider it the greatest honour to ride amongst you today, and to fight by your sides. May God and the saints bring us victory, and lend us the courage and the fortune to see this day through.’
It wasn’t the most rousing battle-speech I had ever heard, but it was heartfelt, and powerful for that alone. In any case it would have to do, for the skies were quickly growing lighter, the stars fading, which meant that the time for words had passed. Robert led us from the shadow of the guardhouse, its high ramparts and the crowning palisade, down to the flat stretch of land beside the marsh, where dozens upon scores upon hundreds of horsemen were already gathered, their many-coloured banners and pennons barely fluttering in the still air, their horses tossing their heads and pawing restlessly at the turf. Their exact number I could not say, though it was probably close to a thousand, with more arriving still. These were some of the finest knights ever to ride in the name of Normandy.
And we would be leading them all in the charge. Had someone told me when I was a youth and a warrior in training that such an honour would one day be mine, I wouldn’t have been able to stop laughing. Even now I scarcely believed it. Yet here I was.
I half expected to find Atselin and his clerks overseeing the muster, tallying up knights on his wax tablet, but if he was there I could not spot him. It was hard to miss King Guillaume, though, surrounded as he was by his household guards, his helmet adorned with a tail formed from two scarlet strips of cloth that marked him out, lest anyone lose sight of him in the fray. Holding the banner bearing the lion of Normandy in one hand, he galloped up and down the ranks of horsemen, bellowing instructions, drawing the assembled host into ordered ranks and grouping smaller bands of four and five into larger conrois of twenty, thirty, forty. A few glanced up as we passed on our way to the front of the column, and someone must have recognised our banner, for I heard him call out Robert’s name, and then a cheer went up, and a hundred men and more were raising fists and weapons to the sky. Hearing the commotion, the king turned and watched us for a long while, though he did not speak. His mouth was set firm, his countenance betraying no feeling, and at that moment I glimpsed with my own eyes the iron resolve for which he was renowned. Never once had he failed in any task he took upon himself, and in the same way I understood that he would not fail now. For five years he had striven to defend his right to this kingdom. This would be the morning when he would finish what had begun with the slaying of the usurper at Hæstinges. This would be the morning of his victory. Whatever misgivings the rest of us had, he truly believed it.
We took our positions at the head of the column. Behind us lay an army to wreak terror in the hearts of all but the most hardened of foes. Ahead lay only the fen, with the so-called bridge winding its way towards the Isle, with small pinpricks of light dotted along its length where watch-fires had been set to ward off any would-be attackers. Of the fleet of boats and punts carrying our foot-serjeants, or the opposite shore, the enemy behind their walls, I could see nothing.
I turned to Robert, who was alongside me. ‘What now?’
‘Now we wait for the signal.’
As a conroi we had rehearsed the sequence of events over and over the previous afternoon, committing it all to memory so that every man knew exactly what he was to do and when. We had been told what that signal would be, and what pace we would set across the bridge so that our host did not bunch together and at the same time did not become too stretched out. But sitting there in the saddle, waiting for the word to be given and the attack to begin, suddenly I wanted to hear it all again.
Enough, I told myself. I knew what needed to be done. I closed my eyes, breathing slowly and deeply, as I imagined our charge upon the enemy battle-lines and how I would drive my lance-head home, how I would bring my sword-edge to bear, how we would drive them back and cut them down and turn the Isle’s earth crimson with their lifeblood.
‘There it is,’ said Robert suddenly, with something like excitement in his voice, and I opened my eyes in time to see a trail of flame shooting high up into the grey skies to the north, a mile or so away. A single fire-arrow: the sign that our spearmen and foot-serjeants were beginning their attack. It made a great arc above the marsh before plunging out of sight into the all-enshrouding mist, and at the same time the bellow of the rebels’ distant war-horns sounded out: two sharp blasts that were the usual signal to rally.
And so it began.
‘Stay with me,’ Robert yelled for his whole conroi to hear. ‘Watch your flanks when we arrive upon the Isle. Remember who’s alongside you; don’t pull ahead and don’t fall behind!’ He kicked back, spurring his destrier onwards. ‘For St Ouen, for King Guillaume and Normandy! God aid us!’
‘God aid us,’ we all answered with one voice, and the chant echoed through the ranks:
We followed Robert out on to the bridge. Hooves clattered upon timber, and I whispered a prayer that the men who had built it had done their work well. We kept close rank, riding knee to knee, three abreast, for that was as many as the roadway would allow. To my right was Robert, while on his other flank was the captain of his household guard. Behind us were Pons, mounted upon a bay that Lord Robert had gifted him to replace the one killed by Hereward’s arrow, and alongside him Serlo. My sworn swords, the two of them had served me unfailingly these last two years, had followed me in every desperate charge, had given their all for my sake. Behind them were Wace and Eudo and their knights, then the rest of Robert’s hearth-troops and vassals, so that there were more than fifty of us in that leading conroi, all united under the Malet banner.
I had fought in some desperate struggles in my time, but this would be one of the most desperate of all. This was the hour of our reckoning.
We were knights of the black and gold, and we were riding to battle.
Ten
As expected, the first part of the crossing was the easiest. The marsh there was at its shallowest, the causeway its widest and sturdiest, and we made it without trouble.
Before long we glimpsed the island where the watchtower with the mangonel stood, roughly halfway across the marsh-channel. The first glimmer of gold crept above the eastern horizon and I could suddenly see movement on the Isle. Hundreds upon hundreds of Englishmen with weapons glinting and pennons flying rushed in disarray from their ramparts towards the marsh’s edge, into a storm of missiles being loosed upon them by archers and crossbowmen and even a few small catapults that were positioned on punts and barges out on the fen. Other craft were bringing our spearmen and foot-serjeants in towards the shallows where they could scramble ashore, wade through the murky waters and form a shield-wall amidst the tall reeds to guard against the hordes bearing down upon them. But suitable landing places were few, while the channels leading to them were narrow and easily blocked, which meant that those in the boats to the rear were having to clamber forward from one to the next, all the while encumbered by their shields and heavy spears. War-horns blew; panicked shouts carried across the water as our foot-serjeants marshalled their men and tried to assemble them in some sort of order.
Around a dozen Frenchmen were posted on the watchtower. All of them waved their arms as we approached. ‘Wait,’ they called. ‘Wait!’
Robert slowed his pace and drew to a halt, raising a hand to those behind so that they passed the message on down the line. ‘What is it?’
They were pointing out towards the far shore, and I saw at once the reason for their alarm. The final section of the floating boat-bridge hadn’t yet been secured; in fact several of the pontoons seemed to have drifted free altogether, and even now men were working to manoeuvre them back into position and to anchor them.
I swore. This wasn’t what the king had planned. Unless the boat-bridge was in place, we had no way of reaching the Isle. Our attack would be over before it had even started, and the battle would be lost.
Shouts of protest came from behind. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the rest of the column bunching up as our advance was brought to a halt. Men were berating those in front, trying to push their way forward
