good on it and brought Hereward to justice, I would have perjured myself before God.
‘Which way did he go?’ I shouted after the messenger who’d brought us this information. Already he was heading on down the column to spread the news.
‘Hereward?’ he asked. ‘He’s at least an hour gone. You’ll never catch up with him now.’
He had a point. There was no way of knowing which of the many routes Hereward had taken through the marshes, or where exactly he might be headed.
A cheer rose up from the direction of Elyg’s gates. I turned around to find them opening, and a contingent of men whom I presumed must be Morcar’s huscarls marching forth to greet the king. Elsewhere fighting was breaking out over some slight I hadn’t witnessed. Frenchmen were attacking Frenchmen, wrestling one another to the ground even as their friends tried to prise them apart, striking out with knife and sword, and some were staggering, wounded, clutching at their sides, their arms and their faces. Now that the battle was over, all their rage came pouring out. I had seen it happen before, and once witnessed it is a difficult thing to forget. It is as if a madness, a sickness of the mind, takes hold. Reason and restraint are forgotten, and those who in other circumstances one might count among the most even-tempered of men become wild creatures.
Robert was bellowing instructions to his troops, trying desperately to keep some measure of control. Other barons, not wishing to let slip the chance of plunder, or to let their rivals claim it before they did, were leading their conrois towards the monastery, their banners raised high, kicking up clods of turf and mud as they went.
That was when I saw Godric. He rode a grey palfrey, and was being escorted by three knights, one of whom was King Guillaume’s man, the one with the broken nose and the scarred lip. Suddenly an idea came to me.
Waving to attract their attention, I rode to intercept them. ‘Where are you taking the boy?’ I asked.
‘To the king,’ answered Scar-lip, drawing himself up self-importantly. I thought he recognised me from earlier, but couldn’t be sure. ‘What business is it of yours?’
‘There’s been a change of plan,’ I said, aware that to lie to the king’s men in such a way was to commit a grave perfidy. I would worry about that later, and if need be suffer the consequences. ‘The king wants to keep him hostage until he has received formal submission from all the rebels. Only then will he return him to his uncle. Until then he wants him taken back to Alrehetha.’
‘Back to Alrehetha? We’ve just ridden there and back!’
‘I realise that,’ I said. ‘If you prefer, I’ll escort him back there for you.’
He eyed me doubtfully, but evidently he could think of no reason to distrust me. ‘If you wish,’ he said with a sigh. ‘He’s yours,’ he said, and signalled to the other two.
I watched them go, making sure that they were out of earshot, then turned to Godric.
‘What’s going on, lord?’ he asked. ‘I thought I was being taken-’
‘You were,’ I said, ‘but now there’s something I would have you do for me first. Hereward has fled into the marshes. I thought you might tell me where he’s gone.’
‘Me, lord? How would I know?’
‘If you were him and looking to escape, where would you go?’
Godric shrugged. ‘To the ships, I suppose.’
‘The ships?’
‘The ones that we’ve been using to provision the Isle.’
Of course. The king had been trying to find them and destroy them for the better part of three months, without any success.
‘And where are they?’
‘Some miles to the north of here, deep in the fen country, on the mere near Utwella, where the rivers meet.’
If he had only thought to tell us this a few days ago, I thought with not a little irritation, we might have tried to stage an attack on them. But then I remembered how he had spoken of the lavish feasts that the rebels had been holding. If they were already that well provisioned, what difference would it have made even if we had been able to cut off their supplies? It would not have prevented King Guillaume with pressing ahead with the assault, nor would it have made our task any easier.
‘Could you show us the way?’ I asked. ‘And answer honestly. The last thing I want is for us all to end up cut off and drowned when the tide rises.’
‘I think so, lord.’
That was good enough for me. It would have to be, for who else was there that I could rely upon? Who else knew the ways? Strange though it seemed, I had come to trust Godric.
‘Very well,’ I told him. ‘We don’t have a moment to spare.’
As it was, we would be hard pressed to catch them. Our quarry had a good lead on us already, and even though we were mounted, whereas it sounded as though they were travelling on foot, this was difficult country for horses. Still, I would rather make the attempt and fail than not try at all.
I searched about for the black-and-gold banner and Lord Robert, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Bands of men on horseback and on foot rushed past on both sides, most making for the monastery, while a few were tearing thatch from nearby hovels in search of treasures that the folk who lived there might have hidden before they took flight. All was disorder, as our proud and noble army dissolved into packs of wolves.
I saw Wace with the Gascon and Tor, and called to them, waving for them to follow me. ‘Wace!’
‘Where are you going?’ Wace shouted back.
‘After Hereward!’
He looked at me as if I had lost my wits, and perhaps I had, although the wildness that possessed me was of a different sort to that which had seized the rest of our army. A confidence burnt inside me that I could not account for. Suddenly anything seemed possible.
‘You’re going after Hereward?’ he asked, and wiped another trickle of blood from his cheek.
‘Why not?’ I replied.
To him this no doubt sounded like a fool’s errand, but I knew otherwise. For I wasn’t only thinking of the oath I had sworn. I was also thinking that here was our chance to do something worthy of the king’s attention, something that the chroniclers would write of when, in years to come, they came to lay quill to parchment about the battle for the Isle. Whether they admitted it or not, fame was what all those who made their living by the sword craved, more than silver or gold or fine-wrought blades or horses with jewel-studded harnesses or land or power. I was no different. I longed to restore my dwindling reputation, and I saw in Wace’s eyes that he had the same hunger.
‘Why not, indeed?’ he said with a smile, and I grinned too, because I’d known he wouldn’t refuse.
‘Do you really think we can catch them, lord?’ asked Pons.
‘Maybe not,’ I said. ‘But we can try.’
No one noticed as, led by young Godric, we slipped away from the rest of King Guillaume’s host, leaving behind us the clash of steel, the shouts of triumph and of pain, as we rode in pursuit of Hereward.
And glory.
Twelve
We rode hard, following winding, flint-studded paths so narrow and treacherous that in many parts we were forced to go in single file. Reeds flashed past on both sides as we skirted stagnant pools and leapt fast-trickling rivulets, trusting in our steeds not to falter over the soft ground. In every direction a wide expanse of bog stretched to the horizon, broken occasionally by dense copses of birch and elm, above which jackdaws circled, cawing loudly as if warning those ahead of our approach. I only hoped the enemy weren’t lying in wait for us there, since we would make easy targets if they were. I watched the trees carefully as we passed, expecting at any moment to see a flurry of silver-shining arrowheads flying forth from out of those yellow-green leaves, soaring over the reeds, glinting with the promise of death.
But no arrows came. Fyrheard was flagging, his head bowing, but I coaxed him on. In some places the path had fallen away into one of the countless channels that crossed the land, and we had to dismount in order to lead
