‘He was there also, was he not?’
‘Yes, but he wasn’t the one-’
‘And what proof do you have that this boy was?’ Atselin asked. He turned to the king. ‘Lord, why do you persist in entertaining such nonsense?’
‘Peace, Atselin.’ The king held up a hand against the monk’s protests. ‘I would know what young Godric himself has to say, if anything.’
The boy hesitated, and I saw the lump in his throat as he swallowed. It was as if nothing had changed, as if we were back in Robert’s hall at Brandune, when he had first submitted to the king’s questions.
‘Well?’
‘Yes,’ Godric said, lifting his eyes to meet his king’s, having at last discovered some courage within himself. ‘It is true.’ He took a pace forward and raised his voice for all in the yard to hear. ‘I killed Hereward. His blood is upon my sword-edge, and if anyone wishes to deny it, I will fight him in order to prove it.’
Silence fell. The king’s retainers glanced uncertainly at each other. Morcar, red-faced with embarrassment, glared at his nephew as if he had taken leave of his senses.
A hard expression had fixed itself upon the king’s face. For long moments he met Godric’s gaze. I feared that he was about to order him to be taken away, when suddenly his expression softened, and then he was laughing and grinning and shaking his head all at once. He strode forward, spread his arms wide, and embraced Godric, much to the Englishman’s confusion.
‘Your nephew might not be much of a swordsman, but at least he has wit, and for that he has my respect,’ he told Morcar, beaming with delight.
His new Earl of Northumbria forced a smile, but his eyes betrayed the fact that inside he was seething.
‘Wherever Hereward is hiding,’ the king announced for all to hear, ‘we will not stop searching until we find him. His acts of violence will not go unpunished.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘What use is there in searching for someone already dead?’ I blurted before I thought better of it. ‘We saw Hereward’s lifeblood seeping away from his corpse into the marsh. We can take you to the place where he was slain.’
The king’s smile faded as he turned towards me. ‘I am a patient man, Tancred of Earnford, but even my patience has its limits,’ he said sternly. ‘You and your friends have had your amusement, but you would be wise not to test me further.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After everything, was this all the acknowledgement we were to receive? There were a hundred things I wanted to say then, and none of them wise. ‘Yes, lord king,’ I answered stiffly.
‘Very well,’ he said, and then marched towards the gatehouse, where his mount and those of his hearth- knights were being held. Atselin, smirking, was close behind him, and Morcar followed, looking relieved not to have incurred the king’s wrath following his nephew’s outburst.
Godric alone remained, blinking as if he were not quite sure what had happened.
‘Godric!’ Morcar called when he was halfway to the gatehouse. ‘Are you going to stand there all day, or are you coming with me?’
The boy regarded his uncle without saying anything, his lips set firm. Long moments passed before finally he turned his back.
‘Where are you going?’ Morcar asked. ‘The king wants me to accompany him back to Elyg.’
‘Then go,’ Godric said. ‘But you go without me. I am not your nephew any more.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve suffered your insults long enough,’ Godric said, and spat in his uncle’s direction. ‘You are dead to me. Do you hear me, Morcar?’
‘You ingrate!’ Morcar shot back as he watched his nephew stalk away from him. His cheeks were flushed red. ‘What about all the years I spent raising you? Do they count for nothing? I was the one who took you in when your father died, or don’t you remember that? I clothed you and fed you, gave you a stipend from my own treasure chests! I armed you and gave you lands of your own so that you could call yourself a thegn. If you go, those lands are forfeit, and you’ll never again get a single penny from me. Are you listening?’
I thought Godric might hesitate, but he didn’t. Instead he kept on walking, his jaw set firm, his eyes fixed straight ahead, ignoring the rebukes hurled after him by his uncle.
‘That was a brave thing to do,’ I told him when he reached us. ‘Not easy, either.’
He shrugged. ‘It was easy enough. You spoke up for me when my uncle would not. For that I thank you, lord, even if it came to nothing.’
‘You saved my life,’ I reminded him. ‘I should be the one thanking you.’
He smiled weakly. ‘I told you no one would believe me, didn’t I?’
‘You were right about that.’ I glanced towards the gatehouse, where Morcar, now mounted, continued to stare in our direction, no doubt shaken as well as a little perplexed by his nephew’s disloyalty, until at last he turned and spurred his horse on.
Godric watched him go. His expression was stony, and I saw in the way that he held his chin high a resolve that had not been apparent until then. He had chosen his course, and he would not be swayed from it.
Thus we made ready to leave Alrehetha. I confess a strange mixture of feelings filled my heart. For the first time since we crossed the Narrow Sea that fateful autumn in the year one thousand and sixty-six, our enemies were all quelled. The risings and disturbances that for so long had plagued the kingdom had been put down and the rebels captured, killed or put to flight. England, at long last, was ours. I could scarcely believe it.
Yet Malet’s passing soured it all. He had lived long enough to know of our triumph over the rebels, but not to savour the fruits of that triumph. He had striven so hard to govern justly, to serve his king and support him in every endeavour since the invasion, and his reward was death. Not a glorious death in battle, either, with sword in hand at the head of the charge. For someone who had prided himself as a war leader, who had once ranked among the kingdom’s leading men, it seemed a wretched way to end one’s life.
We were striking camp when I heard someone calling my name. I looked up to see a man on horseback being pointed in the direction of our still smouldering campfires.
‘Tancred a Dinant?’ he called as he approached. ‘Lord of Earnford?’
‘So they call me,’ I replied, observing the newcomer closely. His face was lined with the scars of battle, and his eyes were hard.
‘One of the prisoners from the battle has been asking to speak with you,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent all morning trying to find you.’
‘Then you can’t have been looking very hard,’ I snapped, and regretted it straightaway. I had nothing against this man, but I was in a strange mood, and the words had left my tongue before I even had time to think.
Thankfully he paid my retort no attention. ‘Come with me,’ he said, and turned. That was when I noticed his scarlet cloak, embroidered at the hem with golden thread, and saw the lion of Normandy on his pennon, and understood that he was one of the royal guardsmen.
I followed him across the camp to one of the large tents close to the king’s pavilion. He pulled the flap aside and gestured for me to go first.
Inside, sitting upon a stool with her hands bound behind her, sat a girl of around fifteen with dirty, straggling hair and eyes as blue as the sky at midday. She glanced up sullenly as we entered, a scowl upon her face.
‘This is the one,’ the guardsman said.
‘Her?’ I asked.
‘You don’t know her? She seemed to know who you were.’
‘I’ve never seen her before.’
‘I was wondering if she might have been a lover of yours, although it would be a brave man who tried to tame her. A vicious one, she is. She sank her teeth into the forearm of the first man who came near her, and didn’t stop struggling until we’d managed to tie her wrists, and even then we had to almost drag her from the field.’
‘I didn’t think the English allowed their women to fight.’
‘She isn’t English, so far as any of us can tell, though she seems to speak their tongue well enough.’
‘Who is she, then?’
Her dress, though smeared with mud, was of fine wool and fastened at the shoulders with a pair of golden
