He let go of Godric’s collar and turned to face me. ‘And he is to you, Breton?’
‘He’s under my protection.’
‘In that case perhaps you need to teach him some discretion. He’ll do himself no favours by spouting lies everywhere he goes.’
‘I’m not lying,’ Godric blurted, and inwardly I cursed him for not keeping his mouth shut. ‘Lord Tancred was there. He knows. Ask him!’
The lad hadn’t moved. Indeed he had nowhere to go, surrounded as he was by Guibert’s friends, whose gazes were all now on me. Everywhere but in our corner of the hall, the revelries went on.
Guibert snorted. ‘You’ll vouch for him?’
I shrugged. ‘What does it matter whether he’s telling the truth or not? Either way, he’s not worth bothering with.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘How so?’
‘Think about it this way,’ I said. ‘If he’s as harmless as you think he is, then you have nothing to fear from him and can leave him be. But if he’s telling the truth and Hereward did indeed die at his hands, maybe you should think again before you provoke him.’
I let Guibert puzzle over that for a few moments. If Godric was a little the worse for wear, the Frenchman was several wine-cups further down the road towards drunkenness. I could almost see the thoughts working their way through his head.
He paced unsteadily towards me. ‘I say he lies,’ he hissed. ‘What do you say?’
Probably the sensible thing would have been to agree with Guibert and thus settle the matter there and then. But I wasn’t thinking about what was sensible. No, I was thinking that I’d made a promise to the boy, and if I allowed him to come to harm then I would have broken that promise. What was more, the longer I looked upon Guibert’s ugly, pox-scarred face and the longer his ale-reeking breath filled my nose, the less I was inclined to back down. If anyone were to yield, it should be him, not me.
‘I say Godric speaks the truth.’
He stared at me, as if he couldn’t understand why I should lend my support to such a ridiculous tale.
‘I was there,’ I said. ‘With my own eyes I saw him strike Hereward down. So unless you want to fight me to deny it, I suggest you find a stool and sit yourself back down.’
His expression hardened. His already ruddy cheeks turned a deeper shade of scarlet. ‘Are you mocking me, Breton?’
I was fast losing patience. ‘Mocking you? Why would I mock you?’ I drew myself up to my full height and then, speaking slowly to make sure he didn’t misunderstand me, said: ‘I have no quarrel with you, Guibert, and neither does the Englishman, so why don’t you and your friends go and find someone else to bother, and leave us both to enjoy our wine in peace?’
I should have known better than to patronise him. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than Guibert was hurling himself at me, howling in rage, his yellow teeth bared. He might have been drunk but he was also strong, and I wasn’t ready for such an attack. He threw me backwards across one of the long tables, sending wooden plates and clay pitchers and candles clattering to the floor. Around us people were shouting, cursing, and Guibert was screaming in my face and showering me with his spittle as he leant over me, his hands gripping my shoulders, pinning me down.
‘Nobody mocks me,’ he barked. ‘You hear me? Nobody!’
Gritting my teeth, I swung my fist at his face and managed to connect with his cheekbone. It was hardly a solid blow, but it was enough to make him let go of me as, reeling, he took a step back. That was all the space I needed. I barrelled into his midriff, hoping to bring him to the floor, but he was more stoutly built than I, and quickly recovered his balance, throwing me off him and towards the open space in front of the hearth. The rushes were sodden with spilt wine and mud; my feet found little purchase, and I found myself sprawling forward, barely managing to keep my balance. Men cleared a space around us, cheering, clapping, jeering, chanting.
I turned in time to see Guibert draw a knife and rush towards me. By tradition it was forbidden to carry swords and other weapons into a feasting-hall, but knives were allowed since without them one would struggle to eat. He attempted a stab, but the move was ill timed and I was able to step to one side, at the same time grabbing hold of his arm and twisting sharply. He yelped in pain, dropping the knife, and I shoved him hard, sending him stumbling sideways.
‘Enough of this!’ someone yelled, and it sounded like Lord Robert, but the cry came from behind me and so I couldn’t be sure. ‘Guibert! Tancred!’
Guibert came at me again, this time snatching up a brass candlestick that had fallen on the floor. He swung it like a club at my face, screaming through clenched teeth, and I tried to duck, but the wine had slowed my movements. Searing pain blossomed inside my skull as the base struck a glancing blow across the back of my head.
For an instant there was nothing but blackness. Numbly, I felt myself stagger forward. Exactly what happened next I struggle to recall, but my feet must have gone out from under me, since when my sight returned I found myself on my knees, clinging to the edge of one of the long tables as if for support, with white stars dancing in my eyes. I blinked to make them go away, but they would not. The hall was ringing all at once with laughter and shouts of alarm.
‘Stop!’ the same man shouted, and this time I was sure it was Robert. ‘Stop this madness!’
A wordless roar came from behind. My own blade I’d left on the table where I’d been sitting, but a long carving-knife lay on the table. I seized it in clumsy, unfeeling fingers, trying to ignore the throbbing in my skull as I turned-
Shapes and colours swam before my eyes, but through the stars and the haze I saw Guibert’s eyes and the drunken hatred that lay behind them. I saw the gleaming brass of the candlestick, raised high, poised to be brought down upon my face. And I saw the opening I needed.
There was no time to consider whether what I was doing was right or wrong. It was my life or his. That was the only thought running through my mind. I lunged forward, gritting my teeth and concentrating all my strength in my weapon-hand, trusting to God that I wouldn’t miss, that the steel would strike home.
It did.
The blade found Guibert’s belly and I plunged it deep, through cloth and skin and flesh, until I felt it scrape against bone. Blood bubbled forth and a stifled cry escaped his lips, and I drove it deeper and deeper and deeper still, yelling my anger and my triumph. The candlestick slipped from his limp fingers, and he stumbled backwards. I let go of the sticky, crimson-covered handle, leaving it lodged there in his gut.
Breathless, I clutched at the back of my skull, rubbing the place where he had struck me. There was no blood but already it felt as if a lump were forming there. My legs felt weak, as if they didn’t quite belong to me, while my head seemed to be on fire. Sickness brewed in my stomach.
No longer were men cheering, clapping, jeering, or chanting. I heard the sound of my breathing, and I heard a crash as Guibert met the floor, but that was all. No one moved. No one spoke. Silence reigned for what could only have been a moment, but so vivid is my memory of that moment that it feels as though it lasted an hour.
Blinking to try to clear my sight, I gazed down at Guibert’s still form and saw his blood trickling away, staining the rushes and pooling by his side, soaking the front of his tunic. Men rushed to his side, vainly calling his name.
Only then did I realise what I had done.
All at once the warmth seemed to flee my body. My throat felt tight, as if I could hardly breathe. Bile churned in my stomach and I wanted to heave, but somehow I managed to resist the temptation and hold myself back.
And then the silence was broken, and the shrieking began. It was a woman’s shriek, shrill and piercing, and it came from the dais at the far end of the hall.
‘Murderer!’
I looked up from where Guibert lay and saw that it was Elise.
‘Murderer!’ she screamed as she pointed at me, her cheeks flushed with fury.
All eyes were upon me. I expected at any moment to be set upon and brought to the floor, but no one moved. Perhaps they all feared shedding more blood in Robert’s presence, but I think that they were simply too
