Knights of the Hawk

so, about who we were and what our business was here in the city. Armed with a little silver, it wouldn’t take all that long for Robert’s men to learn where we were. When that happened, I could give up all hope of finding Oswynn soon.

‘You want us to sail now, simply to protect your wretched hides?’ Ælfhelm asked. ‘Why should your fate concern us?’

‘Ælfhelm,’ said Magnus warningly.

But the huscarl was not to be deterred. ‘I smell a trick, lord. First these Frenchmen come here claiming to seek your help, and now suddenly a horde of their countrymen arrive in their wake. This seems to me no accident.’

‘What are you implying?’ I asked.

Another of the Englishmen, a thin-faced, long-haired man by the name of Uhtferth, who was Nihtegesa’s steersman, had been nodding in agreement for some time, and he spoke up now.

‘You, lord,’ he said, addressing Magnus, ‘are the one who the Frenchmen are after. They want to finish what they have been unable to do for five years, which is to make sure that no heir of Harold lives to challenge them. Having first rooted you out, this man’ — he pointed at me — ‘has clearly sent word to his friends, and now they’ve come to kill you.’

I could only laugh at how ridiculous that sounded. ‘If that were true, why would I come to warn you in advance that my countrymen are here?’

Uhtferth and Ælfhelm glanced at each other, but neither appeared to have any answer. I turned to Magnus, for the decision in the end belonged to him. My safety rested in the hands of an Englishman, and not merely any Englishman at that, but no less than a son of the usurper, who owed me nothing and had every reason to hate me. If he decided he was better off fighting Haakon without us, or even if he chose to give us up to Robert’s men, I wouldn’t have blamed him, or even been surprised.

It was a long while before Magnus spoke, or perhaps it only seemed that way because I knew how much rested on the next words that came out from his mouth.

‘We sail tonight,’ he said at last, much to my relief.

‘Tonight?’ Ælfhelm echoed, amidst a roar of disapproval from his comrades.

‘That’s right. I will not force you to come if you do not wish. So either make your peace with this alliance I’ve made, or else stay here in Dyflin. I leave that choice to you.’

The huscarl grimaced, but it was clear that the desire for adventure and for glory still burnt bright in his heart, despite his years. He would not abandon his lord, would not refuse this challenge.

‘What about the others?’ Uhtferth said. ‘I thought we were going to wait another few days in case Halfdan and Beorhtred and Ecgric showed themselves.’

‘If they were eager enough, they would have made the effort to come sooner, as you have all done,’ Magnus said. ‘We can’t wait for ever. No, providing that the skies are clear, we leave tonight. At least then we’ll have a full moon to light our way.’ He turned to address the rest of his men. ‘Are you with me?’

A murmur of less than hearty agreement went around the hall.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Find those who aren’t here and pass word on to them. We’ll meet at the eastern gate an hour after full dark. Be ready. If you’re not there, we won’t wait.’

Reluctantly and with not a little grumbling, they raised themselves from the benches, leaving their drinking pots still half full as they buckled on sword-belts, donned cloaks and ventured out into the stiff breeze. Ælfhelm lingered a moment, regarding me with suspicion in his eyes, but then his comrades shouted his name and he followed. The sun was already low; they didn’t have long to gather their friends and everything they needed.

‘For this,’ Magnus said to me after they’d left, ‘you owe me.’

And I knew he was right.

We did not venture outside Magnus’s hall until night had settled completely. Fortunately the skies were clear, as hoped for, with only the faintest wisp of cloud veiling the stars to the west. God was clearly with us, and the light of His favour shone milky-pale upon us.

It couldn’t have been three hours since we’d spied Robert’s men, but it had felt like an age. The streets were quiet now. Gone were the merchants shouting out the prices of their wares, the calls of the goats and pigs and cattle and geese. The stalls had been dismantled, the goods taken away, and the sellers had returned to their cottages to sup by their hearth-fires and count out whatever meagre coins they’d been able to reap that day. Few men and even fewer women were about at this hour, but nevertheless we pulled our hoods up over our heads lest anyone should recognise us.

Thankfully no one challenged us, and we reached the east gate without trouble. The rest of Magnus’s company were already there by the time we arrived, and assured us that everyone was present, but nevertheless he counted them out: twenty huscarls, most accompanied by retainers of their own; and ourselves. The wives and mistresses that some of the Englishmen had brought with them were to stay in Dyflin or return home, Magnus having forbidden any women on this expedition, for their presence on board a warship was said to invite ill fortune. At my insistence he had made an exception for Eithne, but I could tell from the glances he gave her that the thought of bringing her with us unnerved him.

The sentries looked strangely at us when we presented ourselves at the gate, and at first they refused to let us pass, but then Magnus drew back his hood to reveal his face, and I suppose he must have been known to them, since they quickly changed their minds and allowed us through.

Nihtegesa was drawn up on to the muddy beach above the creek that ran into the river mouth, one of many vessels that lay at rest there. The tide was already high, almost on the turn. The waves lapped at her stern, and the mud sucked beneath her. Magnus had left Uhtferth the steersman and another half a dozen of his hearth-troops to guard her, as was usual. Ships, and especially warships, were greatly prized, not just for the goods that were often to be found in their holds but also for the power they represented, and for that reason they were the favoured targets of many a thief.

We passed our packs up over the gunwale to the boat guards, taking care not to make too much noise as we did so. It was not unknown for ships to leave port in the middle of the night, but it wasn’t commonplace either, and we didn’t want to attract more attention than was necessary. Already some of those keeping watch by the other ships were calling to us, asking what we were doing about at this hour, and their shouts were waking other crews, who yelled back in their various tongues for them to be quiet. We ignored them all as we went to work pushing Nihtegesa down the mud and the shingle, her keel scraping against stone, towards the blackness of the creek, until she was fully afloat. We waded out to her and those already on board held out their hands to help haul us up and on to the deck, where we shook free strands of wrack that had become stuck to our sopping trews and boots, and then set about raising the mast and the rigging, pulling on ropes according to Magnus’s and Uhtferth’s instructions, and tying them off where needed.

The rowers took their places on the sea chests that served as their benches, lowering their oars into the water with a soft murmur of splashes. As the incoming tide continued to surge up the inlet, they steadied Nihtegesa, taking care that the swell didn’t take her and run her aground. It wasn’t long before the waters began to ebb, Magnus gave the signal and we slipped down the creek, past the landing stages and hythes, the slipways and coves where river-barges, wide-beamed traders, rowing boats and fishing craft lay at rest, and a handful of longships, too, most around the same size as Nihtegesa, but one larger.

Much larger, in fact, I saw as we grew nearer. Outlined by the moon’s light, she was a fearsome and magnificent sight. Probably thirty benches in length, she dwarfed every other vessel beached or at anchor in that creek; indeed she would have dwarfed most vessels in all of Britain.

To eyes untrained as mine were, there was little to tell one ship from another, especially in the dark and from such a distance. Nevertheless I realised in that moment that I recognised her, for I’d sailed on her once before. This was Wyvern, the ship that once had been the pride of Guillaume Malet and that now belonged to his son. Which only confirmed that the Normans we’d seen in the city earlier had indeed been Robert’s men. And if his ship was here, did that mean that he himself was too?

I glimpsed a flurry of movement on her deck as men were roused and lanterns lit. Voices carried across the water, hailing us, and a shiver ran through me, for those shouts came in French. The men pulled on shoes and,