English line. And I remembered the moment I had been struck, the flash of heat down my lower leg as the flesh was torn open.
My leg. Apart from a dull ache I could hardly feel it now. But my head was thumping, my limbs numb with tiredness, my mouth dry. I coughed. A strange taste lingered upon my tongue — like leather, I thought, although how I could tell that I was not sure, since to my knowledge I had never eaten any.
I struggled against the sheets that were wrapped around me, trying to shake off the heavy woollen blanket spread across them. My bare skin brushed against the cloth; my clothes had been taken from me along with everything else. I felt for my cross, thinking they might have taken that as well, but thankfully it was still there.
I reached out for the cup, managing to get a fingertip to it, not enough to grasp it fully, and it fell with a clatter to the floor, spilling its contents across the stone flags. I cursed under my breath, and slid back under the sheets.
Sleep came once more, and it must have been at least another hour before I surfaced. The room was still bright, but the sun had moved, no longer shining in my face, and I could see that the door lay open.
A man was standing there, watching me. He was stoutly built, and clearly used to comfortable living. His hair, brown but greying, straggled across his shoulders, but he was otherwise clean-shaven. He wore the loose-fitting robes of a priest over brown trews; on a leather thong around his neck hung a green stone, polished and sparkling in the sun. His face was weathered, and there were more than a few wrinkles around his eyes; he was in his middle years at least, even if he couldn’t yet be described as old.
‘Ah, I see you are awake,’ he said with a smile. He glanced down, saw the cup lying on the floor. ‘I will fetch some wine for you.’
I said nothing, and he disappeared from sight once more. From the accent in his voice I could tell that he was English. And yet he had spoken to me in French. My mind whirled. Had I fallen into the hands of the enemy? But if so, why would they have let me live, still less try to talk with me?
The Englishman soon returned, bearing a flagon down the side of which rolled a single red droplet. ‘It is a great relief to see you awake and well,’ he said before I had a chance to speak. ‘In truth we didn’t know whether you would survive. The Lord be praised that you have.’
‘The Lord be praised indeed,’ I said. It came out as a rasp, and I coughed, wincing at the rawness of my throat.
He set the flagon down upon one of the stools, and sat down on the other as he picked up the cup I had knocked over. He poured wine into it and passed it to me with pudgy fingers.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘Drink.’
I took the cup in one hand, taking care not to spill any, and lifted it to my lips, letting the sweet taste of the liquid roll over my tongue. I swallowed; it slid coolly down.
The priest was watching me carefully, and I suddenly wondered if the wine had in fact been poisoned. But surely if they had planned to kill me, they would have done so before now.
‘Where am I?’ I asked. My throat still hurt, though now less than before. ‘Who are you?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Forgive my rudeness. My name is?lfwold.’ He extended a hand towards me.
I glanced at it, but did not take it. ‘You’re English.’
If he took any offence at the accusation, he did not show it. ‘I am, yes,’ he said. ‘Although it may interest you to know that my lord the vicomte is not.’
‘The vicomte?’ He’d used the French word, I noticed, rather than the English, which would have been
The priest smiled. ‘Guillaume surnamed Malet, seigneur of Graville-Sainte-Honorine across the sea and vicomte of the shire of Eoferwic. I am honoured to serve him as chaplain.’ He gestured around at the chamber. ‘This is his house.’
I took a deep breath as a wave of relief broke over me. We had made it; somehow we had made it. ‘This is Eoferwic, then?’
‘It is,’ he replied evenly, without so much as a flicker of impatience. ‘Considering everything that has happened, you have been tremendously fortunate. God’s favour shines upon you, Tancred a Dinant.’
I turned my gaze away, towards the floor. I did not feel fortunate.
‘We have all of course heard the story of what happened at Dunholm,’ the chaplain went on. ‘You should know that so far those returned from the expedition number fewer than three hundred, many of them knights like yourself.’
Fewer than three hundred, out of the army of two thousand that had marched from Lundene only a few weeks before. How was it possible to have lost so many, and all in one night? ‘I don’t believe it,’ I said.
‘Nonetheless, it is true,’ the chaplain said, his countenance grim. ‘By all accounts it was a massacre. You and your companions did well to escape with your lives.’
‘My companions?’ I asked. ‘You mean Eudo and Wace are here?’
‘I didn’t learn their names, but if they are the same two who brought you in, then yes, I believe they are staying in one of the alehouses in the city. They were both here for a short while yesterday.’
Yesterday, I thought, but my mind was blank. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Since it is now the third day of February …’ He paused as if in thought, fingering the green stone around his neck. ‘… I believe three days and nights in all. Most of that time you have spent either unconscious or sleeping, and burning with ague besides, so hot that at times we feared for your life. On the few occasions that you did appear to wake, you were far from lucid.’ His eyes were solemn as he looked at me. ‘To have suffered such an injury, endured a journey of more than fifty miles, and then still live at the end of it all — well, that is something of a miracle. You are a resilient man, Tancred. You must thank your companions when next you see them, for they have done you a great service. You are blessed to have friends as loyal as they.’
‘I will thank them,’ I said. Indeed it sounded as though I owed them my life; I hadn’t realised until then how badly I must have been afflicted. Three days I had been here, and yet I remembered nothing of it.
‘Will you send word?’ I asked. ‘I would like to see them.’
?lfwold nodded. ‘I will do my best to find out where they are staying, and despatch a messenger as soon as I can manage. Of course my lord would very much like to meet you too. He has heard a great deal about you, and I know he is interested in obtaining your service.’
I swallowed and looked away. I could not think of taking a new lord yet; Robert’s death still weighed heavy upon my heart. Under him I had led a full conroi of knights: men who knew and trusted me, who would follow my every instruction without fail. He had given me mail and sword and shield, had helped to make me who I was. But now that life was gone, stolen from me, and I did not know what to do.
For without a lord a man was nothing. There were some who tried to make their way alone, swearing oaths to none but themselves, but they were few and held in ill regard besides. Often they travelled in bands, selling their swords to anyone willing to pay good silver, and often they did well for themselves. They were among the lowest class of men, for most had no honour, no scruple, no loyalty except to their purses. I had no desire to become one of them, but I had been with Robert for so long that I was not sure whether I could bring myself to serve another lord, or at least not so soon.
And at the same time I was confused, for if Guillaume Malet had heard so much about me, he must surely know that I had led my men to their deaths at Dunholm; that I had failed to protect Robert at the one time when it truly mattered. What interest could he have in me?
‘I am sorry,’ the chaplain said, obviously sensing my discomfort. ‘I understand it is yet early to be speaking of such things. I know that you’ve suffered a great deal of late. I ought not to interrupt your rest any further.’ He raised himself from the stool.
‘What of the wound itself?’ I asked him before he could leave. I felt my calf throbbing; it seemed tight, as though there was something resting upon the skin, tied to it, perhaps. Something moist and heavy, weighing my leg down so much that I found it hard to move it.
‘We used the irons on it, of course, and after that applied a poultice of herbs. Again you were fortunate, for the cut, though long, was not deep.’
‘How long before it’s healed?’
