‘What will you do now?’ I asked them. ‘Now that Lord Robert’s dead, I mean.’
They glanced at each other, and I sensed that they had not given it much consideration. Of course had Robert had a son through lawful union, I would not have needed ask the question, for then we would simply have returned to Commines and sworn our swords to him. But he had fathered only bastards, and though that in itself did not mean they couldn’t inherit, none of them were of an age to take control of his manors, which would now revert to King Guillaume.
‘Probably we’ll try to find a new lord here,’ Wace said. ‘Otherwise we’ll return to Lundene, maybe from there even go back to Normandy.’
‘At any rate,’ Eudo said, ‘we won’t do anything until your leg is healed and you’re well once more.’
I wondered whether I should mention the offer the vicomte had made of taking me into his service, but decided against it. Though he had been generous with his praise, I was not sure that I wanted to remain in Northumbria, given what had happened in recent days. And I did not know if his offer would extend to my comrades as well — certainly he had not mentioned them when he had spoken to me. I would be reluctant to part with them, whom I had known for so long.
‘You know that I’m in your debt,’ I said. ‘If it hadn’t been for you …’
I did not finish the thought, for in truth I didn’t like to think what might have happened. Almost certainly I would not be alive to speak to them now.
‘We only did what we had to do,’ Eudo said. ‘We could hardly have left you there.’
‘Even so,’ I said, ‘I owe you my thanks.’
Wace put a hand on my shoulder. ‘We’re at the alehouse at the top of the street the townsmen call the Kopparigat. Come and find us once your leg is healed.’
‘Once the priest lets you out,’ Eudo added, with a grin.
They left after that, though I was not alone for long, as soon?lfwold came to see me, this time with a fresh poultice to place over my calf. He was pleased, for the irons had worked even better than he had hoped: the cut had closed up completely and there was no sign of any pus. I would forever bear the scar, he told me, but that could not be helped. It would only add to those I already had from battles past: upon my arm, down my side, across my shoulder-blade, although admittedly none of those were as severe as this one.
Later that same day I was visited by a monk. The hair around his tonsure was short and grey, his habit dirtied with mud, and he smelt of cattle dung. He brought with him a glass jar, which he handed to me without a word. I asked him what it was for, but he stared blankly back at me; clearly he did not speak French. But if nothing else he must have understood my puzzlement, for he held one hand down in front of his crotch, extending his forefinger, while with the other he pointed to the jar I was holding.
I tried to sit up, realising what he meant for me to do. My head was still heavy and my limbs weak from the fever, but the monk made no attempt to help me, instead merely gazing out of the window. At last I managed to perch on the edge of the bed, and with my back to the monk, I filled the jar.
He took it once I’d finished, lifting the golden liquid to the light and swirling it about, muttering some words that I did not understand as he examined it. He sniffed at the jar in disdain, and then put the rim to his mouth. I watched in disgust as he sipped at it, and he must have seen my expression for he gave me a quizzical look before walking out, nodding thoughtfully, still muttering to himself.
When the chaplain came to see me that evening, I asked him what the monk had been looking for.
‘If the urine is dark and cloudy,’?lfwold explained, ‘it shows that there is more healing work to be done. But if it appears pale and clear, does not smell stale, and most importantly is sweet upon the tongue, it is a positive sign of good health. Is this not common wisdom where you are from?’
Perhaps it was, though I did not know it. It was not something the infirmarian had ever taught me at the monastery, and, to tell the truth, I was glad for it. But?lfwold wouldn’t allow me to venture out until the monk was satisfied that my waters were sufficiently clear, and so for the next few days I was kept confined to my chamber.
Whenever he could, the chaplain would sit with me and tell me the news from outside, little though there was. He made no mention of any further disturbances in the city, nor anything of the Northumbrians marching south, and I began to wonder if perhaps Malet’s concerns were misplaced. At other times the priest would bring with him a squared board on which to play chess, and also a game like it called
As the days passed, however, gradually I recovered my strength, finding my appetite once more. My head began to feel clearer, less heavy, and I found that I was spending less time asleep. By the fifth day since I first woke in that narrow bed my leg had healed enough that I was able to stand, if somewhat unsteadily, and even — with the chaplain’s help — walk about the room. It still gave me trouble, but the priest assured me that the earlier I started to put my weight on it, the faster it would get better. And he was right, for it was but another two days before my piss was finally clear and he judged me well enough to venture out. I couldn’t walk far without stopping to give my leg respite, but simply going beyond the door was a relief; so far I had seen nothing of the world beyond my chamber, not even the rest of Malet’s house.
‘This was once the residence of the Earls of Northumbria,’ the chaplain told me as he led me into the great hall, ‘built in the days when Eoferwic fell under their dominion. No finer palace stands in all of England, save perhaps for that at Westmynstre.’
Indeed it was a place worthy of a vicomte. The hall was easily forty paces in length and perhaps more, with a gallery running around the edge, from which were hung round shields painted in many colours: vermilion and yellow, green and azure. The sun shone in through four high windows, casting wide triangles upon the floor. In the centre stood a table long enough to seat thirty lords, with room for some of their retainers as well, while at the far end was a great stone hearth, over which was set a black cauldron, though it was still too early for the fire to be lit.
I paced about, taking in the sight. Even Lord Robert had not had a hall such as this. The chaplain was right to compare it with Westmynstre, for it could have belonged to the king himself. And perhaps at times kings had sat here, surrounded by their court.
My gaze fell upon an embroidery hanging on the wall, depicting scenes from a battle, though which battle it was meant to be, I could not tell. There were groups of horsemen charging with lances couched under their arms, while facing them was a line of foot-soldiers, their shields raised and spears set. But they were not what most drew my attention, for just beyond them I saw a lone figure standing atop a mound. His sword was raised in front of him, pointing towards the sky; to either side, strewn across the hillock, were the corpses of a dozen mailed men. I had never seen needlework so fine, nor images so detailed as these.
And then above the knight’s head I noticed, stitched in rounded, uneven letters, a legend in Latin: ‘HIC MILES INVICTUS SUPERBE STAT’. It was a long time since I had last been at my studies: since I had last felt Brother Raimond’s hand striking my cheek for forgetting my declensions or mistranslating a passage. But the aged librarian was not watching over me now, and in any case it was not a difficult sentence.
‘“Here stands proudly the undefeated knight”,’ I murmured. I traced my fingers across the raised forms of the letters, wondering how long it would have taken to stitch even that one sentence; how many months had been spent in all upon this embroidery; how many nuns must have laboured together with needle and thread. Malet was wealthy indeed if he could afford such a piece.
‘You know your letters,’ said?lfwold, with some surprise. Few men of the sword were able to read or write. Neither Eudo nor Wace could; in fact of all the knights in Lord Robert’s household it was possible that I was the only literate one.
‘As a child I spent some years in a monastery,’ I replied. ‘That was before I left and joined Lord Robert.’
‘How old were you when you left?’
I hesitated. I had told few people anything about my time in the monastery at Dinant; the only ones who knew were those who were closest to me. They had not been the happiest of years, all told, and I did not much like to think of them. Yet even so, they had probably been happier times than these were now.
‘The summer when I fled was my fourteenth,’ I said quietly.
‘You fled?’
I turned away, back towards the image of the knight. Already I had said more than I had meant to.
‘Forgive me,’?lfwold said. ‘I do not mean to pry. It is none of my concern, I am sure. Though I do not blame
