another man my oath. Nor had I known how hard it would be to do so.
I let go. My throat felt dry and I swallowed to moisten it. But it was done.
Malet replaced the cross on the altar before unbuckling his sword-belt. ‘I give you this blade,’ he said as he held the scabbard out to me in open palms. The leather was unadorned save for the steel chape at its point; the hilt was wrapped around with cord to aid one’s grip, the pommel a simple round disc.
I rose and took it from him, slowly, so as not to drop it. It felt heavy in my hands, but then it was the first time since the battle that I had held a sword, even one sheathed such as this. I fastened it upon my waist, adjusting the buckle until it fitted.
‘I will make sure you are provided with new mail, a shield and a helmet,’ the vicomte said. ‘Otherwise I intend for you to travel light. Come to the wharves at noon tomorrow. I will be there to bid you all safe journey.’
‘We’ll be travelling by ship?’ I asked, surprised. The usual route to Lundene was by land, not sea.
‘The roads around Eoferwic are growing ever more dangerous, and I do not wish to take any chances,’ Malet said. ‘My own ship,
‘I understand,’ I said.
‘There is one more thing.’ He produced a leather pouch from within the folds of his cloak and handed it to me.
I took it, feeling its weight, the clink of metal inside. I undid the drawstring and upended the contents into my palm. A stream of silver coins spilt out, cold upon my skin, glinting in the candlelight.
‘There ought to be enough there to pay for provisions, inns for the night, and whatever else you might need on the way,’ Malet said. ‘If, however, by the time you arrive in Lundene you should find yourself needing more, you have only to ask my steward, Wigod, and he will provide you with whatever else you require to get to Wiltune and back.’
Wigod. Yet another English name. I wondered how many more Englishmen the vicomte had in his service.
‘I trust that you will not fail me,’ the vicomte said, his blue eyes fixed upon me.
‘No, lord,’ I said. He had given me this responsibility, and my debt to him would not be paid until I had seen it through. ‘I will not fail you.’
He looked as if he were about to say something else, but at that moment the doors were flung open. I raised a hand to shield my eyes as bright light filled the chapel. The man who entered was dressed in mail, his helmet tucked under his arm. With his face in shadow and the sun behind him it took me a moment to recognise him, but as he hurried across the tiles towards us, I saw his long chin, his high brow. It was Gilbert de Gand.
‘Lord Guillaume,’ he said. Either he had not seen me or he did not care, but for once his arrogant air was gone, replaced by a troubled look.
‘What is it?’ Malet demanded.
‘There is a man outside wishing to see you. An envoy from the enemy. He arrived at the city gates not half an hour ago.’
‘An envoy? What does he want?’
‘It seems the rebels’ leader wishes to see you,’ Gilbert said. ‘To discuss terms.’
Malet fell silent. I thought of the doubts he had expressed to me only moments before, and wondered what was going through his mind. As difficult as our position was, he would not willingly surrender Eoferwic, surely? Gilbert was watching him carefully, waiting for a reply. I wondered if Malet had confided as much in him as he had in me.
‘Let me speak to this man,’ the vicomte said at last. He strode towards the chapel doors. ‘Where is he now?’
He did not have to look far. The envoy sat astride a brown warhorse in the middle of the practice yard, where a crowd of knights and servants had gathered to watch. He was built like a bear and dressed like a warrior, with a helmet and a leather jerkin as well as a scabbard on his belt. If he was at all nervous at being surrounded by so many Frenchmen, he did not show it. In fact he seemed to be enjoying the attention, grinning widely and taking every insult thrown at him as if it were a mark of honour.
He bowed his head when he saw the vicomte. ‘Guillaume Malet, seigneur of Graville across the sea,’ he said, stumbling a little over the French words. ‘My lord sends you his greetings-’
‘Spare me the pleasantries,’ Malet cut him off. ‘Who is your lord?’
‘Eadgar,’ the envoy replied, loudly so that everyone in the bailey could hear, ‘son of Eadward, son of Eadmund, son of?thelred, of the line of Cerdic.’
‘You mean Eadgar?theling?’ Malet asked.
The envoy nodded. ‘He would speak with you this very evening, if you are willing.’
The last surviving heir of the old English line, Eadgar was the only other figure around whom the enemy might have rallied after H?stinges, his title
‘I would advise against this, lord,’ Gilbert said, his voice low. ‘We know how treacherous the Northumbrians are. These are the same savages who murdered Richard but four days ago.’
‘Even so,’ Malet said, ‘I would prefer to look upon the face of my enemy.’ But though he spoke confidently, his face was grim. He looked about, saw one of his servants and called for his sword and mail, and then to the Englishman said: ‘Tell your lord I will meet with him.’
‘This is unwise, Guillaume,’ Gilbert said, more loudly this time. ‘What if they plan another ambush?’
‘Then you will accompany me with fifty of your own knights to make sure that doesn’t happen.’
For a moment Gilbert looked as though he was about to protest, but he must have thought better of it, for he merely scowled and stalked off to his horse.
‘Come, Tancred,’ said the vicomte. ‘That is, if you wish to see the man who was responsible for Earl Robert’s death.’
‘Yes, lord,’ I replied, though the words came out more stiffly than I would have liked. I could feel my sword- arm tensing, but I tried to calm myself, difficult though that was, for Malet was watching me. As if testing me, I thought.
‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘Let us hear what Eadgar has to say.’
The sun was already upon the horizon by the time we rode out from the city’s north-eastern gate. Almost every one of the Norman lords who resided in Eoferwic was there, each with a contingent of knights under his own banner, and at their head rode Malet.
The country around Eoferwic lay open in every direction: wide marshes rising to gentle slopes where sheep grazed. A few trees gave some cover, but they were sparse enough that an ambush was unlikely. Not that the enemy seemed to have any such intention, for no sooner had we left the city than I spied spearpoints and helmets glinting not half a mile away. Eadgar was already waiting for us.
‘There they are,’ murmured?lfwold, who was riding beside me. The vicomte had brought him for counsel, although in truth I could not see what use the priest would be. This was surely a matter for men of the sword, not of the cloth.
In the low light it was hard to make out the enemy’s exact numbers, but I reckoned they had brought at least as many men as we had: some on horseback, others on foot, and all of them gathered under a purple-and-yellow banner — the colours, I supposed, of the?theling himself.
Indeed I saw him now. He was a head taller than most of his men and wore a sturdy helmet, with plates at the side to protect his cheeks and a long nasal-guard rimmed with gleaming gold. Surrounding him were men in mail and helmets, armed with spears and swords and long-handled axes, with his colours upon their shields. What the English would call
