The vicomte held his gaze. The wind was up, whistling across the marshes and the plains, while around us banner-cloth flapped. Otherwise there was silence.
‘Do I have an answer, then?’ Eadgar asked.
Malet looked up towards the sky, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes — searching for guidance from God, perhaps — until, after a final glance at the?theling, he turned his back and made for his horse.
‘You are a fool, Guillaume,’ Eadgar called as the rest of us followed and mounted up. ‘I will show you no mercy! Do you hear me? No mercy!’
But the vicomte did not reply as we rode away, back towards the city gates. Instead he was staring out into the distance, towards the west, as the last glimmer of sun descended below the horizon. And I felt a chill come over me. For in his eyes was a look I recognised: the same one that I had seen in Lord Robert’s that night at Dunholm.
A look of despair, as if he already knew his fate.
Twelve
That night I dreamt of Oswynn.
She was with me still, as beautiful as ever, her black hair whipping behind her in the wind, laughing wildly. All about us the land glowed beneath the summer sun as we rode across pastureland, through fields grown thick with wheat. Behind us lay the town of Waerwic, which was where I had first met her, though we would not be returning there. How long we had been riding neither of us knew, when we came upon a forest glade, far from anyone who might disturb us. We left our horses, and there under the shade of the trees we lay down in each other’s embrace, and I was caressing her cheeks, her neck, her pale breasts before-
I woke sharply to the sound of my name, finding myself in my room once more. Malet’s house, I remembered. It was still dark; a faint half-light shone in through the window. A stout figure stood over me, clad in dark robes and a thick cloak. A green pebble hung around his neck and he carried in his hand a small lantern. The flickering flame lit up his face.
‘?lfwold?’ I asked.
‘Dress quickly,’ the chaplain said.
I sat up, trying to hold on to the forest, to Oswynn, the smell of her skin, the heat of that summer’s day, even as they slipped away from me. A cold draught blew in through the open door. I had kept my shirt on during the night, but it was only thin and the air was like ice upon my skin.
‘It’s early,’ I said, which was obvious, but my mind was still clouded with sleep and those were the first words that came upon my tongue.
‘So it is, my friend,’ the priest answered. ‘We must be up.’
Outside I could hear men shouting, horses whinnying. For an instant the chamber was bathed in an orange glow as a torch flashed past the window, then darkness took hold once again.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked.
‘They’re coming,’?lfwold said. ‘We must make for the wharves without delay.’
‘The English are marching?’
The chaplain frowned. ‘The rebels,’ he corrected me. ‘Their army has been seen approaching from the north.’ He set the lantern down upon the floor. ‘I shall be waiting in the hall.’
He hurried out. I threw off the blanket which lay over me and got to my feet, tugging my tunic on over my shirt, pulling on and lacing up my braies, donning my mail and fastening my cloak about me. My knife lay beside the bed, and I buckled it upon my belt — on my right side this time, for the sword the vicomte had given me was now on my left. Again I could hear shouting, and the fall of hooves in the yard. I glanced about the room to make sure there was nothing else, but there was not. Soberly I realised then that I was carrying with me everything I owned.
?lfwold was waiting for me in the hall, just as he said he would be. He was dressed not in his usual priestly robes but in what looked more like travelling clothes: a green tunic and brown trews, with a loose reddish-brown cloak in the English style, clasped at the right shoulder with an intricate silver brooch.
‘You are ready?’ the priest asked. ‘Whatever you need you must bring now, for we cannot return later.’
‘I’m ready,’ I said. I checked beneath my cloak for the coin-pouch that the vicomte had entrusted to me; it was still there. ‘Has word been sent to Eudo and Wace?’
‘A messenger has been sent,’ he answered as we made our way to the great doors, which lay open. ‘They’ll be meeting us at the ship.’
Outside the courtyard lay shrouded in mist, lit only by torchlight and, far to the east, the faint grey light that marked the approach of dawn. Frost crunched beneath my feet; the ground was hard and the puddles had turned to ice. The chaplain led me towards a group of knights — three in all — who were standing beside their horses, rubbing their hands to warm them. All looked up as we approached. Two of them I did not recognise but one I did, for he was one of those who had been with Malet the day before: short but firmly set, with a nose that seemed too large for his face.
‘These are the men who will be accompanying us,’?lfwold told me, then to the others said, ‘This is Tancred, whom Lord Guillaume has assigned to lead you.’
I held out my hand and clasped each of theirs in turn, struck by how young they all seemed. I was never very good at judging ages, but I guessed that they were easily three or four years younger than myself.
‘I thought there were to be six of us,’ said the one with the large nose. His voice was deep, with a slight rasp that put me in mind of a dog’s bark.
‘The other two will be meeting us at the ship,’?lfwold said as half a dozen mounted men galloped past us, lances in hand, towards the gates. ‘Now we await only the ladies Elise and Beatrice.’
We did not need to wait long, however, for at that moment I saw them riding towards us from the stables: Beatrice, her slender frame wrapped in a thick black cloak trimmed with fur; and beside her a woman who could only be her mother, Malet’s wife. Rounder than her daughter, she rode with a straight back, and her face was stern, with a piercing gaze not unlike her husband’s.
‘My ladies,’ the chaplain said as they checked their horses before us.
‘Father?lfwold,’ Elise said, before she turned to me. ‘You are the one my husband has chosen to escort us to Lundene?’ she asked. Her voice was even — much like her daughter’s, in fact — and I saw that despite her stern countenance she was not unattractive for her age.
‘I am, my lady,’ I replied, and bowed. ‘My name is Tancred.’
‘Forgive me,’ the chaplain said, interrupting, ‘but we must make haste. There will be time enough for introductions once we’ve sailed.’
A stable-hand had arrived as we were speaking, leading two horses, one of which must have belonged to the chaplain, for he now took its reins, while the other was the mare I had borrowed the day before.
‘Very well,’ said the lady Elise. ‘We shall speak further later, I am sure.’
I took the mare’s reins from the stable-hand. She was already saddled and so I mounted up and rode to the head of the party. I met Beatrice’s eyes briefly as I passed — wide and full of fear — before she turned away again.
I pointed to the large-nosed man. ‘You,’ I said. ‘What’s your name?’
He regarded me with a defiant look. ‘Radulf,’ he said, as he settled himself in the saddle.
‘I saw you with the vicomte yesterday, up at the marketplace by the minster church.’
‘That’s right,’ he said, narrowing his eyes. ‘What of it?’
I would be lying if I said that his hostility did not irk me, though at the same time I was not surprised by it. Probably he was used to leading, and so resented my being placed in charge.
‘Take the rearguard,’ I said, ignoring his question, and likewise ignoring the angry look that he returned. My eyes fell upon one of his companions: a thickset man who it seemed had not shaved in some time. ‘And you,’ I said. ‘What do they call you?’
‘Godefroi,’ he said. ‘Godefroi fitz Alain.’
‘Go with him.’
