but I could not afford to slow the pace again. Oars creaked in their rowlocks; blades crashed awkwardly into the water, not cutting its surface cleanly as they had before, casting up spray, turning the water white with foam with every heave.
‘Harder!’ I said, but when I looked at them I saw only tired arms, tired faces, and thought they might collapse if I tried to press the pace further.
Up ahead rose the island, which I saw now was no great mound but in truth little more than a low rise, bolstered on its upstream side by wide banks of silt. Indeed, had
In the bow of the ship, the rest of the knights were still putting on their mail, Wace and Philippe adjusting their coifs over their heads, Radulf and Godefroi tying their helmets’ leather straps under their chins. Only Eudo was fully ready, looping the strap of his shield around his neck.
I called him over. ‘Take the drum,’ I said, releasing it from my arm and pushing it towards his mailed chest. He slung his shield across his back and took it without a word, his expression grim. I thought of all the times we had charged upon enemy shield-walls bristling with spears, staring fate in the face, never knowing whether that battle would be our last. But at least then we’d known we could trust in the strength of our own sword-arms to see us through.
‘We have a priest with us,’ I said. ‘God won’t let us come to harm.’
He did not look certain, nor did I feel it, but I could think of nothing else to say. I left him and crossed towards the bow platform, where Wace was fastening his helmet-strap.
‘Are the ladies safe?’ I asked.
‘They’re safe,’ Wace said. I nodded, feeling that I should check on them but knowing there was no time; I had his word and that would have to be enough.
From behind came another muted rush of air as more arrows were given flight, though they dropped short of the stern by half a length. I had spotted only half a dozen archers on each ship, but that was scant relief, for it would only take a few of their shafts to strike home to start causing panic amidst our rowers.
I turned my attention to Malet’s men, who were beginning to pull chausses up over their legs.
‘Leave them,’ I said. ‘A hauberk you can remove quickly if you fall in. Chausses will only weigh you down.’ I spoke from experience: I had seen men drown in circumstances none too different, held under the surface by the very weight of their mail, floundering, struggling for breath with no one to help them.
I shrugged off my cloak and fastened my sword-belt to my waist, then found my gambeson and pulled it on over my head, followed by the hauberk and finally the helmet. I fed the hilt of my sword through the slit in the hauberk, just as a cry of agony went up from one of the rowers on the larboard side. His oar-handle slipped from his grasp, through the rowlock and out into the water. I rushed to the young man’s side as a great cheer erupted from the boats of our pursuers. A feathered shaft had pierced his gut, and blood was spilling out on to the deck.
‘It hurts,’ he whimpered, eyes shut tight. ‘It hurts!’
‘Aelfwold,’ I called, and then because some of the oarsmen around him were drawing their attention away from their stroke, ‘Row, you bastards!’
‘Pull,’ Eudo said. ‘Pull!’
I put my arms around the man’s chest and hauled him over so that he lay on his back rather than his side; he had been struck on his right and I could not easily get to the wound otherwise. He let out another cry and his hands clutched at the arrow. I saw that it had pierced deep, the whole head buried into the flesh and some of the shaft too. I pushed the man’s hands away and snapped off the flighted end to leave only the point in the wound, then took hold of a corner of the man’s cloak. It was wrapped awkwardly around his body, but I was able to free enough that I could gather it and press it in a wad against the wound. Even as I did so, though, I knew it was in vain: the wound was too severe, the blood flowing too quickly to be staunched.
The oarsman gasped and his head wrenched forward. I heard footsteps along the deck and Aelfwold knelt down next to me.
‘How badly was he struck?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘See to him,’ I said, standing back up on the centre plank and letting the chaplain get closer. I waved to the rest of the knights to follow me towards the stern; if we ran aground that was where I wanted them, facing the first line of the English assault. ‘A shield,’ I called to them as I stepped up on to the platform. ‘Bring me a shield!’
We were almost at the island, at the point where the river forked, still clinging to the steerboard shore as Aubert tugged hard on the tiller, taking us into the channel. The closest of the English ships was no more than three lengths up in front of us now; both were filled with men, roaring, battering the hafts of their spears against their round shields. The few archers they possessed were lined behind them, letting fly as quickly as they could draw the shafts from their arrow-bags, without regard for aim.
‘How is he?’ Aubert asked, his gaze not turning from the channel ahead.
I looked back towards the chaplain, who was kneeling there still, his head bowed and his palms together. The oarsman was no longer moving, his eyes closed, his expression fixed in anguish.
‘He’s dead,’ I replied.
The shipmaster said nothing, gritting his teeth as he wrestled with the steerboard. His face was red, his cheeks wet with perspiration.
On either side of us the marshes were closing in, and it seemed like the water itself was receding. From the island came a clatter of wings as a flock of crows took flight, cawing as they went, spiralling up into the sky before swooping low over our heads. Ahead, the channel glistened: a thin course of white showing us the way between the darkness of the two shores.
Wace headed the knights as they stepped up on to the platform, unslinging one of the two shields from around his neck and passing it to me. I looped the strap over my right shoulder and put my arm through the leather brases, gripping the cross in my hand, just in time as Wace yelled out: ‘Shields!’
A cluster of silver points flew out of the western sky. I brought my shield up to cover my face, moments before a shaft thudded into it, sending a shock down my arm and into my shoulder, but I held it firm. Behind me on the platform there was a crash of mail upon timber; Philippe lay face upwards on the deck, shield lying across his chest, and at first I thought the enemy had claimed another kill, but he was breathing and moving with no sign of injury, running a hand along the side of his helmet where there was now a dent in the plate.
‘Up!’ I said, for already more arrows were flashing towards us. These ones flew wide, falling harmlessly amongst the reeds, albeit no more than a couple of oar-lengths away from
‘Come on, you bastards,’ Eudo said. ‘Harder! Harder!’
The ship shuddered again and I staggered forwards. A great grinding noise sounded up through the deck as the hull scraped along the riverbed. I thought we had run aground, and I waited for the moment when the bows would drive up on to the flats and we would become stranded, but the moment never came; instead the grinding ceased and suddenly we were free. Relief washed over me, if only briefly, since the enemy still followed, their war- cries growing ever louder to match the beating on their shields. I wiped the sweat off my brow and adjusted my helmet so that the nasal-piece sat more comfortably. It would not be long before they caught us and the slaughter began.
‘Larboard, lift oars-’ Eudo shouted, before he was interrupted by a series of loud cracks near the front of the ship. I looked over my shoulder, saw the first half-dozen or more oars sheared through, blades missing from their ends. We had struck something, though what it was I could not see. Another roar went up from the men massed in the enemy’s bows, and they raised axes and swords to the sky. Their leading ship surged forward, less than a length behind us, so close now that I could see the emblems on their shields. A spear sailed through the air, hurled by a tall Englishman; next to me Radulf caught it on his shield and deflected it aside, into the water.
I drew my sword. ‘Shield-wall,’ I said to the knights. ‘Keep close and don’t let anything through.’ I overlapped my shield with that of Philippe to my right; on my left, Godefroi did the same. I would soon see how well they could
