fight.
‘Larboard oars, pull!’ Eudo said.
A rock passed by the stern, the length of three men and the width of one, surrounded by a floating mass of broken beams, and straightaway I knew that this was what we had hit. But so close were the enemy following that as we left it in our wake, I realised that the steersman of the ship behind could not have seen it.
A cry went up from the men in their bows, but it was too late, and they struck it full on, the prow heaving up, the rock slicing into the boat’s underside, tearing timbers into savage splinters. Men fell backwards, or were pitched over the side, plunging into the water, thrashing about to keep their heads above the surface, struggling to free themselves from their mail hauberks, which were dragging them down. Their ship ground to a halt, pitched over to one side with its larboard gunwale high, a rent along the length of its hull. Some of the oarsmen leapt overboard, trying to push it free from the rock, while those nearer the stern began to back-paddle. Behind it, the second ship drew up, the channel too narrow to allow it past. Angry shouts filled the air.
‘Break,’ I told the others in the shield-wall. Arrows continued to spit down from the sky, but I sensed they were loosed out of frustration rather than with any aim in mind, and they sailed high, far to larboard as the
‘Row,’ Eudo shouted from amidships. ‘No flagging, no slacking! Pull! Pull!’
The enemy receded into the distance, their ships continuing to dwindle until at last they disappeared into the night. Gradually the pace slowed and I began to breathe more easily as their shouts faded away to nothing, until all I could hear was the gentle creak of our own oars in their rowlocks, the splash of the blades as they entered the water, the slow beat of Eudo’s hand upon the drum. The men looked spent, hardly able to lift the blades any longer, their backs hunched over, their arms almost limp with exhaustion.
Wace made his way to the bows, where he lifted the deck-planks and gave his hand first to Elise, then to Beatrice, as he helped them climb out from the hold. I noticed the flighted end of an arrow jutting out from one of the timbers; it was as well they had been hidden, or that same arrow could have struck one of them.
I stepped over to the shipmaster and slapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘We owe you our thanks,’ I said, offering my hand.
Aubert took it wearily, his palms chafed and raw. ‘I don’t need thanks,’ he said between breaths. ‘Let’s just hope we don’t meet any more of the enemy tonight.’
I nodded. In front of us the channel was widening once more; the open river was almost upon us. If our luck held then by morning we would be in Alchebarge.
Fifteen
Darkness settled around us as
I untied the strap under my chin and removed my helmet, setting it down on the deck by my feet. I glanced towards my fellow knights and saw the relief in their eyes. At the same time, though, I could sense a frustration in them, a frustration that had I been the same age I would surely have felt too. For there were few things worse for a young warrior hungry for battle than to be denied the chance to test one’s sword-arm, to prove oneself. Death was not something one even considered, though that seemed to me due less to the arrogance of youth than to an innocence of the true nature of battle. Many were the times I had seen such men charge happily to their deaths. More than once I had come close to doing the same. The fact that I had held myself back was — above all else, above skill at arms or bravery or strength — the reason why after all these years I was still alive, when so many others I had known were not.
I gazed past the stern into the night, searching upstream for any sign of the enemy, but there was none. Indeed I could barely make out the line of the shore, lost as it was in the mist. But in truth I didn’t expect them to continue the pursuit; the last light of day was gone and they could not hope to find us by night. We were out of danger, for the present at least.
Wace returned, having already divested himself of his mail, though he was still wearing his scabbard. He stood beside me, arms folded as he leant on the gunwale, soon joined by Eudo.
‘Malet will need God on his side if he’s to defend Eoferwic,’ Wace said.
‘He was on our side tonight,’ I pointed out.
Eudo grinned at me. ‘Because we have Aelfwold with us.’
It was a weak attempt at a jest and I did not smile. I was thinking of the twelve English ships I had counted, and my heart sank as I realised that each one might carry as many as fifty Englishmen, and even if only half of those were fighting men, it meant that Eadgar would have another three hundred spears under his banner. Together with those already besieging Eoferwic it made for a considerable host, several times larger than that which Malet had left to him. Wace was right: the vicomte would need God’s help.
‘He’ll hold out in the castle even if the city falls,’ I said.
‘But for how long?’ Wace asked.
‘For as long as he needs to.’ Otherwise the whole of Northumbria, from Dunholm to Eoferwic, would lie in the hands of the English rebels.
Wace gave me a wry look but said nothing.
‘No doubt we’ll hear soon enough,’ I said. It did not warrant dwelling upon. Our task was to see Malet’s womenfolk safely to Lundene; all we could do was carry that out.
I turned away from the river, towards the oarsmen, exhausted after the chase. Some sat bent forwards, hands on their heads, heads bowed low between their legs. Others lay collapsed across their ship-chests, on their backs or on their sides, breathing deeply of the night air. One of the younger men leant over the side, spewing forth a long stream of vomit, some of which dribbled down into his beard and on to his tunic.
A dozen or so had crowded beside the man who had been killed, those behind peering over the shoulders of those in front. The shipmaster himself was there, and he murmured a few words before standing and making his way back towards the bow. It took two of the men to lift the youth’s body: one taking the legs, the other the shoulders. Together they followed the shipmaster, who lifted away some of the deck-planks, revealing the hold space where Elise and Beatrice had hidden. He motioned the two men forward and gently they lowered the body into the gap. They stood there a while, not speaking, just looking down upon him, until the shipmaster lay a sheet of spare black sailcloth over him and replaced the boards.
‘We’ll pay our dues to him properly when we reach Alchebarge,’ he said.
The others nodded and returned to the rest of their companions. Too tired even for tears, I thought, or simply numbed by the tide of emotions. Exhilarated by the victory, at having themselves evaded death, yet at the same time grief-stricken for their fallen friend. I knew such feelings well.
Aubert returned to the tiller and sat down. I went and placed a hand on his shoulder in sympathy.
‘He had only been with me since last summer,’ the shipmaster said, and swallowed. ‘Strong lad, he was. Always eager.’
I wanted to say something, but in truth there was nothing more to add. Privately I couldn’t help but think that we had been lucky to lose only one man; it could so easily have been worse.
Aubert rose, shrugging off my hand. I looked up as Lady Elise hustled her way along the length of the ship, her daughter and the chaplain close behind. The ladies’ skirts were raised above their ankles, prompting stares from more than one of the rowers as they picked their way between them. The embarrassment on Beatrice’s face was clear but she held her head high and tried to ignore them, almost tripping over one of the cross-beams in so doing. Elise paid them no attention; her face was a shade somewhere between distress and anger.
‘My lady,’ I said. ‘You look troubled.’
‘We must send word to my husband.’ Her dress was damp; a few strands of grey hair had come loose from
