beneath her wimple to fall across her face. ‘An English fleet sails towards Eoferwic. We must warn him.’
‘There is nothing we can do,’ I said. ‘The river is closed to us, and no message that we might send overland will reach Eoferwic before them.’
She turned to the shipmaster. ‘And what do you say?’
‘He’s right,’ Aubert replied. ‘The enemy will be rowing against the current, but if they travel through the night they’ll be there by dawn. Given horses and open country, we might get word through in time, but not on foot and across these marshes.’
‘We must do something,’ she protested.
‘There is nothing we can do,’ I repeated, my ire rising. Why could this woman not understand this? ‘I swore an oath to your husband — an oath that I would protect you and your daughter. That is what I intend to do.’
I looked for support from Aubert, who nodded in agreement. ‘We have no choice. The best we can do is to get to Alchebarge as soon as possible.’
‘And leave my husband in mortal danger?’ the lady Elise said, on the verge of tears. She clasped her daughter’s hand tightly. ‘How are we to live with such uncertainty?’
I felt myself tensing, my patience nearly ground down. We had only narrowly escaped danger ourselves; I was tired and not much given to being harassed with questions that didn’t have answers.
‘These are uncertain times,’ I said sharply. ‘Not just for you, but for all of us.’
Aelfwold, standing behind the two ladies, fixed me with a stern look. Elise remained where she was, looking at me, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, lips pursed and shaking her head. But I had said only what needed to be said.
‘My lady,’ the chaplain said, at last turning his eyes from me, ‘Lord Guillaume is a thoroughly capable man. I am sure that with or without our help, he will succeed.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Now, it is growing late and the road to Lundene will be long. We should try to sleep.’
‘A wise idea,’ I said, unmoved. It had indeed been a long day. Had anyone tried to tell me then that it was only the night before that the rebel army had arrived outside Eoferwic’s gates, only the night before that we had gone to meet the Aetheling, I would not have believed them. ‘We have a good few days’ travel ahead of us. Best to rest now while you have the chance.’
Still Elise looked at me, her lip trembling, and she did not move until Aelfwold said softly, ‘My ladies,’ and she spun away, hoisting her skirts once again. Beatrice waited a moment longer, her plaintive eyes unblinking, holding my gaze, then she too turned to follow her mother towards the bow.
‘That was harsh,’ the chaplain said when they were out of earshot.
‘What would you have me say?’ I asked. That all would be well, perhaps, that Malet would come through unharmed? But I could not know that and they would not have believed me even had I told them so.
‘They aren’t used to this,’ Aubert put in. ‘Some comfort is what they need.’
‘Even if that comfort is false?’ I didn’t mean to hurt them, but neither could I bring myself to say anything that was less than honest.
‘At the very least I would expect you to extend them your courtesy,’ Aelfwold said. ‘To show some politeness.’
I looked away, out across the river, shaking my head.
‘Tancred,’ the priest said, and there was a note of warning in his voice. ‘Remember what Lord Guillaume has done for you, and consider what he would like you to do in return for his womenfolk. You don’t have to enjoy their company, only offer them the respect they deserve and not antagonise them.’
‘I’ll try, father,’ I said, though more to please him than because I truly meant it.
‘That’s all I ask,’ said Aelfwold. ‘Now, I intend to get some rest. I bid you a good night.’ He went to join the two ladies again, helping them as they spread blankets upon the deck and settled down.
Aubert still watched me, a disapproving look in his eyes, but I’d heard enough words of reproach already, and I wasn’t about to listen to any more.
‘What?’ I said.
He did not reply, but instead picked up a sack lying close to the tiller, reaching into it and tossing small loaves down to each of the rowers as he walked the length of the ship. ‘Eat,’ he said to them. ‘Eat and gather your strength, for soon we row on.’
A concerted groan went up from the men.
‘That’s right,’ he said, raising his voice above their shouts. ‘The enemy might be behind us but there’s still some way to Alchebarge.’
‘Aubert,’ said one, older, more grizzled than the rest. ‘Most of us have been rowing ever since we left Eoferwic. We can’t go much further tonight.’
The shipmaster turned, stony-faced, towards him, then he cast his gaze up and down the length of the ship, surveying the rest of the men. ‘The more progress we make tonight, the less we have to do tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘And if there are any more English ships downriver, it’s better that we pass them under the cover of darkness while their crews might be sleeping, than when it’s light and they’re fresh.’
He began to pace once more. ‘I’ve seen you work harder than this before. All I ask for is thirty men rowing at a time, for a few hours at most before changing over. That way we keep going through the night.’ He delved into the sack for more loaves as he neared the end of the line. ‘For now, though, we eat.’
Nonetheless, it was not much longer before the oars were lowered back into the water and Aubert began to sound the time, a slower pace than before but constant nevertheless. The beat was quickly taken up by the oarsmen, whose ranks I had joined, together with Eudo, Philippe and Radulf; Wace and Godefroi had taken the opportunity to rest, along with the other half of
I woke the next day just as the sun was coming up, a glimmer on the distant horizon that turned the waters into a sea of shimmering gold. The oars had all been stowed inboard and most of the men lay curled up in their blankets beside their ship-chests. But the wind was rising, gusting at us from astern, and Aubert was amidships giving orders as the mast was raised and the sail unfurled, its alternating stripes of black and yellow billowing out, pushing us on downriver.
The river had broadened, so much so that I could hardly pick out the shores to either side. Blinking, rubbing my eyes to clear the last traces of sleep, I breathed in a deep draught of frigid air. A lone gull swooped low in front of the ship, soon joined by another which flew up from the river, and the two rose to the blue sky, dancing in flight, twisting around and about each other, crying as they did so.
It was a clear dawn, but a cold one. I blew warm air into my hands as I shook off the woollen blankets that covered me. Around me the other knights were all still sleeping; of our party Aelfwold was the only other up and he was at prayer. Aubert soon returned to take the tiller and I spoke to him for a while, though he was bone-tired. He had not slept all night; his eyes looked dark and heavy and he kept yawning. I offered to take his place for a few hours while he rested, and he readily accepted. With open water around us and a following wind, managing the tiller ought not to be difficult, he said. As long as I kept her facing into the sun I could not go wrong.
And so I sat on his ship-chest, gazing out across the wide river, towards the many small islands which drifted past, and beyond, to the south and a shoreline dotted with trees, with low hills in the distance: the part of England known as Mercia.
A sudden shadow was cast over me and I looked up to see Beatrice leaning upon the side of the ship, the profile of her face sharply outlined in the low sun. Her eyes were closed and she wore a slight smile, as if she were enjoying the play of the breeze across her cheeks.
‘My lady,’ I said, a little surprised to see her there. I had expected one of the other knights, or perhaps Aelfwold. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Well enough,’ she replied. The smile faded from her face but she did not open her eyes.
I wondered if she was angry about what I had said the night before, and almost opened my mouth to apologise. Our flight from Eoferwic, the encounter with the English fleet, the pursuit: it had all left me on edge, and
