struck.
‘Onwards,’ I told the other three as I slowed Rollo and trotted back towards Ivo.
His teeth were clenched tight and he had a pained expression on his face. ‘I’m not hurt,’ he gasped. ‘Go with them.’
‘Let me see,’ I said as I prised away his fingers. His mail was wet with crimson; beneath it, his tunic was similarly stained, and there was a round, open wound where a spear had pierced his skin. It looked deep, and I only hoped that it had not penetrated his gut.
‘Get back to the fastness,’ I told him. ‘Find someone who can help you.’
‘It’s nothing,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I can still fight.’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ I said, more harshly than I had meant, perhaps, but it was plain that he was going to be of little use in the fighting that was sure to come.
He bowed his head feebly, but did not argue as he tugged on his reins to turn back up towards the stronghold.
‘Go,’ I said, slapping his horse on the rump to start it moving, and slowly he began to ride back up the hill. I did not wait to make sure he was gone, but wheeled around to follow the others, who had already disappeared from sight, beyond the bend in the street. On either side of me Normans were fleeing back up the hill, some staggering, some managing to run, and there were some too on horseback, although they had no mail or weapons with them.
‘Back to the fastness,’ I shouted to them all. Silently I cursed at how we could have been caught so unprepared. I thought of Oswynn and I inhaled deeply, praying to God that Mauger and Ernost had taken her to safety.
The wind rushed past and the ground disappeared beneath Rollo’s hooves. On my right the church tower rose up, tall and dark, though its bell was no longer tolling. The street turned sharply to the left, and all of a sudden the marketplace was before me and I was charging at full gallop towards the enemy. For the square was filled with men: Normans and English running amongst each other, shields clashing against shields, all in disorder.
A horse screamed in pain, and I watched as its rider was toppled from the saddle, still desperately clinging to the reins as he hit the ground. The animal teetered on its hind legs, and the knight, with one foot caught in the stirrup, was kicking, struggling to get away. He was still shouting when the hooves came down on his face.
I looked for Eudo and the others, but in the darkness and amidst so many men and horses I could not see them. In the very centre of the melee the hawk banner flew high, and I searched for Lord Robert amongst his knights. At first it seemed he was not there, and I felt my heart race, but then he lifted his head, shouting as he drove his sword through an Englishman’s chest, and I saw the red strips of cloth attached to his helmet: the tail that signified that he was the earl. There were ten knights with him, and a great many spearmen as well, but the Northumbrians must have recognised who he was, for they were throwing most of their numbers into that part of the battle and were already beginning to surround him.
‘For Lord Robert and King Guillaume!’ I roared as I charged to his banner.
A sole Northumbrian, separated from the rest of his kinsmen, came at me from the front, throwing the full weight of his body behind his spearhead; I cut to the right and took the blow on my shield, striking the weapon away so hard that the haft slipped from his grip. I followed through before he could get out of the way, bringing the boss down on top of his bare head, and he fell to the ground.
More of the enemy had seen me coming and quickly they turned to face me, away from Robert and his men, bringing their shields together, overlapping them to form a wall. They began to level their spears, but they were few in number and so I spurred Rollo on, trusting in him not to falter, not to panic. I raised my shield to cover his flank, ploughing onwards, ducking my head and closing my eyes tight, and then I heard the snap of ashen shafts and the clatter of limewood shields upon the stones and I knew I was through. I looked up to the sight of splinters flying and Englishmen fleeing around me, and then I was amongst them, cleaving with my blade: tearing through leather, through mail and through flesh; making space for anyone who might be behind me to follow.
‘For King Guillaume!’ came a cry, and I recognised the voice as belonging to Lord Robert. I looked to my right and he was there by my side, pressing forward through the Northumbrian ranks, his helmet-tail flailing behind him, his teeth gritted in determination as he brought his blade down, shattering the rim of an enemy’s shield. ‘For Normandy!’ he yelled.
The enemy clustered close around us, thrusting forward with their spears, but then a war-horn blasted out and suddenly most of their kinsmen were falling back to form a new shield-wall further down the marketplace, leaving these few without support. The rest of Robert’s knights were with us now, and the English must have realised how exposed they were, for fear took hold of them and all at once they fled.
I was about to give chase when Robert shouted out: ‘Hold back!’
I looked behind me and understood why, for there were barely twenty knights under his banner and he could not chance to lose any of us. More spearmen had arrived to fill out our ranks; and, down the road from the fastness, I saw banners of all designs, banners in red and white, green and blue, and riding beneath them were men in mail hauberks, men with helmets and swords, coming to join us. For a moment I breathed more easily, but only for a moment, because at the same time the English were gathering, marching up the hill from the town gates, and once more they were banging their weapons against their shields, all of them roaring with one voice.
‘
A shiver ran through me; never since H?stinges had I seen so many Englishmen bearing arms together, ready for battle, baying for our blood. There were hundreds of them under a purple-and-yellow-striped banner, and for every beat of my heart, dozens more were joining them in their long shield-wall.
One knight charged forward from our line, his ventail still undone and flapping away. Perhaps he thought we would all be behind him, or perhaps anger had simply taken hold of him, but he rode hard and he rode alone, straight for the enemy’s bristling spears. He lifted his lance high above his head and hurled it into their ranks, and then drew his sword, preparing to meet their wall, when a spear flew out of the sky, catching him in the throat. His sword fell from his hand as he tumbled from his mount, and I saw his neck snap back as he struck the ground.
The enemy whooped with delight, and the battle-thunder grew louder, faster. ‘
Rollo fidgeted with his feet and I rubbed his neck to keep him calm. Around me men exchanged uncertain glances.
‘Hold back!’ Lord Robert shouted as he rode along in front of our forces, signalling to the rest of the lords who had gathered with their men and their banners. ‘Hold back!’
I realised I was still holding my sword and sheathed it again, looking around the rest of Robert’s men to see if there were any faces I recognised. The earl had nearly one hundred knights in his employ and I was not familiar with them all, but I saw several men who normally rode within my conroi and I called them to me. There were ten of them in all: Rualon, the sole other Breton apart from myself; Hedo, who had the broken nose; and several whose names I could not at that time recall. All of them appeared tired, but so far as I could see, none had been injured.
Ten, when there ought to have been nearly thirty. I spotted Eudo and the other two, who had seen the hawk banner and were riding back towards us. The three of them brought our number to fourteen — myself included — but even so that was only half of my conroi.
‘Where are the rest?’ I demanded.
The men bowed their heads and refused to meet my eyes. I knew what that meant. A lump rose up in my throat, but I knew I couldn’t think of such things now; that would have to come later, after we had secured victory.
For now the English remained where they were, standing, taunting, no more inclined to attack than we were, it seemed. They were waiting for us to come to them, just as we waited for them to come to us, both sides separated by little more than fifty paces.
Lord Robert returned to us, untying his chin-strap and removing his helmet. His face was weathered from the years we had spent in Italy; his hair, while not as long and loose as the Englishmen were accustomed to wearing it, was certainly not cut in the short style fashionable in France. And unlike the Norman lords who usually went clean- shaven, Robert was possessed of a full but well-trimmed beard, which he often stroked when deep in thought. This he did now while he surveyed his men.
