He laughed, and at that moment I jerked my head back, connecting with some part of his face, as I threw my whole body backwards. The knife-blade followed, flashing across my cheek, but I did not feel it as I twisted and threw myself at the man’s legs. Cursing, he fell forward, across me, and I heard the thump as he hit the ground. I scrambled forward over the ground to reach my scabbard, just as I heard him rise and draw his own sword free. I tugged my blade from its sheath; it slid out quickly and I turned to face him, still on my back, sword raised above my face.
‘Bastard,’ he said as he towered over me, and I saw his face for the first time. Blood streamed from his mouth and his eyes were full of hate. He wore mail, but had neither helmet or coif to protect his head, and I saw from the cut of his hair what I had suspected from hearing his voice. He was a Norman.
‘Bastard, bastard, bastard,’ he said, and he came at me, raining blows wildly. I parried the first, but his sword-edge came perilously close to my face, and so I rolled away from the second, and again from the third, his blade coming crashing down each time inches from where I lay. He lifted his weapon too high for the fourth and I saw an opening, driving my sword up towards his groin, but I missed, managing only a glancing blow on his chausses. He stumbled back out of sword-reach, for a heartbeat looking as though he might fall to the mud again. He did not, but it gave me time to get to my feet.
‘You’ll pay,’ he said, wiping some of the blood from his face. ‘As will your lord.’
I stared silently back at him, wielding my sword before me. His prominent chin was unshaven, and his eyes were deep-set, with an ugly scar above his left. In all he looked perhaps five years older than myself.
He lunged forward, aiming for my chest. I took his sword on my own, quickly stepping around to my right, hoping to kick or trip him from behind, but I was not quick enough, for he had already turned by the time I was ready.
He gave a sarcastic smile. ‘You fight well, Fulcher fitz Jean,’ he said, and he stepped forward, feinting with his sword, tempting me into an attack, but I was well used to such tactics and refused to be drawn in. We circled about, watching each other intently.
He lunged again. Perhaps he thought that his feints had put me off my guard, but I had seen it coming and was ready this time, again stepping right and this time thrusting my boot out, hooking it around his leg. He stumbled forwards and went down with a cry.
I hesitated, thinking to finish him off, but he was already rolling on to his back, his sword raised and ready to face me, and I knew that I would be hard pressed to find the killing blow. He had mail and I had none, and it was I who was the more likely to die than he, if this continued much longer. My scabbard lay at the side of the street, in the mud, and I knew I had no time to pick it up and sheathe my blade, but neither could I run well with a sword in my hand.
I ran — while my opponent was still on the ground, while I still could — dropping the blade and taking off back down towards the bridge. I didn’t know where I was going, only that going straight back to Malet’s townhouse would be foolish, since if the knight followed me, then he would know I was not who I said.
I heard cursing and glanced behind to see him getting to his feet, giving chase. The weight of his hauberk would slow him down, but I could not rely on that alone and so I pounded on down the hill, through the snow which filled the air, ducking left across the cobbles of the market street, and then straightaway right, into a side alley between two low-gabled houses, hoping to lose him. The river was ahead, and the wharves; the shadows of the ships rose before me.
I came out on to the riverfront, on to the packed earth and wooden planking of the quay. Above my own breathing and the beating of my heart I heard the clink of mail and heavy footsteps following.
‘This way!’ the man shouted. I heard hooves, and understood that there was more than one of them chasing me.
Only one other street led up from the quay, and I could have run on, but it was clear that I could not outpace a man on horseback. There were a number of long sheds along the wharf, and I briefly considered hiding in one of them, but I would have to break in and it would then be obvious where I was. Of course there were the ships too, but I spotted figures asleep on the decks; often shipmasters would leave a part of their crew sleeping on board to ensure the vessels and their goods were not stolen, and I could not afford to wake them.
The sound of hooves grew louder. I ran to the far western end of the quay, closest to the bridge, where two ships were moored closely together, then, bracing myself for the cold, I slipped down between them, off the side.
I gasped in shock as I slid into the water. It was far colder than I had thought possible and immediately I was struggling to keep my head above the surface, to free myself from the thick cloak, which was weighing me down; but I knew if I made too much noise they would spot me and all would be lost.
There was a slight gap between the quayside and the ships’ hulls, and it was through this gap that I saw them now. There were two of them: the man I had been fighting and another, mounted, whose face was in shadow. Both were looking around and I was sure it would not be long before one of them would see me. I almost prayed they would, for the cold was seeping into my arms and legs; I could feel them tiring already and I knew I would not be able to stay in the water for long.
‘He’s gone,’ said the one on horseback. His was a deeper voice.
‘Bastard,’ said the other.
They disappeared from view, moving on down the quay, still speaking.
‘Have you seen anyone come this way?’ I heard the mounted one call.
‘Not tonight, my friend.’ One of the ship-men, perhaps.
The man on the horse cursed, and I heard the two knights talking to each other though the words were no longer distinct. I kept as still as I could; there was a little ridge of rock where I could put my feet. All feeling in my hands and arms was gone, and I found myself gasping, as if the cold had stolen all the air from my chest. The black water lapped around my chin, some of it finding its way up and into my open mouth, and I had to swallow it so as not to choke. I closed my eyes, willing the two men to leave.
It seemed like an eternity but eventually the voices ceased and distantly I heard hooves clattering on the planking, riding away. I could not delay, or else I was sure the waters would drag me down. I swam along the side of one of the ships to where there were steps set into the wharf, looking about to make sure that the two men had left.
There was no one. Clumsily, with hands that were all but numb, I managed to haul myself out of the river, dripping, shivering. Snow whirled about me. I spat on to the ground.
‘Hey! Who are you?’
I turned; it was one of the ship-men, standing at the stern of his vessel, holding a lantern. I ignored him and ran, clothes plastered against my skin, and I did not stop running until I reached the house.
Twenty
I burst into the hall, sending the door crashing against the inside of the wall. The snow billowed around me as, shaking violently, I stumbled in. My breath caught in my chest. I hadn’t realised how far it was back from the wharves.
I closed the door fast against the outside and lifted the thick timber plank that rested against the wall. My arms protested, drained of all their strength, as I set the bar in place across the door. A large brass key rested in the lock and I tried to turn it, but there was little feeling in my fingers and it slipped from my grasp, falling with a dull clang on to the flagstone paving. I cursed out loud but did not stoop to pick it up, instead making my way straight to the hearth. There was a stack of firewood beside it; I picked up several of the smallest pieces, casting them liberally on to the embers, and huddled down on the stool in front of them. I needed fire. I needed warmth.
‘What’s going on?’
I looked over my shoulder as Eudo sat up, rubbing his eyes. I wondered what I must look like, wet and trembling by the fire, but only briefly, for the cold was seeping into my bones.
‘Fetch me a dry tunic,’ I said, my jaw quivering. ‘Braies and a cloak too.’
He saw me properly then and got quickly to his feet. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
