‘First get me some dry clothes,’ I said, as I stripped off my tunic and undershirt and cast them on to the floor. A few tiny flames began to lick at the dry wood I had added; I blew on them to encourage them, trying to will them larger as I tossed more pieces on. I gathered up some of the rushes from the floor in my arms and added them to the smouldering pile. They were dry and ought, I hoped, to burn easily.
Stepping over the sleeping forms of the other knights, Eudo went to where my pack lay beside the round table, and fumbled inside. Wace sat up, dazed and blinking, while the three younger men began to stir. Light appeared, bobbing down the stairs. It was the steward, a candle in his hand.
‘I heard noise,’ he said, frowning. His bald pate gleamed in the firelight. ‘Is everything all right?’
I rose from the stool as Eudo brought me my spare clothes, and his own cloak. ‘I was set upon,’ I said. ‘In the streets by St Eadmund’s church.’
The steward stopped where he was, clearly confused by my appearance, as he looked me up and down. ‘You were-?’
I pulled the dry tunic over my head. ‘I was attacked. By another knight.’ I belted up the cloak while I waited for the impact of that to settle. ‘A Frenchman,’ I added.
‘A Frenchman?’ Wace asked, through the middle of a yawn.
‘You must have been mistaken,’ Eudo said.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘I saw him. I heard him speak.’
Eudo shook his head. ‘Why would a fellow Frenchman attack you? Especially in the king’s own city.’
‘It’s the truth,’ I said, and turned away as I unlaced my wet braies, letting them fall to the floor. The air was cold against my bare skin, and I hastily tugged on the dry pair. Straightaway I imagined I could feel the heat returning to my legs, the blood beginning to course through them once more.
I turned to the steward even as I finished lacing the braies up. ‘Where’s Aelfwold?’ I asked him.
‘Asleep in his room, I should think,’ Wigod said.
‘Are you sure?’
The steward looked at me, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
If Aelfwold was missing, then I could be almost sure that it was him I had seen with the priest. ‘Wake him,’ I said.
‘Why, are you hurt?’
After everything that had followed, I had all but forgotten about the fight and the blow I had taken to the cheek. I pressed a hand to it; my fingers came away warm and smeared with crimson, but I was too numb to feel any pain.
‘Just bring him here,’ I said.
While Wigod hurried away to find the chaplain, I related to the rest what had happened: how I had been unable to sleep and had gone for a walk to clear my head; how suddenly I had found a knife at my throat; how I had managed to fight off my attacker; how I was chased down to the wharves; how I’d had to jump into the river to evade them. I did not mention anything about the two men I had seen speaking by the church, or that one of them I had thought to be Aelfwold; on that matter I wanted to confront him in person.
Besides, now that I had sat down and my heart was no longer beating quite so fast, I found that doubts were beginning to form in my mind. After all, it had been dark and I was tired; the man had had his back to me and I hadn’t been able to see clearly through the snow.
‘What did your attacker look like?’ Eudo asked.
‘He was tall, with a scar above his left eye,’ I said. ‘His hair was cut in the Norman style; in all he looked about five years older than me.’ I ran my finger across my cheek again. The flesh stung this time and I winced. ‘He was a good fighter, too.’
‘And what about the other — the one on horseback?’
I shook my head. ‘I didn’t see him well enough.’
There were footsteps on the staircase and the steward returned, this time with two servants. One of them was Osric, the other a boy I had not seen before, shorter and, it appeared, younger, with dark hair that was a tangle of curls.
‘He’ll be with us shortly,’ Wigod said, which surprised me a little, as I had thought he would have found the chaplain missing. But on the other hand I had been gone some while; he would have been able to return to the house long before me. I felt my heart begin to pound; at least I would have the chance to challenge him in person. I wanted an explanation.
The two boys saw to the fire, and soon it was burning fiercely again, though a chill had taken hold of my body and I realised I was still shivering. Osric went and came back in with two iron pails filled with water, which he suspended on the spit over the flames.
‘Bring me some food,’ I said to him.
He looked back at me with a blank expression on his face, and I recalled that he did not speak French. I looked to Wigod despairingly.
‘
‘Do you know why he attacked you?’ Wace asked.
I shrugged, though it was clear to me that whatever business the two churchmen had had, they had not meant it to be witnessed by anyone else. The two knights had to be in the pay of one of them. I couldn’t think of any other explanation which made sense.
‘He might have been drunk,’ I suggested, though I was fairly sure that he was not.
Wace frowned, his good eye narrowing, the other all but closing, so that if I hadn’t known better I might have thought he were winking at me. ‘Did you provoke him?’ he asked.
‘Provoke him?’ I choked off a laugh. ‘I didn’t even see him.’ That at least was true enough. ‘The first I knew of him was his knife at my throat-’
Aelfwold emerged from upstairs and I broke off. I rose sharply from my stool — too sharply, for a sudden dizziness overtook me. My feet felt uncertain of their grounding and I had to put a hand out against one of the hall’s wooden pillars to steady myself.
The chaplain was dressed in the same tunic and trews he had worn on the road; his hair was loose and stuck up in tufts from his head. ‘What’s the matter?’ He looked at me and stopped, and he must have noticed my cheek for a look of concern spread over his face. ‘You’re wounded,’ he said.
‘I was attacked,’ I said flatly. ‘Tonight, by St Eadmund’s church.’ I watched him carefully, in case my mention of the place yielded a response, but his face did not so much as flicker.
‘Attacked?’ he asked.
I did not reply, still trying to determine from his expression whether there was anything he might be concealing, but I found nothing.
‘By another knight,’ put in Eudo.
The chaplain’s eyes opened wide. ‘Is this true?’
‘It’s what I said, isn’t it?’ I asked.
‘Do you know who it was? The name of his lord?’
I stared back at him, searching. Either he was able to control himself far better than most men, or truly it had not been him. ‘No,’ I said eventually.
‘How did this happen?’
Osric came back in, carrying in one hand a wooden platter with bread and some kind of meat, and in the other an iron pot with an arched handle, which he hung over the hearth. He placed the platter down beside the stool; my stomach gave a low rumble, but I ignored it for the moment.
‘How it happened isn’t important,’ I said. A flash of pain ran through my cheek, and I put my hand to it.
‘Are you still bleeding?’ Aelfwold asked as he approached.
‘It’s nothing,’ I replied, stepping away from the wooden post and sitting back down on the stool. ‘No more than a scratch.’ If it wasn’t Aelfwold I had seen earlier, then who was it? Who had hired those men?
‘It looks deep. Let me see it.’ He squatted down beside me, digging out a small cloth from his pocket and raising it slowly up to my cheek.
‘It’s nothing!’ I repeated, wrenching away from him and towards the hearth.
He drew back, and from the look of sheer confusion that crossed his face I knew that it could not have been
