Twenty-one
The sun was creeping above the marshlands to the east, shrugging off its veil of wispy cloud, tingeing the eastern skies yellow. Beneath it, Lundene was waking.
Already the streets were growing busier: there were women carrying wooden pails; men with firewood under their arms. A group of children shrieked as they ran after each other with clods of snow in their hands, almost colliding with two burly men carrying large sacks over their shoulders. Down on the river, some of the smaller craft were putting to sail, making their way out towards the estuary and the sea beyond.
My sword-belt was buckled on my waist once more, and I was glad to feel my scabbard by my side. Malet’s son walked alongside me, reins in hand, his manservant trailing close behind with his own horse.
‘What news do you have of my father?’ he asked as soon as we had left the crowds behind us.
‘You haven’t heard?’
‘I’ve heard nothing since we sailed from Normandy yesterday,’ he said. ‘What is it?’
I stopped by the edge of the narrow street to make way for an oxcart which was coming up the hill. ‘The news isn’t good, lord,’ I said as the beasts plodded past us, clouds of mist erupting from their nostrils. I told him everything that Wigod had said the evening before: how the rebels had broken into the city, killed three hundred men and forced the vicomte to retreat to the castle. ‘So I’ve been told, at least,’ I said. ‘The king is even now gathering an army to march north.’
Robert looked to the sky, and then closed his eyes. His lips moved but made no sound; no doubt he was saying some prayer. ‘When we left Saint-Valery yesterday morning, all we knew was that the city was still under siege,’ he said at last. ‘But my father lives?’
‘As far as I know,’ I said. ‘Your sister and mother too — they’re here in Lundene.’
‘They’re here?’ Robert asked, wide-eyed suddenly. ‘You know that for certain?’
‘I was the one your father charged with escorting them,’ I said. ‘I brought them from Eoferwic, along with your father’s chaplain, Aelfwold. They’re all at his townhouse.’
‘Aelfwold too,’ he murmured. ‘I haven’t seen him in a long while.’ He took a deep breath and turned to face me, clapping a firm hand on my back. ‘That is easily the best thing I’ve heard in the last few days. I owe you my thanks, Tancred.’
‘As I owe you mine, lord.’
‘Tell me,’ he said, smiling as we began to walk once more, ‘how long have you been in my father’s service?’
I counted back in my head. ‘Eight days, lord,’ I said, and for some reason felt embarrassed to say it, for it felt far longer. But it was true: it had been the fifteenth day of the month when the vicomte had called me to his chamber at the castle, and it was now still only the twenty-third.
‘Eight days?’ he asked, with a look of disbelief.
‘Before then I was sworn to the Earl of Northumbria, Robert de Commines,’ I explained, holding his gaze. My throat was dry. ‘That was until Dunholm.’
He nodded gravely for a moment, his brow furrowed. ‘Eight days ago I was minding affairs back at home in Graville. Even then the Northumbrian rebels seemed but a distant threat. Yet now I return here to find that my father’s very life is in danger. You see, Tancred, how quickly both our lives have been changed by recent events. There is much that we have in common.’
My fingers tightened into a ball. How could he compare his troubles to my own grief? At least Malet was still alive. But I remembered how I had been just as insensitive towards Beatrice and Elise back on board the ship, and so held my tongue.
We trudged on down the street. Snow slid in drifts off the roofs to either side, exposing the thatch beneath. Men and women approached us, trying to sell us bundles of firewood, or shrivelled carrots that were almost as pale as the snow, but I waved them all away.
‘It’s good to be in Lundene at last,’ Malet’s son said. ‘It has been a long journey. The moment I heard that Eoferwic was under siege, I began making the preparations to sail. We left Graville that same afternoon. That was three full days ago; bad weather prevented us sailing any sooner.’ He shook his head. ‘And all that time we could only wait, praying to God to preserve my father.’
It was not as long a journey as ours from Eoferwic had been, but I did not say it. If anything he should have been thankful that he hadn’t been delayed more than he was; February was not the best time of the year to make the crossing. I had often heard it said that the Narrow Sea was changeable: that what looked at sunrise like calm water could by midday turn into a maelstrom. And they were lucky, too, if they had missed the snow that had fallen here, since it would have been impossible to sail through such conditions.
We soon arrived back at the house. The same servant who had guarded the door on our arrival was there again now; he and Robert’s retainer led their mounts around to the stables at the back.
Inside, the rest of the knights had risen and were seated around the hearth as they broke their fast on cheese and bread. The chaplain sat at the table, sipping quietly from a cup as he squinted at a sheet of parchment. He looked up as we entered, almost dropping the cup in surprise as he saw Malet’s son. He threw out his arms as he got to his feet, and they greeted each other like old friends, speaking in both English and French, until Wigod came in and Aelfwold hurried to find the two ladies.
I sat down beside Wace and Eudo, taking off my gloves and warming my fingers by the flames.
Wace poured me some beer into a cup. ‘Who is this?’ he asked, nodding his head towards the newcomer.
‘The vicomte’s son,’ I said. ‘Robert Malet.’
‘I didn’t realise Malet even had a son,’ Eudo said.
‘Nor did I,’ I replied, and glanced up at Robert, who was speaking with the steward.
‘It’s certainly good to be back in this house,’ he said, gesturing animatedly at everything around him: at the hearth-fire, the wall-hangings, the ceiling. ‘The last time I was here was for King Guillaume’s coronation.’
‘I’ll admit I didn’t think it had been that long,’ Wigod said. ‘Two years is quite some time-’
He broke off at the sound of quick footsteps on the stairs. Beatrice came rushing down, dressed in a dark green gown, her skirts raised just above her ankles. She caught sight of her brother and straightaway burst into delighted laughter, running across and flinging her arms around him. Her mother was not far behind and soon joined in the embrace.
I turned away. I was not much used to families, and the sight of them all together was more than I wanted to see. Mauger, Ernost, Ivo, Fulcher, Gerard: they had been my brothers, in life as well as in arms; the closest to a family I had ever known.
Beatrice released Robert and stepped back, smoothing down her skirts. The gown she wore was cut for her figure, embroidered with yellow thread on the bodice and down each of the sleeves, and I could not help but notice the swell of her breasts beneath it.
‘When did you arrive?’ she asked her brother, wiping a tear from her eye.
‘We put in at Stybbanhythe at high tide, not an hour before dawn. I rode straight here with my manservant. He’s seeing to our horses.’
‘What about the rest of your men?’ Wigod asked. ‘Did you bring any over from Normandy?’
‘A full twenty of my household knights, their horses following in a second ship. They were all I could muster in the time I had before we left. I came as soon as I heard-’
‘And your brother?’ Elise asked, cutting him off. ‘Where is he?’
‘I left him to manage affairs at home in my absence. I thought it unwise that he should risk himself as well. One of us had to stay.’
‘You have heard, then, about Eoferwic and your father?’ Aelfwold said, now that he had returned.
‘Only since arriving here — Tancred told me all that has happened.’ He looked to the two ladies. ‘I hear he has been looking after you on the journey.’
Elise met my eyes. ‘He was,’ she answered, tight-lipped. In truth I had half expected to hear some word of thanks, now that we were in the presence of her son. I should have known better, though, for she said no more.
