I placed it down on the table, the whetstone beside it. ‘Your father gave it to me when I entered his service,’ I said.
‘I remember I had one much like it when I was younger. Nowadays, I prefer a quicker blade.’ He drew his own from the gilded scabbard at his side and rehearsed a few cuts at the air. It was thinner than mine, and half a foot shorter too, with a more pronounced taper; in some ways it was more similar to the English seax in appearance. But I knew there would be no weight in such a weapon, weight one needed to batter down an enemy’s shield, to slice through leather and mail. His was a thrusting blade, ideal when it came to close fighting, but of little use when mounted. I hoped it was not the only sword he owned.
He sheathed it again and sat down. ‘Aelfwold tells me you’ll be leaving again tomorrow.’
‘For Wiltune,’ I said. ‘Your father has a message he wishes delivered there.’
His face bore a grim look. ‘That is most like him,’ he said, ‘sending his men on worthless errands even as the enemy presses at his gates. Do you know who this message is meant for?’
‘No, lord.’
‘Wiltune,’ he said, absently picking at a splinter on the table. ‘I can only think it must be for Eadgyth.’
‘Eadgyth?’ It was not a name I had heard before.
‘She is a nun at the convent there,’ Robert said, ‘although previously she was much more.’
This was altogether new to me. Until now I had learnt nothing beyond what Malet had told me that day back at the castle. ‘What do you mean, lord?’
The splinter came free; he flicked it aside. ‘It matters not,’ he said, sighing. ‘What matters is that you return in time for the relief of Eoferwic.’
‘Of course,’ I said, unsure whether he had even heard the question, and wondering whether it would be rude to ask it a second time. The chaplain was evidently not going to tell me anything, or he would have done so already. Therefore if Robert had even a hint of what the message might concern, I needed to know from him. ‘My lord-’
‘My sister and mother were telling me how you looked after them on the way from Eoferwic,’ he said.
I felt myself tense. At least with Beatrice I felt that I had come to an understanding, but I did not expect Elise to have had anything favourable to say about me. ‘What did they say?’ I asked.
He must have sensed the wariness in my tone, for he laughed. ‘There is no reason to be worried,’ he said. ‘I am well used to their exaggerations. They might be my own blood, but they are still only women, and not much used to hardship. But they are here and they are unharmed, and that — as far as I am concerned — is all that counts. Again I thank you.’
‘I have no need of thanks, lord,’ I said, though not out of modesty. I was here because of the debt I owed his father; I wasn’t looking for reward.
‘There is one other thing I wanted to discuss with you,’ Robert said. ‘These men who attacked you last night — do you know why they did so?’
‘No, lord,’ I said. It was the truth, for I had nothing more than my suspicions.
Robert studied me carefully, much as I recalled his father doing. His eyes were hard, revealing nothing. ‘You didn’t recognise them?’ he asked. ‘They had no feud with you?’
I shook my head. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘It intrigues me, that’s all. For a knight to set upon a countryman in the streets, and without apparent reason, is more than unusual. But perhaps it’s a riddle that will have to remain unanswered.’
‘Yes, lord.’
He rose from his stool. ‘Take care, Tancred,’ he said. ‘In these times it is all too easy to make enemies. Be careful that you don’t make any more than you need.’
Twenty-two
The skies were only just growing light and a steady rain was falling as we gathered in the yard to prepare our mounts for the road. Aelfwold’s horse, a dappled grey mare, was already saddled, but there was no sign of the priest himself, and none of the others had seen him when I asked them.
‘I’ll go and find him,’ I said, trudging back towards the hall. The snow had all but melted, and the yard was thick with mud. Water pooled in every rut, every hollow, reflecting the leaden skies above.
The hour was yet early and the house was quiet, but I found Osric by the hearth, scraping out the ash from the previous night’s fire. He looked up as I entered, his hair sticking out in tufts from beneath his cap, his hands and face grey with dust.
‘Aelfwold,’ I said loudly. ‘
Osric merely blinked; obviously he hadn’t seen the chaplain either. I frowned. It was Aelfwold who had been most anxious to set off early.
I left the boy by the hearth as I made for the stairs at the far end of the hall. The chaplain’s door was the first on the landing at the top. I knocked upon it, but there was no answer, and when I pushed, it opened easily, without a sound.
He was not there. A wooden plate with bread half-eaten stood on the floor beside a cup of wine and small lantern; a woollen coverlet lay crumpled upon the bed. The shutters were open, letting in a chill draught, and I went to close them, my mail hauberk and chausses clinking as I did so. The room faced over the Walebroc, which ran beside the house, though its view was partly blocked by the thick branches of the oak that stood outside the window: the kind of tree that in my youth I had loved to climb, with branches that were evenly spaced, and knots on its bark that made for good handholds.
‘Tancred,’ a voice came from behind me.
I turned with a start. Beatrice was standing in the doorway. I hadn’t even heard her approach.
‘My lady,’ I said. ‘You’re risen early.’
‘As soon as I heard you all outside I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep any longer,’ she replied.
‘We didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, waving her hand dismissively. ‘You’re looking for Aelfwold, I assume.’
‘Have you seen him?’
‘He’s in the kitchens, fetching provisions for the road. Robert is with him, I think. He wanted to see you on your way.’
At least he had not gone far. The days were still short and so we had to make the best use of them. The sooner we left, the better.
‘Thank you,’ I said, closing over the shutters and making for the door. Beatrice didn’t move, but stood blocking my path.
‘I have to go, my lady,’ I said, and tried to edge past her, through the narrow doorway.
She placed her hand upon the sleeve of my hauberk. ‘Wait,’ she said, and I turned. ‘I never had a chance to thank you properly for the other night. For staying with me. For not leaving, even when I asked you to.’
I shrugged. ‘I could hardly have left you on your own, in the middle of the woods. I swore to your father that I would protect you, and I intend to honour that pledge.’
‘All the same,’ she said, reaching out, touching the back of my hand, intertwining her fingers with my own, ‘you should know that I’m grateful.’
I looked into her soft, smiling eyes. From down in the hall came Wace and Eudo’s voices — wondering where I was, no doubt. I heard the chaplain greet them, and Robert too.
‘They’re waiting for me,’ I said.
She did not say anything but lifted her other hand to my cheek, gently running her fingers along the cut. The skin was still tender, and I winced inwardly as it stung, but resisted the urge to pull away. Something like a shiver ran through me; I could feel my heart thumping despite myself. I tried not to think what the priest might say if he happened upon us now.
‘Be safe,’ she said, and before I could reply she leant towards me, standing up on her toes, pressing her lips to the spot where her hand had just been. It was the lightest of touches, but it lingered there, for how long I could not say, and when she drew back, I could feel the moisture that was left.
She squeezed my hand. ‘Take care, Tancred.’
