I saw the opening and smashed my sword down into the thegn’s face. His head jerked back, his long moustache soaked in blood; the nasal-guard of his helmet had taken the brunt of the blow and still he lived, though not for long. Eudo sliced across his chest, penetrating the links of his hauberk to the flesh beneath. Gasping, the man took another step back, looking down at his breast as he pressed his one remaining hand tight against the mail. Blood spilt through his fingers; his eyes glazed over and his lips moved, but no sound came out; and then he collapsed.
No sooner had he done so than he was forgotten, for I was moving on: parrying, thrusting, carving a path through the enemy until there was space around me. I checked to see that the rest of my conroi were with me still, and most were, but not all. Several horses lay dead on the ground, their riders beside them, and among those who had fallen I saw the face of my countryman, Rualon.
I had no time for reflection, however. Over the enemy’s heads, to my left and close to the river, I glimpsed a white shield with a black hawk upon its face. Its owner, robust and barrel-chested, was fighting on foot and his free hand wielded a long spear: a spear which carried a pennon the same as mine. He had his helmet on and his ventail up, but I could just see the scar below his eye which he had borne ever since H?stinges, and I recognised him straightaway.
‘Wace!’ I called, hoping to catch his attention, but above the noise of swords clashing upon shields and mail he could not have heard me. I raised my sword aloft. ‘With me,’ I said to my men. ‘With me!’
Apart from Lord Robert himself, I knew of few men more skilled with a sword than Wace. He’d been in Robert’s employ even longer than I, had fought in the same battles, and, like me, was in charge of a full conroi of his household knights. Except that now there were but six or seven men with him. Three were knights, for they wore mail and helmets. One had lost his shield and was fighting with a spear in either hand, another with two swords. Together they were being pressed back into a tight ring as the English closed on them from all sides.
‘On! On!’
Northumbrians fled before me, and my sword felt light in my hand as I brought it down, again, again, again. I no longer knew how many I had killed, for all I could see were those ahead, and I knew I had to get to Wace. He stabbed his spear up under the shield of the man in front of him, into his groin, but no sooner had that corpse fallen to the ground than another man had stepped over it to fill the gap, eager for blood. On the other side, the Norman with the two swords pressed his advantage, coming out of the ring against his comrades’ warnings, raining blows on the shields before him, hacking so hard that the hide fell away from the wood. He forced his way through their wall, striking out left and right, and several of them died before a spear pierced his chest.
Wace looked up and saw me. He shouted something that I could not hear, but it did not matter, because the enemy were beneath me and my blade was singing with the joy of battle, gleaming in the torchlight as it struck and struck again. And I was reminded of the end of the day at H?stinges, when the last of the English tried to hold us off, even though the battle was by then already won, and the man they called their king lay dead on the field. I recalled how we had pursued them as they fled the melee, and suddenly I was there again, riding the enemy down, losing myself to the will of my sword, arcing it down, slicing it across their throats.
‘For Lord Robert!’ I cried. ‘For Lord Robert!’
I looked about for my next kill, but the enemy were running back to their ranks, where hundreds more, it seemed, were slowly advancing, shouting as they came: ‘
Wace stood, breathing hard, while the three men that remained of his group rallied around him. The shaft of his spear had cracked, lodged in the chest of one of several Northumbrian bodies littering the earth in front of him. The pennon, soaked with blood, was torn to shreds. He looked, half squinting, up at me. The same blow that had given him his scar at H?stinges had also crippled his eye, and though he could still see almost as well as before, he had never been able to open it fully since.
‘You took your time,’ he said, which was exactly the kind of remark I would have expected from him. He had a voice like gravel: rough and sharp.
‘We have to get back,’ I told him, ignoring his lack of gratitude. ‘We must get back to the fastness.’
I glanced about at the rest of my conroi, who were staring at the massed ranks of English spears bearing down on them. Some of them were already turning, breaking off, riding back the way we had come.
Sheathing my sword, I waved towards the promontory and the palisade wall ringing its crest. ‘Retreat!’
Several horses had lost their riders and had bolted away from the fighting, down towards the river’s edge. Already Wace and his men were making for them, though some seemed reluctant to take another rider and were taking flight again, a few lashing out with their hind legs at any who approached.
A horn blew again, and it seemed to me that the sound was coming from close to the church, the tower of which I could see even now, rising above the roofs of the houses. Embers blew on the wind, some of them landing on the thatch and starting to set it alight; from further to the north came a long cloud of black smoke which billowed in my face, obscuring the way ahead and causing me to choke, but I could hear the cries of the enemy behind me and I knew I had to keep riding. The furrows ran the length of the field, and I followed them until the path between the houses came into sight. Rollo was slowing, and I knew he must be tiring, but I could not let him rest yet.
As we came up the steep slope towards the fastness I heard the clash of swords ahead in the main street; we came out just as two Englishmen were finished on the spears of a group of knights. And among those knights I recognised the square face of Mauger: one of the two I had left to protect Oswynn, who was not with him-
‘Mauger!’ I called, trying to make myself heard above the clash of steel, the cries which were coming from the marketplace, the drumming of hooves.
He looked up, tugging on the reins so as to face me. ‘Tancred-’ he began.
‘Where is she?’ I cut him off, glancing about to make sure that I hadn’t missed her. But my eyes had not deceived me. She wasn’t there. ‘Where is she?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and I saw the lump in his throat as he swallowed.
‘What?’ I stared at him, urging him to go on, my gut already wrenching as he opened his mouth and I sensed what he was about to say, though I did not want to believe it. ‘Where is she?’
He looked down towards the ground. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘The enemy — they came upon us without warning while we were riding back to the stronghold …’
‘No,’ I said. I felt suddenly cold, as if my very soul had flown from my body. Words stuck in my throat, the breath torn from my chest. ‘It can’t be.’ I saw her face before me, her black hair running wild as she glared at me with her dark eyes, cursing in her English tongue.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mauger said.
‘No,’ I repeated. ‘She’s not dead. She’s not.’ I stared into his eyes, willing him to deny it, but I saw only his guilt. Guilt because he had failed me. I wanted to strike him for that failure, strike him from his horse to the street below, except that all the strength had left my limbs and I could not have done so even had I tried.
I heard Wace’s voice behind me, ordering the retreat, and the horn blowing from the direction of the marketplace, and the shouts of all those men, cheering, screaming, chanting, dying. Around me the smoke was growing thicker and blacker, swirling in my face, stinging my eyes. Sparks lifted into the air like a scattering of stars, flaring momentarily before one by one their lives were extinguished and they disappeared, swallowed up by the night.
Men rushed past me, on horse and on foot, and I heard their cries but knew not what they were saying as I sat frozen to the saddle. Behind me the drumming was closer and I imagined all those Northumbrians marching towards us, with nothing but murder in their hearts-
And I knew that Mauger was not the one to blame.
I yanked hard on the reins and Rollo reared up, but I no longer cared, for I had but one thing in mind.
‘Tancred!’ Mauger said, but I pretended not to hear as I turned back down the way between the houses, pressing my heels in harder than before, drawing every last fraction of speed from Rollo’s legs.
I pulled my sword free of its scabbard, flourishing it high above my head, just as the smoke cleared and then without warning the English were rushing towards me. I crashed into their first line before they could even come together and form their shield-wall: roaring, swearing death upon them all; slashing, scything, cleaving with my blade; and I was shouting in anger, shouting without words, shouting so that my voice would be the last thing they heard before I sent them all to hell.
There were others with me now as I tore into the enemy, but in truth I didn’t care whether or not they were there, for the bloodlust was upon me and there was nothing that could stop me. I heaved my sword up and across
