Wace nodded. ‘It’s the only way we can know for certain.’
‘That’s what we thought about Malet’s letter,’ I said. ‘And we’re no closer after that.’
It struck me as unusual, too, that Eadgyth would leave any important message in our hands, if she had any reason to worry it might be intercepted before it reached Malet. I’d made no assurances to her — as if I would to the widow of our enemy. And so whatever words were contained within this scroll, it seemed unlikely that they would tell us what we wanted to know.
But all the same I knew that Wace and Eudo were right. It was not the hardest decision I’d ever had to make.
‘I need light,’ I said. There were no windows in the mill-room, nor had we brought any torch or lantern, in case we should be seen. But I could hardly read in the darkness.
The moon was behind a cloud, but it was enough to see by as I stood in the doorway, with the other two gazing over my shoulder. I ran my finger over the seal, which I now saw bore the imprint of a dragon, or some other large winged beast, with the words ‘HAROLDVS REX’ around its edge.
I pressed it between my fingers; it broke easily. I unfurled the parchment, and in the moonlight I saw neat lines of carefully rendered script, only this time it was not in Latin. Some of the letters I did not even recognise.
‘What does it say?’ Wace asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Whatever tongue it’s written in, it’s not one that I know.’
Latin was the one language in which I was lettered; even French and Breton I knew only how to speak, not read. I glanced down the sheet, hoping to find a word I might know. In the greeting on the first line was Malet’s name, as I might have expected; a little further down I found Harold’s, but otherwise there was nothing.
Of course it might be in English, I realised. That would make sense, since it was Eadgyth’s first tongue. And though I had never heard him speak it, it seemed likely that Malet knew it too, given his parentage and the many years he had spent in England.
My eyes passed over a phrase from the middle of the letter. ‘
He shrugged. If it was English, I was evidently saying it wrongly.
‘Is there anything at all you can make out?’ Wace asked.
‘Nothing of any use,’ I said. ‘Malet is mentioned, and Harold as well. That’s as much as I can tell.’
‘There’s one man at least who might be able to tell us what it says,’ Eudo said.
‘Aelfwold,’ I said grimly. Above all else one thing was becoming clear: sooner or later we had to speak with him. Short of Malet himself, who was two hundred miles away in Eoferwic, only he could have any idea of what all this meant. He had been to see Eadgyth before on this or similar business; we already knew that. And there was no one who was closer to the vicomte. If we were to find out what was really happening, he was the one we had to confront.
The only question was when.
We rode out from Wiltune at first light. Abbess Cynehild was there, stern-faced as ever, with half a dozen other nuns as well, huddled in their habits. Among them was Burginda, as well as the fair-haired girl who had met us in the abbess’s house on our arrival. Eadgyth, though, was not there. Was that her choice, I wondered, or had the abbess told her to stay away?
Our horses and weapons were brought to us without a word, and it was likewise in silence that we mounted up. It was good to have my sword by my side once more — not that I thought we were at any risk in the convent, but I was so used to its presence that without it I couldn’t help but feel vulnerable.
I was relieved to be leaving Wiltune behind us, even though that meant another three days on the road, for at least we could be our own masters, rather than bound to the strictures of the nunnery and its abbess. Yet I was content to let Aelfwold continue to take charge for now, to let him make the decisions and for us to appear the servants, since perhaps then he would not suspect what was to come. For I knew that everything would change when we reached Lundene.
As it had on our way to Wiltune, the rain continued to fall, bitter and unrelenting, each day coming down heavier than it had on the last. Down in the valleys the winterbournes were in full flow; some of the larger rivers had overspilled their banks and the fields all about lay in flood. In one place the waters had risen so high that it was impossible for us to cross, and we had to ride more than a mile upstream to find the next fording point before we could join the road again.
Our only respite came when we stopped for the night, but even then we kept hearing stories of fresh risings nearby. Norman traders had been set upon in the market at Reddinges; at Oxeneford a whole ship’s crew had been killed in a tavern brawl when their Flemish speech was mistaken for French. And so shortly before Stanes we left the old road, deciding it was better instead to strike out across country and approach Lundene from the south, rather than risk running into trouble on the road. Even then we kept our hands by our sword-hilts. The paths that we followed were not the best travelled: the kind of way often frequented by robbers, who would lie in wait to ambush the unprepared. But if there were any, we did not see them, and it was past noon on the third day of March when the city came into sight, clinging to the northern shores of the grey Temes.
Of the encampment that had stood on the hill above Westmynstre, there was now not a single banner or tent to be seen. The king and his army were marching, just as we’d learnt in the alehouses and from other travellers we had passed on the way. They could not have been gone long, though, and I hoped we’d be able to catch them before they reached Eoferwic.
Wigod greeted us warmly on our arrival at Malet’s house. Elise and Beatrice had gone to visit friends across the city and so weren’t there, but the boy Osric was and he took the horses to the stables. I sent Malet’s three men to help him, and gave the signal to Eudo and Wace, who accompanied the priest inside, while I went with the steward to fetch some food and drink.
The kitchens were modest in size, but then this was only a townhouse, not a great palace such as the one the vicomte had at Eoferwic. In the corner stood two large barrels; Wigod wrested the lid from one of them and filled a pitcher from it. Against the walls were long tables with pots filled with some kind of stew, while at one end of the room was a great fireplace with a spit over it, on which some kind of meat was roasting. My stomach rumbled, but it would have to wait a little longer.
‘Your journey was pleasant, I hope,’ Wigod said.
‘Not particularly,’ I replied. ‘It was cold and wet. It rained all the way.’
He grinned. ‘You’ll be glad of some food inside you, then. Here, help me with these.’ He pointed to some clay cups which rested on one of the tables.
I looked around to make sure that we were alone. ‘You know your letters, don’t you, Wigod?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ he said as he rested the pitcher upon one of the tables. ‘Why?’
Being the steward of Malet’s house I’d thought he must have to, if only to be able to receive his lord’s writ when the vicomte was away from Lundene.
‘I have something I thought you might be able to read for me,’ I said, producing Eadgyth’s letter from my cloak pocket. I had folded it to make it easier to carry, and opened it out before handing it to him. ‘It’s written in English, or so I think.’
He looked at me quizzically, and I suppose it was an odd request to make. But he took the parchment nonetheless, laying it out on the table where the light from the fire played across it.
‘It is English,’ he said. He frowned, then slowly began to read: ‘“To Guillaume Malet, vicomte of Eoferwic and lord of Graville across the sea, Lady Eadgyth, wife and widow to Harold Godwineson, rightful king of the English, sends her greetings-”’ He broke off and drew back, turning away from the table. ‘I cannot be reading this, Tancred. This is meant for my lord, not for me. If he were to discover I had been doing this, he would expel me from his service, or worse.’
‘I was the one who broke the seal,’ I said. ‘I will carry the blame, if anyone.’
‘Where did you get this?’ he asked.
‘At Wiltune,’ I said. ‘From Lady Eadgyth herself. She was the one that Aelfwold was sent to meet. We think
