at first slow and almost mournful, before rushing into a furious cascade — like the clash of blades in the battle that was to come, I thought. And then just as suddenly it was falling away again, the rhythm slowing as it settled on one last sweet note which Eudo held, letting it draw out the last of his breath, until all about us was quiet once more.
‘Where did you learn that?’ I asked. Even though he had finished, still it seemed that note was there, hanging in the air.
‘It was passed on to me when I was a boy,’ Eudo said. ‘There was a wandering poet who came to play at our Easter feast. He always liked me, even gave me one of his whistles to practise with. Each year when he came back he’d teach me to play a different song, until my twelfth birthday when I left to serve Lord Robert. He was old then; I suppose he must be long dead now. That’s the only one of his songs I remember.’
From somewhere not far off the sound of a harp floated on the breeze, following Eudo’s example, perhaps. Men were singing drunkenly along to the tune, though it was not one that I recognised, at times even breaking out into laughter.
‘We should be marching upon them now,’ snarled one of Robert’s knights, Urse by name. He was solidly built, with a stub of a nose and wide nostrils that gave him a piggish appearance. ‘Why are we delaying here?’
‘You’d prefer to attack now, after a day’s march, rather than be fully rested?’ Wace asked, rubbing at his injured eye.
‘We’d have the advantage of surprise. We attack now and we can be upon them, inside the city before they even know it. The longer we wait, the longer the enemy will have to strengthen their defences.’
He was yet young, I saw, and like all youths he was impatient, eager for the bloodlust, for the joy of the kill. ‘Have you ever been in an assault on a city?’
‘No-’
I did not need to hear any more. ‘Then you know nothing.’
He rose suddenly, cheeks flushed red with anger and with ale, and pointed a finger towards me. ‘You dare to insult me?’
‘Sit down, Urse,’ one of his comrades said.
‘No,’ Urse barked as he stepped forward, almost stumbling over his shield, which lay at his feet. I didn’t know how much he’d had to drink, but it was clearly too much. ‘Who are these people, anyway? They join us from out of nowhere, and then think they can tell us what to do, what to think. We don’t even know them, and we’re expected to fight alongside them!’
‘It’s only the truth,’ I said, not even troubling to get to my feet. The fire lay between us, preventing him from coming any closer, and he was more likely to hurt himself than me if he tried to do anything.
‘Tancred is right,’ Wace said. ‘There’s no sense rushing into an attack. Better to wait, to send out scouts and work out the enemy’s weaknesses.’
‘The king is not a stupid man,’ I added. ‘If he thought it was wise to attack now, then we would be doing so. But he doesn’t, and so we wait. If you disagree with him, maybe you should tell him yourself.’
Urse looked at me, then at Wace, scowled at us and sat back down. Perhaps he saw the reason in what we were saying, though I doubted it. More probably he’d decided that two of us were more than he could handle on his own.
‘Besides,’ I said, ‘more men are joining us by the day. By tomorrow we could have another two hundred swords.’
‘Though so could the enemy,’ Eudo put in.
I glared at him; he was not helping. At that moment, though, I saw Robert returning, and alongside him Ansculf and the other two knights who had accompanied him. They all bore solemn expressions, and I understood what that meant. The plans had been decided, and all of a sudden the prospect of battle had become real to them. I knew the feeling well. It didn’t matter how many years one had been campaigning, nor how many foes one had killed, for the fear was the same for every man: the fear that this fight might be his last.
‘We attack tomorrow, before dawn,’ Robert said. ‘Rest now, gather your strength. You’ll need it for the battle. We march when the moon reaches its highest.’
A murmur went up amongst the men. I glanced towards the west, where a glimmer of light was still visible above the line of the trees. I was relieved to see that the moon had not yet risen; we had a few hours, then, in which to sleep, and to ready ourselves. A chill came over me. It was happening, and it was happening tonight.
‘Tancred,’ Robert said.
‘Yes, lord?’ I replied.
‘Come with me.’
I glanced at the others, wondering what this was about, then I got to my feet, buckling on my sword-belt. Robert turned away from the fire and the tents, towards the horses, and I followed him. His lips were set and he did not speak, nor did I press him. He saddled up his destrier, and I did the same, and then we rode out. The last light had faded and the camp was quiet now, save for the whinnying of horses in the distance and the occasional bout of laughter from around the fires. News of the impending attack could not have reached them yet.
Eventually we left the camp behind us altogether, striking out across the furrowed fields to the north and east, to where a clump of trees stood atop a small rise. All else was still. My breath misted before me. Though the days had been growing warmer, the night was yet cold.
We reached the top of the rise, where we dismounted. The branches formed a roof over our heads, blocking out the stars and the newly risen crescent moon. I looked back the way we had come, at the dots of firelight arrayed across the hillside. Not all had men by them; to fool any enemy scouts more had been lit on the fringes of the camp, to disguise our true numbers and make the army appear larger than it was.
‘Why have you brought me here, lord?’ I asked at last.
‘Look,’ he replied, pointing out into the distance. Beyond the trees the land fell away to a wide plain, beyond which, some miles away, wound a line of deepest black. It was a river — the Use, for it could be no other — and huddled on its shores was a town, ringed with walls and a palisade, in the midst of which rose a tall mound, with a castle tower set atop it, all in shadow.
‘Eoferwic,’ Robert said. ‘That is where my father is. Where in only a few hours we will be too.’
‘Yes, lord,’ I replied, not knowing what he expected me to say. He couldn’t have brought me all this way just to show me the city, surely?
‘I have something I wish to ask of you, Tancred.’
His tone and his words brought me back to the morning I was summoned to see Malet at the castle, when he had first mentioned the task he had in mind for me. I glanced at Robert, and saw the same heavy eyebrows, the same pronounced nose and angular chin. Without a doubt he was his father’s son.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
Robert’s eyes were fixed on the city in the distance. ‘Our scouts came back a few hours ago with further news of the enemy. It seems that while many of them are within the city, the rest have made their camp just outside the northern gates. In a few hours King Guillaume plans to send a thousand men to ride upriver to the next crossing. They will descend upon Eoferwic from the north and attack that camp before first light, hoping to draw the rest of the enemy out from the city. At the same time the rest of us, led by the king himself, are to attack from this side and capture the western quarter of the town, before crossing the bridge and taking the enemy in the rear.’
‘And how does the king plan to get inside Eoferwic?’ I asked. We had no siege weapons with us, so far as I had seen, and though we might try to break through the gates without them, it would mean the loss of many men, and I didn’t think we had such numbers to spare.
‘That’s why I’ve brought you here,’ Robert said. He took a deep breath. ‘Before we can get inside, someone must first open the gates for us. Since it is my father we are fighting this campaign for, it has fallen upon me to find the men to do it.’
He looked at me then, his eyebrow raised, and I saw what he meant.
‘You want me to do this,’ I said.
‘You and the rest of your companions. The king has asked for a small band of men, no more than half a dozen, to approach the city by river later this night, make its way through the streets unseen and to secure the gates.’
It would be dangerous, of that I had no doubt. All it took was for one person to see us, to raise the cry, and
