not expecting it, and as I struck his helmet he staggered back, dazed, into the midst of his comrades, and the enemy halted for a moment.
Once more the horns sounded: two sharp blasts that were the signal to rally. By now the English would surely be gathering against Fitz Osbern, and whatever advantage he might have gained by the surprise attack would soon be lost. Sickness swelled in my stomach. We had failed.
It was then I noticed that some of the enemy, at least among the front ranks, had stopped driving forward, but were just standing there, as if unsure whether to keep attacking or whether to flee. The horns came yet again, and this time I realised they were not coming from inside the city, but from behind us.
I risked a glance over my shoulder, between the heads of Radulf and Godefroi. Mail and spearpoints gleamed in the moonlight, and there were pennons flying, horses galloping, and as I turned back to face the enemy, suddenly I found myself laughing, my arms filled with renewed vigour.
‘Forwards!’ I shouted.
The enemy wavered. Those in the shield-wall at the front had noticed what was happening and were hesitating, but those at the back could not see and they were still trying to push forward. In such moments of indecision did the fate of battles lie, and I knew that we had to take this chance.
I charged, hoping that Eudo and the others would follow, swinging my blade into the shield of the tall man before me. The blow shuddered through my arm as the edge cut through the leather rim, digging into the wood. He gave a cry as he stumbled back, still holding on to the shattered shield though it was now all but useless, and I pressed the attack, ramming the point of my blade towards his chest. He tried to block but it was in vain, as the steel broke through the wood and found his heart.
The sound of hooves could be heard now, drumming upon the earth, and it seemed that more of the enemy had spotted the danger, for some of those further back were abandoning their comrades, turning and running.
Their shield-wall was breaking, and even though we were but six men, we were amongst them, tearing into their ranks, exulting in the joy of the fight, the glory of the kill, challenging those who remained to stand against us, to meet their deaths on our sword-edges. Then, almost as one, they fled, making for the safety of the side streets, for the bridge, for anywhere they could hide.
The gates belonged to us, and through them now came a column of horsemen, lances couched and ready to strike, riding at full gallop, kicking up dirt and stones as they went, and I saw on their pennons the familiar gold lion upon a scarlet field.
‘For Normandy and King Guillaume!’ I said, pointing my sword to the sky, and Eudo and Wace took up the cry, followed by Radulf and Godefroi and Philippe, all of us roaring as one.
I sheathed my sword and untied my helmet, pulling back my coif while I wiped the sweat from my brow. I looked for the king, or Robert, or any other lords I might have recognised, but they were not there, or at least not in the vanguard. For still the column of knights continued. I had forgotten how many men we had in our army, but they all came now: knights to begin with, then spearmen and archers. And then I saw King Guillaume, resplendent in his mail, his helmet-tail flying behind him, with one of his retainers alongside, bearing the same banner that just a few hours ago had been soaring over the camp. And not far behind him was the vicomte’s son, alongside Ansculf and Urse and all the rest of his men, and with them they had brought six mounts without riders.
‘Lord,’ I called to him, waving to catch his attention. ‘Robert!’
His gaze found me, and he rode to where we were standing by the side of the street, his men releasing the reins of our horses and handing them down to us. I looked for the white diamond on the forehead that marked mine out, and swung myself into the saddle.
‘It’s good to see you, Tancred,’ Robert said.
‘And you, lord.’
I noticed he was carrying two lances, one of which he tossed across to me. I caught it comfortably, before he gave a tug on his reins and rode to the head of the conroi. I understood: this was no time for conversation. The night was not over, the fight for Eoferwic not yet won. We had to get to the bridge before the enemy’s leaders realised that we had entered the city and sent men to hold it against us.
Already other lords were passing us. We were at risk of being left behind, and I wanted to get as close as I could to the front of the charge when it met the enemy lines. For my heart was pounding, no longer with fear but rather with exhilaration. It was a long time since I had felt so free. Revenge and victory were at hand; I could sense it in the air.
‘For Lord Robert,’ Wace called out, and I knew he didn’t mean Malet’s son, but the man who had led us at Dunholm and through so many battles before. He was the one we were fighting for, as we had always fought: not for the vicomte, nor the king, nor anyone else.
Eudo hooked his ventail into place over his chin and neck. ‘For Robert,’ he said.
‘For Robert,’ I agreed. I pulled my coif over my head once more, retied my helmet-strap, then I turned and spurred my horse on.
‘With me!’ Malet’s son shouted from the head of his conroi. His lance with its black-and-gold pennon was pointed towards the sky. ‘With me!’
There was light on the horizon now, the stars fading as black gave way first to purple, then to blue. We rode down the curving main street as Englishmen fled in every direction. Houses and churches flashed past on either side, and then for the first time that night I heard the battle-thunder. For as we rounded the bend, there, marching in their dozens and their scores, came the enemy.
Thirty-four
They beat their hafts and hilts against their shield-rims, filling the morning with their fury. Their banner displayed a black raven, a symbol much favoured by the Danes, and I saw that these must be the swords-for-hire that Robert had told us of. All were shouting, taunting us in their own tongue, inviting us to come and die on their blades.
Ahead, the king and his knights pulled to a halt, allowing some of the spearmen to rush forward through the ranks. They formed a line five deep across the road, standing shoulder to shoulder with shields overlapping to form a wall, and through the gaps in that wall they thrust out their spears, ready for the Danish charge.
‘Robert,’ the king shouted, and beneath his helmet his face was flushed. ‘Take your men through the side streets; try to outflank them!’
Robert raised his banner in acknowledgement and then turned to the rest of us. ‘Follow me!’ he said, raising his lance with its pennon high for all to see. Flanked by Ansculf and Urse, he spurred his horse down one of the narrow alleyways between the houses.
I gripped the haft of my lance tightly. So long as I held that, my shield and my sword, nothing else mattered. I checked who was alongside me, and was relieved to find Wace and Eudo. There were none whose sword-arms I trusted more.
Behind us rode another hundred horsemen, as more lords joined us. The thunder of their hooves resounded in the narrow way. I glimpsed torchlight ahead, saw a band of ten or more Englishmen running from us, but we were a tide of mail and hooves and steel rolling in upon them, our lances couched under our arms, sharp and glinting in the dawn, ready to send them to their deaths. They were burdened with shields and spears, whereas we sat astride swift animals trained to the charge, and they had nowhere to go.
I heard Robert shout something, though what it was I never knew, as he thrust his lance through a man’s shoulder, riding over him, and we were behind, cutting the enemy down. One caught his foot on a corpse while he ran and stumbled, falling to his knees, and as he tried to rise my sword-edge penetrated his skull. And then we were through, galloping on past grand timber halls and hovels of mud and straw. Dirt flew up from the hooves of those before me, landing on my cheek, my hauberk, my shield. The way turned sharply to the right, towards shouts and screams and crashes of steel, and as it opened out once more on to the main street, the Danish rear stood before us.
‘For Normandy!’ Robert shouted, and as one we returned the cry.
Some of the enemy heard our approach and were turning, their spears thrust out to try to deflect us. We were many, though, and they were few, and they had no time to come together — to form a shield-wall — before
