Had I paused then, I would have seen how many they were and how well armed, and known that for us to ride towards their shining blades would be to invite death, for we had no hope of breaking them. But the battle-rage had taken me, and I saw victory at hand, knowing that if we could get to Eadgar and I could kill him, then we could win the battle there and then.
‘On!’ I said, willing my horse faster. Hooves clattered upon stone as we arrived five abreast upon the bridge. ‘On! On!’
I lifted my lance above my head, drew my arm back and hurled it towards the first line of huscarls, as beside me Eudo and Philippe did the same. The enemy raised their shields to protect their heads, but in doing so they left themselves exposed from below, and at that same moment we came, swords drawn, riding hard, and I was thrusting my blade forward into their hauberks, cutting at their undefended legs. Some of our lances had sunk themselves into their shields, weighing them down, and as they tried to pull the shafts out we were cutting into them, bringing our sword-edges to bear.
But for each one that I killed, another came to take his place. Just as before, once the impact of the charge began to fail, then they began to press us back, the first row bringing their spears to bear even as those behind reached over them with their long axes, the blades sharp enough, I knew, to sever a horse’s neck in one blow.
‘There are too many,’ Eudo yelled, though I could barely hear him over the crash of steel, the screams of men and of horses. ‘We need to fall back!’
A spear thrust up from my right, narrowly missing my mount’s head, and I brought my sword down upon my foe’s hand, slicing through the finger-bones before dragging the point up his ventail into his throat. I clenched my teeth and heaved my blade into the path of the next Englishman, missing by a hair’s width as he ducked low. He lifted his head and then I saw his helmet with its gleaming cheek-plates, and the rim and nasal-guard, shining gold like the sun. It was Eadgar.
He charged, leading his men from the shield-wall, just as the bright disc of the sun broke above the houses on the far shore. The light glinted off the enemy’s mail and off their blades, and for a moment I was blinded. Dark figures swarmed below; in desperation I slashed my sword at where I thought they were, and found only air.
‘Tancred!’ I heard Eudo shout, though I could not see him.
My mount screamed and rose up on its hind legs, kicking at the shadows darting about beneath. I leant forward in the saddle, trying to keep my balance, to keep him under control, as there came a flash of steel from below. He screamed again, and this time he collapsed forward, and I was tossed from the saddle with my foot still caught in the stirrup.
Air rushed past me, but not for long as I came crashing to earth. The wind was knocked from my chest, and I tasted blood in my mouth as I looked up. A shadow towered above me, his sword and helmet glinting. I blinked, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw Eadgar’s face: that familiar thin-lipped scowl that had tormented me ever since Eoferwic.
His eyes narrowed as he looked down at me. ‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘You’re Malet’s dog. The one who made a fool of me.’
‘You killed my lord,’ I spat back at him. ‘You killed Robert de Commines.’
Without warning he swung at me; I recovered my senses, raising my shield as I struggled to free my foot from beneath my mount’s corpse. The blow struck the rim, inches from my neck, inches from killing me, but I had no time to dwell on it. The next stroke came, and the next, the force of each blow shuddering up through my arm, into my shoulder, pinning me down as the hide fell away from my shield, until I could feel the wood starting to splinter.
Eadgar raised his blade for another assault and I tried to scramble backwards, but my leg was still trapped and I could not get away. The Aetheling’s sword-edge ripped through my shield, through the mail at my shoulder, the point carving into the flesh.
I yelled out as pain seared through me. I saw the half-smile, half-sneer on Eadgar’s face as he lifted his weapon, ready to land the finishing blow. Desperately I jerked my leg again, feeling the blood pounding in my skull, the sweat stinging my eyes. Bile rose up, burning at my throat, and I found I could not breathe, and I knew that this was my final chance, when at last my foot came free.
Eadgar’s blade came down, but not before I rolled to the side, shaking my arm from the straps of my now useless shield. His sword struck the place where I had lain just a moment before, sinking into the bridge-timbers. It stuck fast, and as he struggled to free it I glimpsed my own weapon lying beside me. I reached for it, clutching the hilt and turning on to my back, just in time to meet Eadgar’s blade. Steel scraped against steel; he was strong and I could feel my muscles straining, but I held firm and managed to turn his blade to one side, forcing him off balance. In the time it took him to recover I rose to my feet, breathing hard, scarcely believing I was still alive.
‘You murdered my woman,’ I said as I clutched tight to my sword-hilt. The words almost stuck in my throat, but I forced them out. ‘Oswynn is dead because of you. You killed her.’
‘And I will kill you too,’ Eadgar snarled, and thrust forward. The sun was in my eyes again, but I managed to parry his blow, gripping my hilt in two hands, using the strength of both my arms to force him back.
‘Your mother was a whore,’ I spat. ‘Go back to her teat where you belong.’
He rushed at me, and this time I didn’t wait for him to strike: instead I attacked first, swinging the point of my sword towards his neck, aiming for the gap between his helmet and his hauberk. It met his cheek-plate; he gave a yell and staggered back. There was blood streaming down his face, and I saw that I had cut him.
He screamed in anger and charged forward again, seeking revenge, and now his men were behind him, with their spears and their axes, and I realised that I was one man against half a dozen. Fear gripped my stomach and I steeled myself, praying to God as Eadgar rushed towards me-
A blur of brown and silver flashed past, and above a clatter of hooves and the crash of steel I heard Eudo’s voice crying out: ‘For Lord Robert!’
He drove his lance into the arm of the Aetheling, who staggered back, blood streaming down the sleeve of his mail as the rest of his men closed around him, forming the shield-wall. Beside Eudo was Philippe, and after them came Urse and several others, with lances couched and swords drawn, and straightaway they were pushing the enemy back.
For a moment I could only stand there, dazed by what had happened, but then I recovered my wits.
‘Kill them!’ I shouted, and I was running to join Eudo and the others, pressing the attack, throwing myself into the fray, hacking down upon the purple-and-yellow shields before me, bringing the full weight of my blade to bear.
A spear struck the helmet of one of Robert’s knights, the impact knocking him from the saddle, and he was pitched into the river below. There was a splash, followed by a cry for help as he struggled to keep his head above the water, but it did not last long as he was dragged down by his hauberk and chausses. His horse, now riderless, reared up, lashing out with its hooves at the heads of the Englishmen in front.
And then horns were blasting out, cutting across the sound of the killing, and the enemy hesitated. For at the top of the hill to the east flew two new banners, with hundreds of mounted men gathered beneath them. The first was the white wolf on crimson that belonged to Fitz Osbern, while beside it, glistening in the dawn, was the black and gold that had become so familiar to me.
Malet.
Which meant that the castle garrison had sallied, and now the rebels were being attacked from two sides. His knights and Fitz Osbern’s poured down from the east, and in that moment everything turned, as the English host, seeing the threat from behind, suddenly crumbled.
‘For Lord Guillaume!’ Philippe yelled, as he finished an Englishman on his lance. Eadgar had been dragged from the melee by a group of his huscarls and now they were retreating across the bridge, back towards the rest of their host. Some still remained, holding us off whilst their lord retreated, but they were few and we were many, streaming towards them on horse and on foot with sharpened steel in our hands. The bridge belonged to us, the enemy were in disarray, and I knew that victory was close at hand.
I ran to the horse that had lost its rider, vaulting up into the saddle, working my feet into the stirrups, pressing my spurs into his flank as I joined the pursuit, riding the enemy down. But though I saw my sword flash, saw it strike, for some reason I could not feel it, as if it were somehow without weight, with a mind that was all its own, and it were the one controlling me. Around me men were dying on its edge and its point, breathing their last, and I was riding through them as the rest of the king’s host followed: a tide of men rolling across the bridge.
Horns blew again — long forlorn blasts, like the dying wails of some monstrous beast — and suddenly
