almost blinded by its brightness. Birds chirped in the trees about me; in the distance I could hear the bleating of sheep. The frost had since melted, and now the plains were a patchwork of green and brown. My eyes were sore and there was a dull ache in my head. For a moment I lay still, unsure where I was, until suddenly it all returned to me.
I blinked and tried to sit up, though straightaway I regretted it as agony gripped my leg, and I cursed out loud. There was no one about to hear me. Wace was not to be seen, though he had left his shield behind. Lord Robert’s hawk looked as though it had seen better days; there were several long scratches across it that would need repainting. Nonetheless, it was in better condition than mine, which rested beside me, its top edge split, the leather strips around its edge hacked away, the wooden planks beneath cracked. It would not last much longer.
Wace’s horse was still there, too, which meant that he could not have gone far. I watched the animal and he watched me back, his bay coat glistening in what sunlight reached through the branches. Beside him Rollo lay on his side, asleep.
I shifted, trying to get more comfortable. I was still wearing my hauberk and chausses, though I had removed my helmet. Resting while in mail was never easy, but I didn’t want to be unprepared in case the enemy should happen upon us.
My leg continued to throb, worse even than it had just a few hours ago. I bent down and saw what I had missed earlier: the blow had gone past the mail of my chausses, tearing through the calf-straps, as well as through my braies, which were stained a deep red. And beneath it all was the cut itself, about a hand’s span in length, beginning slightly above my ankle and ending just short of my knee-joint. I touched at it lightly, wincing at the tenderness of the flesh. My fingers came away smeared with blood. It did not look deep — whatever had struck me, only its point could have broken the skin — and for that at least I was thankful. But it was still a serious wound.
I heard a chink of mail behind me, and turned to see Wace emerging from the woods, a leather wineskin in hand.
‘You’re awake,’ he said.
He didn’t look as though he had rested at all; his eyes were every bit as red as they had been at dawn. ‘Have you slept?’ I asked.
He shook his head and tossed me the flask; it was heavier than I expected and I almost fumbled it. ‘One of us had to keep watch,’ he said. ‘You looked as if you needed the rest more than I.’
I took out the stopper and lifted the wineskin to my lips. It was icy cold, and I nearly choked, the water streaming down my chin, splashing over my cloak and my hauberk, but I did not care. It was the first moisture to pass my lips in a long time, and I drank deeply.
I held the bottle out to him but he shook his head, and so I put it to one side while I set about removing my chausses. They were attached to my belt by means of leather braces, and I untied them before undoing the unsevered laces. That done, I rolled up the leg of my braies up to my knee, and began to splash some of the water from the flask over the wound, biting back the sudden sting. As a youth I had spent some years in a monastery, where the infirmarian had taught me the importance of keeping a wound clean.
He had been a quiet, ancient man, I remembered, with a rough fringe of snowy hair around his tonsure, and sad eyes which told of many hardships witnessed but never mentioned. Of all the monks there he was one of the few I took to, and his was the only teaching that stuck in my mind. It had probably saved my life more than once over the years.
I wiped the half-dried blood from around the cut, revealing a great crimson gash, about one-third the width of my fingernail.
Wace inhaled sharply. ‘That doesn’t look good.’
‘It looks worse than it feels,’ I said, though I was not sure that I meant it. I swallowed, and changed the subject. ‘Where do you think we are?’
‘We passed a village a little before dawn,’ he replied, still gazing at the wound. ‘If that was Alclit then it means we can’t be far from the old road.’
Alclit was one of the places we had passed on our march; we had learnt the name after our scouts had captured one of the families trying to flee. They had been some of the last to leave; most of the rest had gone by then, disappeared into the hills and the forests. The tears of the wife came back to me now, her husband’s terrified silence also. In particular I recalled the wide, uncomprehending eyes of the children, too frightened to speak or even to cry. But once they had given us the answers we needed, Lord Robert set them all free, even giving them horses and supplies so that they could ride on ahead and tell their countrymen of the size and strength of our army, in the hope that they would surrender without a fight. We hadn’t imagined that they would be already lying in wait, like a pack of wolves preparing to ambush their prey. None of us had.
Wace looked up, over the fields to the south. ‘I confess, though, I don’t recognise the land.’
‘Neither do I.’ I drew my knife out from its sheath and began to cut a strip from the hem of my cloak. The wool was thick, but my blade was sharp, and soon I had enough to wrap around my calf, tying it firm to try to close the wound. It was as much as I could do, until we got back to Eoferwic at least. It was a good thing that we had horses, for I couldn’t have walked on it for long without opening the gash further.
‘I’ll try to get some rest, if you don’t mind,’ said Wace.
‘I’ll keep watch,’ I replied, as he paced about, testing the ground with his feet, searching for a place where it was least damp. Then he lay down, facing away from the sun, his cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. The next time I looked in his direction, he was soundly asleep.
I sat leaning back against one of the birch trees as the morning passed. Tiredness still gripped me, but even had I not been keeping watch, I wouldn’t have felt able to sleep. The wind had stilled; the branches above my head were motionless. Clouds began to gather and the land became a patchwork of light and dark.
The jangle of a horse harness from within the woods made me sit up. I looked at Wace, but he was still asleep. I nudged his side and he woke with a start, his hand straightaway leaping to his scabbard, fumbling for his sword-hilt.
‘Someone’s coming,’ I said.
He saw me then and paused, his eyes wide and bloodshot, until at last recognition seemed to come and he scrambled to his feet. ‘Where?’
I got up, too quickly: fire shot through my calf and I stumbled, but managed to stay on my feet as I gestured back up the track. It sounded like just one rider, though I could not be sure. Our horses were about twenty paces away, a short distance inside the woods where they would be hidden from the plains below. We might make it to them before the enemy was upon us, though we would surely be noticed if we tried to ride away.
I half ran, half limped forward, following Wace towards the animals, who were both awake now, though they did not seem to have sensed anything amiss. We were just in time, as suddenly I heard hooves and then a rider came into view. There was just one, his mount at no more than a walk as he made his way through the trees.
An earthen bank lay between us and the path, and we hid behind it. As long as the rider did not look in our direction, he wouldn’t spot the horses and we would be safe. But then I thought: What if he did? We were two against one, and providing that he did not have any friends riding just behind him, we ought to be able to win if it came to a fight.
The man was tall and long-limbed, with a brown cloak wrapped around drooping shoulders, and a helmet covering his head. Sunlight burst through the clouds and Wace crouched down, further out of sight, but at that moment I saw the rider’s face, and a rush of joy came over me.
‘It’s Eudo,’ I said to Wace, and then standing once more, waving out, I called, ‘Eudo!’
The rider came to a halt. He searched around, and as I stumbled forward through the leaves and the branches, he saw me. There was mud in his hair, there were scratches upon his thin face, and his eyes were red- rimmed from tiredness, but it was clearly him.
‘Tancred?’ he asked, as if he did not quite believe it. He slid down from the saddle, laughing, threw his arms about me and embraced me like a brother. ‘You made it out alive.’
‘We did,’ I said, and gestured at Wace, who was not far behind me.
‘Wace!’ Eudo shouted.
‘It’s good to see you,’ Wace said, smiling.
‘And you,’ Eudo replied, and I thought I spotted moisture in his eyes as he stood back. ‘I never thought I
