out we had met here, word would soon get back to Robert, and what might happen then didn’t bear dwelling upon.
Knowing that I was right, she gazed down at the floor-tiles, shaking her head. She had come here holding on to the faintest of hopes, without knowing whether or not they would be fulfilled; without knowing how I would respond. She had taken a chance in more ways than one.
‘It’s strange,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re exactly as I remember you and yet somehow different.’
Whether she meant that as an observation or a slight, I wasn’t sure, although I could see the truth in it. She might have changed little, but I was not the same person as I had been that day in Lundene. Back then it had been only a short while after Dunholm, where I had lost everything. My lord, my woman and many of my closest comrades had been killed, and without them, without my sword and my horse and my silver, I was nothing. Little more than a year later, however, I had land and a hall and knights of my own. Whereas before I’d had naught to lose and all to gain, now the opposite held true.
I sighed, not knowing what to say. Somehow I had to tell her that this could not go on, that what had once passed between us was now faded into memory, yet the glimmer of affection I still held for her was enough to give me pause while I considered my exact words.
‘Beatrice-’
Before I could continue, a piercing noise from outside broke the stillness: a noise that sounded for all the world like a scream. At the same time there were men’s voices, laughing and shouting loudly enough to wake the whole town. My hand instinctively reached for the knife-hilt at my waist as I turned towards the door, expecting it to open at any moment, waiting for men to come charging in with swords in hand, but they did not.
‘Papia,’ Beatrice whispered, and there was fear in her eyes.
Someone must have followed us, I thought, and now they had found the girl. I cursed myself for not having been more careful even as, blade already in hand, I rushed to the door and flung it open, searching out into the night.
I saw them straightaway. There were five of them, some forty or so paces down the street, barely more than shadows in the darkness. And in their midst I glimpsed the smaller form of the maidservant. She was on the ground, desperately lashing out with her fists and her legs as they tried to pin her down. Two of them were trying to tear her dress from her, while another stood over her, unlacing his braies. The others looked on, swigging from flagons and leather bottles, jeering at the girl and shouting insults in French.
Even as I stood there, feet rooted to the ground as I tried to work out what to do, Beatrice was pushing past me. She darted out into the street, almost tripping over her skirts, shouting her maidservant’s name. Almost as one, the men heard her and turned, some of them already casting aside their flagons and reaching for their weapons.
‘Beatrice!’ I shouted. I broke into a run after her, gripping my knife-hilt firmly, my feet pounding the soft earth. After a few paces I had caught her, grabbing her waist to hold her back.
‘Papia,’ she called, trying to wriggle free from my hold, but I was too strong for her and she soon gave up.
The girl was on the ground still, though now that the men’s attention was elsewhere she was backing away in crab fashion, pulling her skirts back down over her legs, trying to regain her modesty.
‘Who’s this, then?’ their lord shouted, and I took him for such not just because he had spoken first but also because of the gold rings which adorned his fingers. ‘Another man and his whore?’
They looked drunk, and not entirely steady on their feet, but that did not mean they were any less dangerous. Ale dulled men’s sword-skills but it also made them more reckless and unpredictable, and I knew from experience that a man with little regard for his own life could be a fearsome foe.
‘Stay away from the girl,’ I called back. ‘Otherwise you’ll have my blade to answer to.’
How I planned to take on five men on my own I didn’t know, but I could hardly stand by and do nothing, and besides my blood was rising, my sword-hand itching.
‘You hear that?’ the lord said. ‘He thinks he can fight us!’
He laughed aloud, and some of the others began to snigger. They were all sizes and shapes, I saw now as they came out into the middle of the street: short and tall, some broad-shouldered and squat, others rangy and long-limbed. All had swords, which meant they were almost certainly knights, yet none was wearing anything more than a loose tunic and trews. Five well-aimed blows was all it would take to fell them. I hoped it would not come to that.
‘Tancred,’ Beatrice said. She placed a hand on my shoulder but I shook it off as I strode forward, passing my knife into my left hand and pulling my sword free of its scabbard with the other. Rarely did I fight with two blades, but I had no shield or mail or even helmet with which to protect myself, and so I had no choice.
I fixed my gaze on the lord. His face was pitted with pockmarks and lined with the scars of battle, his nose was broken, and his thick eyebrows made his eyes appear mere shadows.
‘Leave now,’ I said.
I was hoping that they would see sense and realise there was no point in risking their lives. They exchanged glances, but they must have had confidence in their numbers, for they did not move.
Their lord snorted. ‘Or what?’
‘Or else I will kill every one of you and leave your corpses for the dogs to feed on.’
‘You and what army?’ he asked, prompting a fresh bout of laughter from his men. ‘I suggest that you walk away, friend, unless you enjoy the taste of steel.’
Those who had not already drawn their weapons slid them with barely a whisper of steel from sheaths and scabbards. Blades flashed in the starlight. Barely ten paces separated me from the first of them. If they all came at me together they would soon have me surrounded, and Beatrice as well, with no hope of escape. But I could not back down now. I would not leave Papia to her fate.
‘Look at his woman,’ one of them said, gesturing with his free hand towards Beatrice. ‘She’s a fine one. I’d like to plough that furrow.’
‘You’ll get your chance, Gisulf,’ said another, a thickset man with large ears that stuck out from his head. ‘I reckon we’d all like a go with her.’
I glanced at Beatrice, who was shrinking back under their stares, slowly retreating towards the church door and the faint orange glow coming from within, though I knew she would find no sanctuary there. It had been a mistake for us to meet here. This whole night had been a mistake from the moment that I had chosen to follow the girl to her mistress, and I had only made it worse by challenging these men. Now they would kill me, and probably Beatrice too once they had finished with her.
‘She’s certainly a pretty one,’ the broken-nosed one called, joining in with the rest of his men. They were enjoying this, I saw. ‘Not like the rest of the whores in this godforsaken town. Not like this one either.’ He stepped to Papia’s side, grabbing her arm just as she was getting to her feet and jerking her off-balance so that she lost her footing and fell on her face in the mud. ‘Where did you find her?’
‘She’s not a whore,’ I said, tightening my grip upon my sword-hilt. Anger swelled inside me; my blood was boiling in my veins, and it was all I could do to hold myself back as I waited for the opening, waited for them to let down their guard just for a moment.
‘She’ll scream like one when I’m inside her,’ he replied, smirking as if already picturing it in his mind. ‘I’ll rut her harder than she’s ever been rutted. I’ll-’
I didn’t give him the chance to finish. In that moment the battle-rage took me, and I was rushing forward, roaring as the bloodlust filled me, thinking only of wiping that smirk from his face.
The first of them stood before me, sword in hand, grinning with the anticipation of easy blood, but I was upon him before he knew it. All he could do was raise his blade to meet mine, and they clashed with a great screech of steel upon steel. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed the one they had called Gisulf coming at my flank. Turning the blade, I spun away from the first man, carving the air with my sword-edge. It tore into Gisulf’s tunic, slicing across his upper arm, and his weapon fell from his grasp as he clutched at the wound, crying out in pain.
The others were shouting, but I was amongst them now, swinging both my blades in a wide arc about me, to try to keep them at bay.
‘I don’t want to have to kill you,’ I shouted. ‘Go now and no one else has to feel my sword-edge.’
They were not listening. One, bolder than the rest, yelled in anger and rushed at me, backhanding a wild, drunken swing towards my head. In doing so he left himself exposed. Ducking easily beneath the path made by his
