him there as I bolted back in the direction of the church, to Beatrice and Papia. Those shouts were louder now, closer than before, and if we delayed any further then all this would have been for nothing.
‘This way,’ I said, sheathing my sword at last, gesturing towards one of the side streets that led back towards the river. ‘Quickly!’
Beatrice did not move. She was staring at the bodies which now lay strewn across the way, and I thought she was about to vomit, but I grabbed her hand, tugging her away from there, and then at last she seemed to wake from her thoughts.
‘Come on,’ I told her. ‘Now!’
She did not need telling again, and as I broke into a run, so did she, with Papia not far behind us: the three of us darting through the narrow alleyways, past inns and pig-sheds and crumbling hovels, slipping into the shadows.
Eight
Twice I glanced behind to see if we were being pursued. I saw no one, but nonetheless we kept running until I saw the river ahead, glittering faintly under the light of the stars. By then the cries of panic and the sound of hooves had faded almost to nothing. Now there was only the sound of rats scurrying along the wharfside and on to the boats moored there, the calls of a moorhen disturbed from its sleep, and our own breathing.
We ducked into a narrow alley which ran behind a large storehouse, where we could not be easily spotted from the river. Shipmasters usually left some of their crew behind to guard whatever cargo was left on board, or even defend the boat itself against those who might try to steal it, and I decided it was better that they did not see us.
Even now I could scarcely believe that I was still alive, that we had all three of us managed to escape unharmed. Unharmed, that was, except for the cut to my shoulder. Now that the rush of battle was gone, it had begun to throb: like tiny arrows of fire shooting through my flesh. A trickle of blood ran down my arm and I clutched at it, at the same time glancing out into the street, looking back the way we came. The belfry of St Ealhmund’s church stood on top of the hill, rising above the houses, with faint lantern-light flickering across its stonework, and when I stilled my breathing and listened carefully I could make out voices. Mercifully, though, there was no sign of anyone following us.
Relief came over me and I closed my eyes as I leant back against the wall of the storehouse, letting the night’s cool air fill my chest, doing my best to ignore the pain. The stink of putrid fish, offal and ox dung filled my nose.
‘Here,’ said Beatrice, and she pressed a bundle of dark cloth against my shoulder in an effort to stem the flow of blood. I grimaced at the sting but did not pull away. She rolled up my sleeve and began to wipe some of the blood from around the wound. ‘Can I use your knife?’
I nodded wordlessly.
‘Hold this,’ she said and placed my hand on top of the bundle of cloth. I kept it pressed to the wound while she reached down to the sheath on my belt and carefully drew out the blade, which was still covered with blood. Taking her cloak from me, she used the knife to hack a long strip from it to serve as a bandage. Now that I could see the wound better, it did not look nearly as bad as I had imagined, though knowing that did nothing to ease the pain. First folding it so that it formed a double layer, Beatrice passed the bandage under my arm and then tied the two ends together, tightly enough that it would bind the gash and, at the very least, keep it from bleeding further.
‘Thank you,’ I said when she had finished.
‘Will you be all right?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, grimacing in spite of myself as another bolt of agony stabbed through my shoulder.
‘I can’t afford to stay out any longer,’ she said. ‘We have to get back before we’re missed. If anyone were to notice that I’m gone. .’
She did not finish, but I knew what she was thinking. At the very least there would be talk: about what she was doing out so late and by herself, with only her maidservant to help protect her.
‘I’ll come with you,’ I said. ‘The streets aren’t safe.’
‘No, it’s better if you don’t. We can’t risk being seen together.’
It was a little late to be worrying about that, I thought. Indeed, if she had made that decision an hour ago, then she would not have sent the girl to me in the first place; I would still be asleep in my tent and two men would not have lost their lives in needless bloodshed.
I was too tired to argue, though. I needed to find water or, better, spirits to put on the gash, and the sooner the better. A slight cut such as it was would heal by itself without any need for stitches, but I had to keep it clean.
She took my hand in hers, squeezing it tenderly, and I realised that with everything that had happened, I’d failed to divest her of this notion that there could exist something between us. Before I could say anything, though, she had let go, turning her attention to Papia, who was sitting huddled on the ground with her back against a stack of barrels, shivering with cold and with fear, her knees drawn up towards her face, which was buried in her hands. There was blood on her fingers, blood staining her dress.
Beatrice crouched down in front of her. ‘We have to go.’
Sobbing, the maidservant shook her head. Her hair fell in disarray over her eyes, and gently Beatrice pushed it aside and hugged the girl tightly to her chest. ‘Come,’ she said.
This time the girl nodded and got to her feet. Not once did she look at me. Beatrice held her hand as the three of us made for the far end of the alleyway, where it opened out on to one of the main streets.
I glanced out into the road to make sure that no one was watching. One way headed up the hill, towards the heart of the town; the other led back in the direction of the camp. Both were deserted.
‘This is where we part, then,’ I said.
‘Be safe, Tancred.’
‘And you, my lady.’
She held my eyes, but only for a moment, before she and the girl were hurrying away up the rutted street. The skies were cloudy and there was little light from either moon or stars. It wasn’t long before they had vanished into the night.
I woke the next day to find the sun shining in through the flaps at the entrance to my tent, confusing me, for in my dreams it had been night and I was in my hall at Earnford, with?dda and Erchembald and all the rest. But then I recalled where we were: Scrobbesburh.
Blinking at the light, I rolled over on to my side, remembering my wound too late. Sharp heat flashed through my shoulder and I clutched at it, wincing and cursing at the same time, and sat up. Thankfully the cut had long since stopped bleeding; the bandage that Beatrice had tied around it had helped see to that. I loosened the knot she had made, hoping to get a better look at the wound now that it was day, though there was not much to see. A narrow line of dried blood ran down my upper arm, about the length of my little finger: proof that last night had been real and I had not just imagined it. Proof that I had fought those men, that I had met Beatrice in the church. I retied the cloth and rolled my sleeve back down, covering it lest anyone should see.
A fire was already burning when I emerged from the tent. Serlo, Turold and Pons were sitting around it, together with Snocca and Cnebba and several of Robert’s men, as well as his own servants: resting their shields on their knees and using them as tables, passing around bottles filled with water fetched from the river.
But among all those faces was one I hadn’t expected to be there. Someone I hadn’t seen in a long time, but whom I recognised at a glance: rangy and long-limbed, with a thin face, thick eyebrows and dark hair.
‘Eudo!’ I let out a laugh at the sight of my old friend and comrade.
‘Tancred,’ he said, likewise grinning as he leapt to his feet. ‘I was wondering when you’d wake.’
For more than a dozen years we had served the same lord, fought under the same banner in the same conroi. Shoulder to shoulder we had stood in the shield-wall; knee to knee we had ridden alongside each other in the charge. Together we had lived through so many battles that I had long since lost count, and in so doing we had forged a bond stronger even than that of kinship: a bond that could never be broken.
