Frederic by name, as I recalled — with a knife at his throat. He met my gaze, an apologetic look in his eyes.
‘Fitz Osbern is too far gone in his cups to care,’ Berengar was saying. ‘He has more things to worry about than the death of one man who defied his word.’
I was not convinced that Fitz Osbern would be so callous; one way or another justice would be dealt. Unless Berengar planned to flee the town altogether, he would struggle to avoid it. Even if he managed to evade those who would avenge me, he would still have God to answer to eventually. Perhaps those same thoughts were what was causing him to stay his hand now, or at the very least to doubt himself. He stood unspeaking with clenched jaw, his gaze fixed upon me. I counted each breath I took, wondering if it would be my last, waiting for the finishing blow that never came, until eventually I could hold my silence no longer.
‘Are you going to kill me, then? Or are you simply going to stand there?’
I meant it as a challenge, but the words came out less strongly than I would have liked.
‘Don’t think I won’t do it,’ said Berengar. ‘I only want to enjoy this moment so that I remember it for a long time to come.’
As he spoke these words, behind him through the smoke appeared the form of a horseman. Berengar had no time even to turn around before he found a spear levelled beneath his chin, the flat of the head brushing against the underside of his jaw.
‘Put away your sword, Berengar fitz Warin,’ the horseman said, and never had I been more glad to hear that voice, for it belonged to Lord Robert. ‘Do it carefully, too. I wouldn’t want my blade to accidently slip and bury itself in your throat.’
Berengar hesitated. He had a wild, cornered look in his eyes. For a terrifying heartbeat I thought he might decide to take his chances, and kill me even if it meant meeting his own end.
‘Do it,’ Robert repeated, and then to the others said: ‘Unhand the Englishman.’
Thankfully the moment passed. Not once taking his eyes from me, Berengar grudgingly withdrew the blade, tossing it to one side, where it fell in a puddle. It was not quite what had been asked of him, but it sufficed nonetheless. The captain of Robert’s household, Ansculf, picked it up.
Relieved, I breathed deeply for the first time in what seemed like an age, letting the air fill my chest.
‘Get up,’ Robert barked at me, a little harshly I thought, given that I was the injured party. ‘And you,’ he said to Berengar, ‘get yourself and your men gone from here, and be thankful that I’m letting you leave with your head still attached to your neck.’
Berengar didn’t seem to hear. ‘This isn’t over,’ he said to me as I rose to my feet. ‘You’ll suffer for all your insults — I will make sure of it!’
‘Not before I’ve driven my blade through your bowels and left you to drown in your own shit,’ I retorted, rubbing my forehead.
‘Enough,’ Robert said. ‘Both of you. Now go, Berengar, unless you want me to give Tancred a chance to make good on his promise.’
Berengar shot me one final, vicious look before turning and signalling to his men, and together they stalked off. No doubt he would take word of what had taken place and the many injustices he had borne back to Fitz Osbern. As well he might, though whether the latter cared enough to listen to what he had to say was another matter altogether.
I turned to Robert. With him was half his conroi, armed and mailed, their horses’ coats glistening with sweat, and I guessed they must have recently returned from a scouting expedition.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘If you hadn’t arrived when you did-’
‘Spare me.’ He shook his head in a manner that spoke of frustration and disappointment. ‘You were fortunate. As I recall, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to rescue your hide. How is it that whenever a fight is taking place, I always seem to find you in the middle of it?’
‘It was hardly my fault, lord.’
‘It never is, is it?’ His tone was cold and lacking in humour. If anything he seemed angry, but what he had to be angry about I wasn’t sure. No blood had been spilt nor any injury done, save perhaps to Berengar’s pride, although that seemed to me battered enough as it was.
‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked, feeling suddenly defensive.
He didn’t answer directly but said instead, ‘Nothing good will come of this feud. It has to end, and not by one of you having a knife driven into his back. If you don’t mend this, it will only grow worse, believe me. I have seen it happen.’
‘Perhaps.’ Even were it possible, I was not enamoured with the idea of coming to terms with Berengar, especially given that this quarrel was all his making. Over the years I’d made many foes and rivals, but none as openly hostile as him.
‘If you’re looking for enemies you’d do better choosing one who is at least predictable. The last thing you want is someone as capricious as he is, whose heart is ruled by hate, who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.’
‘I’ll deal with him if he comes for me,’ I said.
‘As you dealt with him today, you mean?’
I didn’t dignify that question with an answer. Berengar had merely been lucky. If those oxen and wagon hadn’t been there when they were, or if I had only seen them, then I wouldn’t have struck my head and he would never have found himself in a position where he had a chance of finishing me.
‘Whatever he tries, I will be ready for him,’ I said.
Robert sighed. ‘Of course you must do what you think right, Tancred. I’ll warn you, though, that if you do not mend this by whatever means it takes, it will be your undoing one way or another, if not straightaway, then sometime.’
Sometime was good enough, as far as I was concerned. Sometime stretched a long way into the future: weeks or months or years, in which time I could easily meet a thousand other worse fates than Berengar’s sword. Besides, I doubted he would be so patient; more probably he would grow tired of me and find someone else to harass rather than wait that long.
Robert turned to Byrhtwald, who was nursing his shoulder where one of Berengar’s men had held him. He looked shaken but otherwise unharmed.
‘Who is this?’ Robert asked.
I gave him the Englishman’s name. ‘A friend of mine,’ I added. ‘He comes to Earnford every few months with his wares and his stories.’
‘And he pays well for them, too,’ Byrhtwald said, smiling. ‘You must be Tancred’s lord, son of the noble and illustrious Guillaume Malet.’
‘That’s right,’ Robert said. He didn’t offer his hand in greeting, perhaps trying to work out whether the Englishman was being sincere in his praise, or whether it was some kind of jest at his expense. Byrhtwald had an odd sense of humour that even I, despite having come to know him reasonably well, did not always understand.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, changing the subject quickly. I did not want another confrontation.
‘I’m still in one piece, if that’s what you mean,’ the pedlar replied. ‘Nothing more than a few bruises, though that’ll be enough to get me a scolding from my wife when she sees them. It won’t be the first time, either. She always gets frightened for my sake when she hears I’ve been in a fight. Says I’m too old for them.’
‘And she’s probably right,’ I said. ‘Still, at least you’re taking her advice. You ran from that one quickly enough.’
‘It looked like you were doing well enough on your own. I didn’t want to get in the way and spoil your fun.’
‘If you want my advice, Englishman,’ Robert said, interrupting, ‘you’d be wise to leave this town as soon as you can — if you value your life, at any rate. Most traders left days ago from what I hear, and you won’t want to be here when the Welsh come.’
‘If you live even that long,’ I said. ‘If you remain in Scrobbesburh, Berengar will take it as a personal insult and he’ll do everything he can to see you in chains, especially after this.’
Robert frowned. ‘In chains? What has he done?’
I repeated what Berengar had told me of Fitz Osbern’s decree that all merchants still in the town were to be arrested forthwith on suspicion of acting as spies.
