The Splintered Kingdom

Gwynedd.’

In his hand he clutched a leather thong on which was attached a bronze pendant that I recognised in an instant. Only then did I realise that my neck was bare. As well as the toe-bone of St Ignatius he had also taken my silver cross: the same one that had hung there for more years than I could remember, that I often kissed before battle, that had helped see me safely through countless struggles.

‘A fine object,’ Bleddyn said as he examined the pendant, opening it up and squinting at the writing on the strip of parchment within. Either his eyesight was not the best or else the elaborate script defeated him; he quickly shut it again and fastened the thong around his neck. ‘Alas your blessed saint seems to have forsaken you, Tancred.’

I swallowed to try to ease my throat. ‘How do you know my name?’

He smiled, allowing me a glimpse of his ivory-white teeth. ‘Who hasn’t heard of the great Tancred a Dinant, he of the hawk banner? I know many things about you, not least that you were there in the battle when my brother was murdered.’

Once more it seemed my reputation went before me. Gradually everything was returning to me. The path through the woods; how we’d had to turn back. The attack. If only we hadn’t strayed from the road, or instead had taken the longer route east by way of Deorbi. If only Robert hadn’t been so pig-headed, then perhaps I wouldn’t be here.

‘What about the others?’ I asked, at the same time wanting and not wanting to know the answer. ‘Are they dead?’

He hesitated as if unsure what to say, and I took that to mean that they had got away. If there was any relief to be had, I supposed that was it, so long as they were unharmed and they managed to reach Eoferwic safely.

‘We have what we came seeking, and that is all that matters,’ Bleddyn said. ‘Indeed I should thank you for making it so easy for us.’

‘Easy?’

‘We’d been following you since you left Amwythic, the place you call Scrobbesburh. When you pursued that trail into those woods, we knew God was with us.’

This had been no mere ill fortune, then, no chance encounter. That dust-cloud we had spotted must have belonged to their scouts. And we had gifted them the perfect opportunity to waylay us.

‘You were following us?’ I asked. They must have been informed that we would be passing this way. And I knew who was responsible. ‘This was Berengar’s doing, wasn’t it? Somehow he got word to you. He betrayed us.’

‘I do not know the man’s name,’ said Bleddyn.

To my ears that was as good as an admission. In the space of two days Berengar had first tried to kill me, and having failed at that he had then sold me to the enemy, probably for a handsome amount of silver. And not just me either, but Lord Robert and Beatrice too. I’d known he could be cold-hearted and vindictive, but never had I thought he would turn traitor. But if he’d hoped the enemy would do what he had been unable to, he had reckoned wrongly. For here I was still. Alive.

‘You could have killed me,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you?’

Bleddyn laughed. ‘A corpse is worth nothing to us. Eadric wishes you alive so that he can take you north to the one he calls king. The?theling will not pay otherwise.’

‘The?theling?’ And then I remembered the reward of gold and silver he had offered for the man who brought me to him. Byrhtwald had told me when he last came to the manor; it could only have been a few weeks ago and yet with everything that had taken place since, it seemed like a distant dream. As did Earnford itself: a dream that was receding further and further with every passing day.

‘He has sent word to say that already he is marching,’ Bleddyn said as he rose. ‘He will look forward to meeting you, I’m sure. I know that Eadric is.’

With that he left me, barking orders to his countrymen. Someone came to unbind my ankles, but I had no time to enjoy my legs’ newfound freedom as a spear-haft was jabbed hard into my ribs.

‘Kyuoda ti,’ said a burly Welshman reeking of piss, and I guessed that he wanted me to get up.

Still dazed and not feeling entirely steady, I rose to my knees, where I paused. The bonds around my ankles had been tied tightly; my feet were still tingling and stabbing with what felt like tiny pinpricks as the blood returned to them, and I wasn’t sure that they would support me if I put any weight on them.

‘Kyuoda ti,’ the man repeated, landing a sharp strike across my back. I winced and stifled a grunt. Deciding that it was better to show willing than to resist, I tried to get to my feet, stumbling at first but eventually managing.

No sooner had I done so than the spear-haft was once more thrust in my back. I took that as a sign to start walking, to God alone knew what fate.

We marched throughout the rest of that day, heading towards the west. From time to time Bleddyn’s men would goad me, hurling pebbles at my exposed back, while a few attempted curses in what smattering of French they possessed. I did my best to bear it all, gritting my teeth at every sting of pain, concentrating only on putting one foot before the other. My shoulders were burning beneath the sun, my brow was running with sweat and the back of my head still ached where I’d been struck.

It was long past dark by the time our journey came to an end at a small village with crumbling houses and a great hall that to my eyes more resembled a barn, and one that had seen better years at that. Others had arrived before us; to judge by the number of fires and tents, this was a sizeable marching-camp. How many miles we had travelled I couldn’t tell, but we were probably not too far from the dyke. For a while I’d held out the slender hope that Robert and the others would return for me: a hope that was steadily dwindling. Not that I blamed him if he didn’t. Whereas there had to be several hundred men here, we had ridden from Scrobbesburh’s gates with fewer than fifty, of whom half now lay dead, their bodies stripped of everything that was of value and forgotten by all but the carrion beasts. If Robert had any sense, then, he wouldn’t try to come after me. Whatever responsibility he had to me as his vassal, the duty of protection he had towards Beatrice was greater.

One guard on each flank, I was led through the camp. Welshmen and Englishmen alike jeered as I passed, recognising me for a hostage. Some spat at me and others threw clods of earth, though any who tried to come too close were driven away. While he had let his household warriors have their fun earlier, Bleddyn obviously did not want to see me too badly injured before I was delivered to Wild Eadric.

They took me to the hall, halting outside by the entrance to what at one time must have been a wine cellar. While one of my guards forced me to my knees on the damp ground, the other produced a key from a ring at his belt and opened up the trapdoor. Then, hauling me up by the arms, they threw me in. My hands were still tied behind my back, preventing me from breaking my fall. Their laughter rang in my ears as I tumbled down the hard stone steps, eventually landing with a splash in a cold puddle at the bottom. Swearing loudly, I tried to stand, but after so many hours of marching without food or water my feet were clumsy, and before I could do anything the trapdoor came down, shutting out what little light there had been, leaving me in darkness. Outside I could still hear the guards muttering to one another, their voices growing ever fainter as they moved away, until eventually I could hear them no more. I was alone.

Or so I thought. But then I heard what sounded like a low groan, coming from behind me.

‘Is there someone there?’ I called into the darkness. It was as black as pitch down here and I could see nothing, not even the walls or the ceiling or the floor beneath me. For all I knew this chamber could have been five paces across or five hundred. Somewhere, water fell in a steady drip-drip, but otherwise all I could hear was my own heart beating. As I listened more closely, however, I began to make out what sounded like breathing, faint but laboured, like a rasp being drawn slowly over coarse timber. A man rather than a woman, I thought, and plainly in some discomfort.

‘Are you all right?’ I called into the darkness.

He groaned again and then gave a great hacking cough. ‘Who’s there?’

Clearly his captors hadn’t shown him the same level of kindness that mine had. Deciding it could do no harm, I gave him my name.

‘Tancred? Is that truly you, lord?’

That was when I recognised his voice. ‘Byrhtwald?’

‘Yes, lord,’ he said weakly. ‘It’s me.’