concern. But let it be known that I have never sold you an untruth.’
I wasn’t so sure of that, and I was even less convinced by his rumours of a Welsh host gathering. Nevertheless I kept quiet, and talk soon moved on to other things. Of the rebels in the north or the Danes across the sea, Byrhtwald had nothing to relate. That worried me, for the less we heard, the more I began to wonder if Serlo had been right: if perhaps the enemy were biding their time as they gathered their forces for a bigger assault. Something was afoot, even if we did not yet know what.
Until the enemy showed themselves, though, we could do nothing. Nothing except wait, and that was the part of the warrior’s life I had always liked least. In the heat of the melee, with the clash of blades all around, the crash of shield-bosses ringing in one’s ears, there was no time for fear or doubt, but the hours and days before a battle were when those things crept into one’s mind. Every man who made his living by the sword felt the same, no matter how seasoned he was, how many campaigns he had fought or how many men he had killed. With every day that went by I grew ever more restless.
As it happened we didn’t have long to wait. By then just over a month had passed since the Welsh raid, though somehow it felt longer. Already the crops were growing tall in the fields, ripening under the summer sun, while new houses of wattle and cob were being built not far from where the old ones had been razed.
On the day that the news came, Pons and Turold had gone scouting with?dda while I remained in Earnford, hearing the villagers’ grievances with one another and passing judgment. One of the swineherd’s boars had escaped its pen, knocked over his neighbour’s water-butt and uprooted half the vegetables in the garden behind his cottage, and for that he was to pay two piglets to the injured party. Gode the miller’s wife had been caught collecting armfuls of sticks and fallen timber from the woods without my permission, and she was forced to surrender the lot as well as give me three sacks of her finest flour. Since Lyfing’s death she and her husband, Nothmund, had been hard worked, having added their son’s share of the burden to their own. She had never been able to bear another child, for reasons that neither they nor Father Erchembald, who knew something of the various ailments that afflicted people, could fathom. Lyfing’s death had left them distraught and tired and desperate, especially as the dry weather continued and the river ran low, which meant that there were days when the flow was not enough to turn the mill-wheel. But none of that excused what she had done, and so justice had to be dispensed.
In the usual course of affairs much of this would have been left to my steward, Alberic, except that he had fled my service in the week before Easter. A boor of a man whom I had never taken to, he was guilty of having while drunk begun a brawl with one of the village men whose daughter he’d taken a fancy to. After beating the father to the ground and leaving him for dead, Alberic took one of my best stallions and as much silver as he could carry, riding away before anyone could stop him. That was the last that anyone had seen of him. We’d sent word out to the towns and markets nearby seeking his arrest, but he had never been caught. As a result his lands became forfeit to me and his tearful wife was forced to take another husband, but I had not yet found anyone to replace him as steward. And so the business of the manorial court was left to me.
It was late that afternoon when the horsemen, some two dozen or so in number, were first spotted in the distance. Their banner was divided into alternating stripes of black and yellow, and the yellow was trimmed with golden thread that caught the light. Those colours I knew well, for not so long ago I had fought under them myself. They were the colours of the Malet family, and of Robert, my lord. He was rarely seen in these parts; most of his estates lay on the other side of this island, in the shire of Suthfolc, and most of his time was spent there or else in Normandy, at his family home of Graville. Which meant that it was something of a surprise to find the black and gold flying there in the valley of Earnford that summer’s evening.
Straightaway I sent word for Serlo and at the same time called for my sword, which was shortly brought to me by one of the twins, Snocca and Cnebba, boys of around fourteen who worked with?dda in the stables. Even after a year I found I could not always tell them apart. Whichever one it was, I thanked him as I buckled the belt around my waist. I’d had a new blade forged some months ago from the best steel that I could afford, with two blood-red gems adorning the hilt, and a scabbard to go with it: one that reflected my new-found standing. Reinforced with bands of copper, which were inlaid with lines of silver in twisting plant-like designs, it showed that I had wealth to spend, gold to give to men who would follow me. It was that same promise of riches that had drawn my three knights to my service in the first place.
I could see Robert himself now, riding at the head of the conroi, flanked on either side by a dozen knights, with his banner-bearer alongside him. Unlike his knights, who all wore helmets and coifs, his head was bare, and I could see his face clearly: his angular features, his high brow, his prominent nose. Beneath his hauberk he was dressed all in black from his tunic to his trews: an affectation which he considered fashionable but which I found a little odd, though of course I would never say so openly.
They made their way past the mill and the fish-weirs and the hay-meadows, following the cart-track that led to the ford, then past the church. Field labourers looked on as the column of horsemen rode in single file, along the baulks that marked the divisions between the furlongs, up the slope towards the hall. With Serlo at my side I strode down the path to greet them.
Robert grinned broadly as he saw me. ‘Tancred,’ he said as they drew to a halt and he swung down from his saddle. ‘It’s good to see you. It has been too long.’
‘It has, lord,’ I replied, and found that I was grinning too. It was several months since I had seen him: not since the winter, in fact, when he had come here after attending the king’s Christmas court at Glowecestre.
He was then in his twenty-seventh summer, the same age as myself. He embraced me like a brother, and brothers we were, if not in blood then in arms, for the previous year we had ridden and fought alongside one another in the great battle against the?theling, and had survived.
‘You should have sent word ahead,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know you were visiting these parts.’
His smile faded, and all of a sudden his face bore a grim expression. ‘You haven’t heard the news, then?’
I frowned as the thought crossed my mind: had the pedlar Byrhtwald been right after all?
‘What news, lord?’
‘Come,’ Robert said. ‘Let us not discuss it here. We’ve been in the saddle since before dawn. Let us eat and drink first, and then we’ll talk.’
I held his gaze for a moment, searching for some clue in his expression, but none was forthcoming.
‘Of course.’
The villagers had come in from the fields to see what was happening. Amongst the crowd I caught sight of Snocca and his brother, and I signalled for them to show Robert’s men to the paddock beyond the hall where their mounts could graze. They were a diverse lot: some of them fresh-faced and eager for plunder and glory; others more weathered, with scars upon their faces marking their years of service. More than a few I recognised from the battle at Eoferwic, and some I had even led in the charge, though I did not know all of their names. But I did recall young Urse, he of the ruddy face and wide nostrils that always put me in mind of a pig’s snout, as well as Ansculf, the captain of Robert’s household knights. Neither ever had much liking for me, though I had no particular quarrel with them. Both regarded me with cold expressions as they rode past.
If truth be told, there was something magnificent in seeing so many warriors in gleaming mail, so many men of the sword gathered in Earnford, and the villagers clearly shared that feeling. In the faces of the onlookers could be read a mixture of curiosity and apprehension and awe.
‘You are a fortunate man, Tancred,’ Robert said, breaking into my thoughts.
‘How so, lord?’
Our boots squelched in the soft earth. Above the distant woods a pair of kites circled.
‘To have been spared so far the unrest and bloodshed that plagues the rest of the realm,’ he said. ‘I envy you.’
I gave him a wry look. If he thought that we didn’t have our own troubles here, then he was sorely mistaken.
Either he didn’t notice, though, or else he ignored me, for he went on, shaking his head: ‘It amazes me that nearly four years have passed since we came across the Narrow Sea, since the usurper was killed at H?stinges, and still it seems not a month goes by without risings in one part of the kingdom or another.’
His father, Guillaume Malet, had said something similar, I remembered, when I had entered his service last year. For a moment as I looked at Robert it almost seemed as if I were back there in the vicomte’s palace, and I felt the same sudden sense of foreboding.
‘This is nothing new, lord.’
