Sworn Sword (53 page)

‘You don’t,’ I said, no longer caring to keep the ire from my voice. The longer we delayed, the less chance we had of catching Ælfwold. ‘Now tell us: where did they go from here?’

‘I don’t know,’ the dean wailed. ‘I swear I’ve told you everything.’

‘Did they leave by road?’ Wace said.

Wulfwin shook his head. ‘B-by river. We had the coffin carried down to the village, where it was loaded on to a barge they had hired for the purpose. They sailed downstream, but they didn’t say where they were bound.’

‘Where does the river lead?’ I asked.

‘It flows into the Temes, a short way east of Lundene.’

‘And they left this morning?’

The dean nodded hesitantly, as if afraid he might give the wrong answer. ‘It was still dark, an hour or so before first light.’

‘Which means they have only half a day’s start on us,’ Eudo muttered. ‘If we ride hard, we might catch them before they reach the Temes.’

‘If that’s where they’re headed,’ Wace said, his expression grim.

‘I don’t see what choice we have,’ I said. We had but a few hours until night fell, after which time it would be all but impossible to track them. I turned to the dean, still cowering in the corner. ‘We will need your fastest horses.’

‘Of c-course,’ Wulfwin said. ‘Whatever you need.’

I glanced first at Wace, then at Eudo, and saw the resolve in their eyes. Both knew, as did I, that this was our last chance. More than the battle for Eoferwic, more than anything that we had done since Hæstinges itself, this was what mattered. For if we failed to catch Ælfwold, if we couldn’t recover Harold’s body—

I drove such doubts from my head; now was not the time for them. ‘Let’s go,’ I said.

Thirty-eight

THE RIVER WOUND
south through the hills, a brown ribbon showing us the way. We did not stop, did not eat, did not speak, but pushed our horses ever harder, pressing our heels in, drawing all the speed that we could from their legs, and more besides.

We galloped across the hills, through fields recently ploughed, skirting woods and villages, all the time keeping the river in sight, watching for the barge that might be Ælfwold’s. But all we saw were small ferries and fishermen’s boats, and as the sun descended towards the west and the shadows lengthened, and still there was no sign, sickness grew in my stomach. In one town we tried to ask some of the peasants who lived there if they had seen anything, but their speech was not of a kind that Eudo could understand, and so we had no choice but to keep going.

Slowly the river grew wider, bounded on either side by wide flats of mud and reeds where waterbirds had made their nests. The sun sank beneath the horizon and the last light of day was upon us when, just a few miles away to the south, I glimpsed the river-mist settling over the broad, black waters of the Temes.

I glanced at Eudo and at Wace, and they back at me. Neither of them said anything; defeat was heavy in their eyes. We had failed.

We carried on nonetheless, to the top of the next rise: the last before the land fell away towards the water. From here we could look down upon the river as it wound its way through the mudflats out into the Temes. The tide was on its way in, slowly flooding across the marshes, working its way into the many inlets that lay along the shore. At our backs the wind was rising, howling through
the woods and down the valley. Streaks of cloud, black as charcoal, were drawing across the sky. The light had all but gone, and with it, our hopes.

All I could think about was how we were to tell Malet what had happened, what his response would be. We had done our utmost, and yet even that had not been enough to stop Ælfwold.

‘What now?’ asked Wace after what seemed like an eternity.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. The wind gusted, buffeting my cheek. ‘I don’t know.’

I gazed out upon the Temes. For the first time I noticed there was a ship there, out in the midstream. It was yet some way off – a mile or so perhaps, barely visible through the river-mist – and heading upriver, but even so I could see that it was too big to be the barge that Wulfwin had spoken of. A trader, probably, from Normandy or Denmark, though it was late to still be out on the river, especially when there were ports further downstream where they might easily have put in for the night. I did not know how far exactly Lundene lay from here, but night was falling so fast that it seemed to me they had little chance of reaching the city before dark.

I watched it for a few moments. Certainly it seemed in no rush to make port this evening, for I saw that the vessel’s sail was furled. Instead it seemed to be drifting on the swell of the incoming tide, its oars hardly moving, almost as if it were waiting for something—

‘Look,’ Eudo said, pointing out towards the south. ‘Over there.’

I followed the direction of his finger, out to a sheltered cove perhaps a quarter of a mile away, close to the mudflats where our river joined the Temes. There, almost hidden behind a line of trees, was an orange light as might come from a campfire, around which were gathered several figures. I could not say how many and we were too far away to make out anything more, but I did not doubt that one of them was Ælfwold.

‘That’s him,’ I said. ‘It has to be.’

From thinking that all had been lost, suddenly my doubts fell away. My heart pounded and I tugged upon the reins, spurring my mount into a gallop one last time.

‘Come on,’ I shouted. I gritted my teeth, clutching the brases of my shield so tightly that my nails dug into my palm. A row of stunted, wind-blasted trees flashed past as the land fell away. Through the gaps in their branches I could see down towards the cove, where a low-sided barge had been drawn up on the stones. Beside it the campfire burnt brightly; a glint of mail caught my eye, but it was quickly lost amidst the trees.

I glanced out into the Temes, where the ship was closer than before. For it seemed to me that it was not there by accident, but was somehow connected with Ælfwold. And if so, that meant we had to get to him before they did. My blood was running hot, but even so I knew that the three of us could not fight a whole ship’s crew alone.

I willed my horse faster, cursing under my breath. At last the line of trees came to an end and we were racing down the slope towards the cove, past shrubs and rocks. A stream lay ahead and I splashed on through it. Water sprayed up and into my face, but I did not care. I heard the crunch of stones beneath my mount’s hooves as they pounded the ground; grass gave way to gravel as we arrived upon the beach. I looked up and there, directly ahead, lay the fire.

Men were running in all directions, scrambling to reach their spears and their knives. I was shouting, letting the battle-rage fill me. My sword slid cleanly from the scabbard and I flourished it high above my head, roaring to the sky as I did so.

‘For Malet,’ I called, and I heard Eudo and Wace doing the same as they drew alongside me: ‘For Malet!’

In front of the fire stood the two knights, the one short and the other tall, just as the dean at Waltham had said. Their swords were drawn, their shields held firm before them.

And then behind them, next to the barge itself, I saw the chaplain, Ælfwold. He did not move. His eyes were fixed upon us, his feet frozen to the ground as if in shock. As well he might be, for he could not have thought he would ever see us again, and yet here we were.

‘No mercy!’ I yelled as I crashed my sword into the shield of the
tall knight. It struck the boss and slid harmlessly off its face, and I was riding onwards, turning as an Englishman rushed from the barge, screaming in his own tongue. He raised his axe above his head, but I had seen him coming and my blade was the quicker, slicing across his hand before he had finished the stroke, taking three of his fingers before finding his throat. Blood gushed forth as he fell first to his knees, clutching at his neck, then collapsed face down upon the ground.

But I could not pause even for a heartbeat as the tall knight came at me, raining blows upon my shield. Below the rim of his helmet, above his eye, I saw the scar that Wulfwin had spoken of, that I remembered from all those weeks ago.

His eyes met mine and a flicker of recognition crossed his face. ‘You’re the one who was there in Lundene,’ he said between breaths. ‘Fulcher fitz Jean.’

‘My name is Tancred,’ I spat back. ‘Tancred a Dinant.’ And I heaved my sword down towards his helmet, faster than he could raise his shield, and the steel rang out as it struck his nasal-guard. His head wrenched back under the force of the strike and he staggered backwards.

‘Bastard,’ he gasped, as a stream of crimson flowed from his nostrils, dripping on to his hauberk. ‘Bastard, bastard.’

All around us the bargemen were shouting. Most had at least a knife in their hands, but only a few were daring to attack us; the rest had seen the fury of our blades and were running up the beach for the cover of the trees. I looked for Ælfwold, but amidst the confusion I could not see him.

The knight with the scar howled as he charged again, the light of the fire reflected in his eyes, but he had let his anger overtake him and there was no skill in his assault. His strokes were wild, lacking in control and grace, and I fended them off with ease.

The fire was at my flank: twisting tongues of orange and yellow writhing up towards the sky. Flames danced upon my blade, reflected in the steel, and I concentrated all my strength in my sword-arm, bringing the full weight of the weapon to bear as I slashed towards his neck.

His shield was out of position, ready for the low strike to the thigh that no doubt he had been expecting, and instead he raised his blade to try to parry. For the briefest moment our blades clashed, but he could not match the force in my blow, and suddenly with a great shriek of steel his sword shattered, shearing clean through above the crossguard, leaving him with just the hilt in his hand.

A look of surprise mixed with fear came across his face, and now at last he tried to lift his shield, but it was too late. Already I was following through the stroke, cutting through the links of his mail into the flesh beneath, driving the point through his ribs, deep into his chest. I twisted it, thrusting it deeper, and he let out a gasp, his eyes glazing over; then as I wrenched it free his legs gave way and he toppled backwards into the fire. A cloud of sparks lifted up into the night, as the flames began to consume his body.

I wheeled about, searching for my next kill, but few of the enemy remained. Those who did were either turning to flee or were soon finished on Wace and Eudo’s swords; already the second knight lay dead upon the stones. Once more I looked out towards the Temes, looking for any sign of the ship. Now that we were on the beach I could not see it; the inlet was sheltered by two ridges of higher ground which blocked my view. But as soon as the ship rounded the first of those ridges, those aboard would see the light from the campfire, and when they did, all would be lost.

‘The fire,’ I shouted to Wace and Eudo. ‘Put it out! Put it out!’

My attention was elsewhere, as I had seen Ælfwold on the barge. He stared at me, his eyes wide, his face pale in the firelight, his countenance one of desperation. No longer was this the generous, kind-hearted man I had first met in Eoferwic, nor would he ever be again. Behind those eyes, I now knew, lay a mind capable of deceit and treachery of the highest order. An enemy of my lord.

I left my horse and ran towards him, vaulting over the side of the barge and on to the deck. The Englishman stood on the other side of a great iron-bound chest, more than six feet in length, and two in both width and depth.

A coffin, I realised, and not merely any coffin, but that of the usurper himself. Of Harold Godwineson, breaker of oaths and enemy of
God. There was no inscription that I could see, but that was only to be expected, if he had been buried in secret, with the knowledge of just a few men.

‘It’s over, Ælfwold,’ I said. ‘We know all about your plan.’

He did not speak, nor take his eyes from me. With hardly a murmur of steel he drew a seax from a scabbard beneath his cloak, holding it before him in both hands, as if warning me not to come any closer.

‘You would fight me?’ I asked, more in surprise than in scorn. I had never seen the Englishman so much as handle a blade, let alone use one in anger, yet here he was, unafraid to stand before me.

The edge of his seax, polished and sharp, gleamed in what remained of the firelight. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Eudo and Wace stamping down on the flames, which were dwindling rapidly.

‘You will not have him,’ Ælfwold said, and there was hatred in his eyes. ‘He is my king!’

‘Harold was no king,’ I said as I began to advance, one step at a time, towards him. ‘He was a usurper and an oath-breaker.’

‘It is your bastard duke, Guillaume, who is the usurper,’ he spat back. He stepped away, keeping his distance, circling about the coffin. ‘He stole this realm by fire and sword, by murder and rape and pillage.’

‘That’s a lie—’ I began, my blood rising.

‘He wears the crown and sits upon the royal throne,’ Ælfwold went on, shouting me down, ‘but as long as the English refuse to submit to him – as long as we continue to fight – he shall never be king.’

‘Liar!’ I said as I leapt up on top of the coffin and lunged towards him.

Ælfwold swung his seax, but it was with the clumsiness of one unused to arms, and he succeeded only in cutting my cloak. My shield slammed into his chest, and the blade tumbled from his grasp as he fell on to his back.

Straightaway he was trying to get up, reaching out for his seax, which lay just beyond his fingers, but I was quicker, kicking it away before he could get hold of it. I levelled my sword at his throat.

He gazed up at me and swallowed, eyes flicking between me and the point of my blade just beyond his chin. ‘You wouldn’t dare kill me.’

‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.’

‘I am a priest,’ he said. ‘A man of God.’

Not so long ago I had spoken similar words in his defence. Yet now he threw them back at me, mocking me. My hand tightened around my sword-hilt, but somehow I managed to restrain myself.