The Last Conquest (45 page)

‘You have . . . a special reason?’

‘You could call it that. We met once before, when I came here on patrol.’

Crispin said nothing.

Baldwin gestured in annoyance. ‘Damn it, man, I can not properly explain it to myself, much less to you. All I know is that I shall not be at rest until I have done what can be
done.’

‘You mean until
I
have done what can be done,’ said Crispin.

‘Of course. That is why I brought you. I was afraid we should find something like this. You heard Fulk. God knows what he did to the others.’

‘We must make a litter,’ said Crispin.

Baldwin stood up and looked all round the valley, partly to ensure that no Saxon soldiers surprised them, partly too – if he were honest – to make sure that no Norman man-at-arms was
a witness to his doing manual labour.

Under Crispin’s directions, Baldwin fetched and carried, casting furtive glances at Aud’s white flesh, which had to be laid bare. While Crispin bathed and bandaged, Baldwin revived
the fire and searched for something to drink.

When she was as comfortable as they could make her, clerk and quartermaster sat in front of the fire and sipped beer.

‘Do you think you can manage?’ said Baldwin.

Crispin nodded. ‘I think so, sir. I have my horse. It will not take long to find a wagon lower down the valley.’ He smiled wanly. ‘It will be a relief not to have to ride any
more.’

‘You should be safe,’ said Baldwin. ‘That animal Fulk will not come again; there is nobody left to destroy. The battle will be tomorrow or Sunday; there will be no more patrols
out this far.’

‘I shall get her to the coast. Some ship or other will be sailing to Normandy if we are patient. A few days of waiting at most, I should say.’

Baldwin gave him some coins.

‘Will that be enough? Do you want an escort? I can arrange it.’

Crispin considered.

‘I take it you wish this mission to be as – discreet as possible?’

Baldwin blushed. ‘Yes.’

‘I assume too that you wish me to get her there, win or lose?’

‘Win or lose,’ said Baldwin. ‘Besides, she has no family here now.’

‘Then I think we shall manage better alone. A monk and a sick woman will attract less notice than two foreign soldiers. In England, I can speak Latin if necessary; in Normandy, there will
be no problem if she stays silent.’

‘You will go to Bec, I should not wonder?’

As soon as he said it, Baldwin knew it was a mistake. True, Bec was in his demesne, and he was its chief benefactor, patron, and protector. It was also Crispin’s parent house. For all
that, it was also the last place to use as a refuge for a woman with whom he could claim no legitimate connection. It was too close to the family seat at Brionne. The lady Albreda would certainly
hear of it sooner or later.

Baldwin made a face. Knowing Albreda, sooner. It was asking for trouble. Never mind Albreda’s tongue; think of the scandal, the Duke, Lanfranc – there would be no end to it.

Crispin read his thoughts.

‘There is the lady Matilda’s new house at Caen,’ he ventured.

Holy Trinity. Baldwin remembered all too clearly. Everyone had been there for the consecration in June. Matilda might understand; she was a friend. On the other hand, she was also the
Duke’s wife. It was not fair to her.

Baldwin thought again.

Geoffrey! He would help. His lady Sybil. Since Fitzosbern’s mother, the lady Emma, had been in indifferent health, Sybil was practically in charge at St Amand. If anybody should understood
how he felt, and appreciated the need for discretion, she should. So should Geoffrey. A word with Geoffrey here as soon as possible, and a message sent to Sybil by Geoffrey’s man, Thierry
– if he had not already gone. Yes, that was the answer. Time enough to attend to the details after the battle. If they were not still here, the problem would not arise . . .

‘Go to St Amand at Rouen,’ he said. ‘Use my name, and that of my lord Geoffrey de Montbrai, Bishop of Coutances, and ask to see the lady Sybil of Hauteville.’

Crispin made no comment.

Baldwin held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Crispin. I am in your debt.’

Crispin took it. ‘Goodbye, Sir Baldwin. Have no fear. I respect your trust in me, and I shall therefore respect your confidence. She will be well cared for.’

Baldwin hesitated before going.

‘If I do not – I mean, if the battle – go quietly to my head bailiff at Brionne. He will give you money for – you know.’

Crispin nodded. ‘I understand, Sir Baldwin.’ He allowed himself one of his rare dry smiles. ‘We shall make a good Norman of her. God go with you and God preserve
you.’

If Gilbert expected his information to come as a thunderbolt, he was to be disappointed. He was able to enjoy the thrill of a dramatic arrival at the gallop. He leaped from the
saddle, flung the reins at Ralph, and dashed off towards the Duke’s hall.

‘Take me to the Duke,’ he demanded of a bodyguard.

Instead Sir William Fitzosbern came out.

‘I am the one you tell.’

Gilbert blurted his news, though he was careful to omit Harold’s sharp references to the Duke’s parentage.

Sir William questioned him closely about direction and distance and speed. Gilbert answered as best he could, a little breathlessly, then stood with his hands on his hips awaiting the dramatic
reaction and the congratulations.

Sir William grunted. ‘Well, that makes sense. It confirms that they are coming through the forest towards Senlac and Telham.’

‘You mean you knew?’ said Gilbert, forgetting his manners in his surprise.

‘You are not the only scout in the army, boy.’

Gilbert’s world of triumph began to crumble.

‘Others found the English first?’

‘We have had news of reliable sightings for the last two or three hours.’

Damn Ralph! Damn Bruno! Damn everyone!

‘It seems,’ continued Fitzosbern, almost to himself, ‘that many of our complicated precautions may not have been needed. Harold is coming the simplest and most direct way after
all. Hm!’ He seemed to find it faintly amusing.

Gilbert’s face fell. ‘So you are not surprised?’

‘God’s Face, of course not. Relieved, I should say. Now we know. Now we can react.’

Fitzosbern rubbed his chin, gazed away abstractedly, and seemed to have forgotten Gilbert. Gilbert fidgeted, not knowing what to do. He coughed politely. Fitzosbern looked up.

‘Go on. Go and eat. You have done your job.’

‘Sir!’

Gilbert trudged away, thoroughly crestfallen. The only crumb of comfort was that he had not been reprimanded for breaking orders. Thank the saints Sir William had a lot on his mind.

‘Hey! You!’

Gilbert stopped and turned.

‘Yes, Sir William?’

‘You are late!’

‘Yes, Sir William.’

Fitzosbern glared, then retired into the hall.

Gilbert did not escape Ralph’s wrath so easily.

‘And all because of your thrice-damned honour.’

Gilbert – tired, disappointed, ashamed, frustrated – blazed back at him.

‘And I suppose you have all had a good laugh about it, thanks to that senile sot, Taillefer.’

‘I have told Taillefer exactly what I think of him,’ said Ralph. ‘Telling you all that nonsense. He might have known you would do something st— Well, no matter. You are
back.’

What was the point? The battle was coming tomorrow. Far better to talk about friendship, and loyalty, and duty, and pride in work, and a hundred other things. And no Bruno to raise his
eyebrows.

When he had finished, Gilbert drooped.

‘I am sorry, Ralph.’

He raised his head. He looked so contrite and lost that Ralph could have put his arms round him. Instead he growled. ‘I should think so too.’ He swallowed awkwardly. If only for
something to say, he asked, ‘Did you find him?’

Gilbert blinked. ‘What?’

‘After all that, did you find him – the Saxon?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

Gilbert waved his hands helplessly. How could he possibly put it into words? His shock at seeing Edwin at the King’s headquarters. The stilted formalities they exchanged in the company of
the stolid Wilfrid. The aching time spent wandering among the clusters of tired fyrdmen, Edwin offering trite comments, himself pretending to be interested, and all the time trying to think of a
way to bring up an impossible subject. Taking gloomy bites at the apple every time he came close to forming actual words. Knowing about Adele, and – even more ridiculous – knowing that
Edwin did not know that he knew. Unless Sandor had told him – which, come to think of it, was not altogether too fanciful. After all, he had told Taillefer. All of which only added yet
another crazy dimension to the situation.

Beyond that, the shame of stupidity, incompetence, and capture, the greater disgrace that he was not worth killing at that time. Above all, the need to get back with what he thought was vital
news. Vital! That was a laugh. Finally, the parting, and, just when he was screwing up courage to broach the matter, Wilfrid had given his horse a great wallop on the rump and sent him on his
way.

‘I do not wish to talk about it. It is a private matter.’

Ralph grimaced to hide a smile.

‘So be it. Now, come and eat. You have had a full day. And tomorrow will be yet fuller.’

He put an arm round Gilbert’s shoulder. ‘Do not carry your anger to sleep with you tonight. When you meet Sandor and Taillefer, remember they are your friends, the best friends you
have in this army. If you are wise, you will make the most of them this evening.’

As he would make the most of Gilbert.

Harold patted the trunk of the tree, and looked around.

‘This will do.’

‘Not much of a tree,’ observed Gyrth.

‘Apple tree, pear tree, oak tree – who cares?’

‘It is half dead, too.’

‘I care not if it is black with lightning blast and split from top to bottom. It is the only tree, my brother; that is what matters. A fine rallying point. If the standards fall, the tree
will not.’

He gazed up at the gnarled, grey-green branches.

‘Think of the magic I can make out of a lonely tree reaching up to God from the summit of a bare hill. I wish I could talk to the Normans as well. I should have them shaking with dumb fear
in an hour.’

Gyrth looked at Leofwine and grinned as he shook his head. After a lifetime of regular companionship, his elder brother still had the capacity to take the breath away with his superb
self-confidence.

Harold saw them smiling and smiled too, then became more practical.

‘Look around you. We overlook the land in front. Good sharp slopes either side, especially on the left. Woodland either side too, and plenty of it behind. We can not be outflanked. Cover
for retreat, if necessary – which it will not be. But just in case, there is that ravine behind us, which they will not know is there because of the undergrowth.’

‘What about the causeway crossing it?’

‘It is centuries old – falling to pieces,’ said Harold. ‘It will not stand armed men marching on it, much less galloping. If the worst happens and we lose, they will get
a shock when they chase us.’

‘You are sure, I take it, that William will beset us here?’ said Leofwine.

‘He has to,’ said Harold. ‘Our scouts tell us that he has his castle just in from Hastings, between two rivers. We stand on the neck of land between those rivers. We are also
astride his route to London. He has no choice.’

Gyrth slapped his thigh. ‘And if he tries to go past us, we fall on his camp and destroy his ships.’

‘He can not leave us to threaten his lines of supply,’ said Harold.

‘Ha!’ said Gyrth. ‘Then we have him.’

Leofwine looked searchingly at Harold. ‘I take it,’ he said, ‘you have now given up all idea of an assault on his camp, with his army still in it? You know, speed and surprise,
as we have always said.’

‘I tell you now,’ said Harold, ‘I have never thought it was a serious option.’

Gyrth stared. ‘What?’

‘William is a good general, and not easy to catch napping.’

‘You caught Hardrada.’

‘Hardrada was resting and celebrating after victory. The last thing he was expecting was me. William is searching for a victory; the
only
thing he is expecting is me. Of course he
has had his scouts out. When we caught that boy today it only confirmed what I had suspected all the time.’

‘Then why let everyone think we were rushing headlong to fling ourselves on the Normans and throw them into the Channel?’

Harold stroked his moustache. ‘It got us here.’

Gyrth looked at Leofwine, who shrugged. Harold tapped him on the shoulder.

‘I tell you something else it did too. It kept the Bastard busy building castles. He must know about Stamford by now, and he must know how we won. He would not be human if he did not
expect me to try the same thing on him. If an enemy uses a method once, you naturally expect him to use it again, the more so if it is successful.’

‘Why are you so sure of William?’

‘Because I have seen him fight. There I have the advantage over him; he has never seen me, or at any rate not in the lead. I know how thorough he is. I have said it before: the Normans
make war with a spare saddle on every horse. William makes plans to deal with every mishap; I make plans only to deal with the next one. It gives me the advantage; I can bend and turn and catch him
on one foot. He thinks we can fight only one way. He is wrong.’

‘So you will not strike at his castle simply because he is expecting it,’ said Leofwine.

‘Not so,’ said Harold. ‘That would show only scorn for my foe. I shall not strike because of my wariness of him. I have seen Norman castles. Believe me, they are very
good.’

He waved an arm to the woods where the army was resting. ‘What strength, what gear do we have for a siege? What do we have to get us over fortified walls? How many shire levies and
farmers’ boys will camp in the open for weeks and watch the Normans feasting in the warm inside? Because, be sure, they will be well stocked and furnished. Thorough, see?’