The Splintered Kingdom (10 page)

Far and wide men were slaughtered; days of pestilence came, and death took all the brave men away
. Merely repeating the words in my own mind sent a chill through me. Indeed they had a portentous note
to them that seemed to me could only bode ill. I touched the cross which hung around my neck, as if doing so would somehow shield me from them.

‘Is it from Scripture?’ I asked.

‘Not from any verse that I have heard before. But I concede that there are several books that even I have not read, so it is not impossible.’

‘Do you think he was trying to warn us of something?’

‘Who can tell?’ Erchembald sighed. ‘He clearly did not know where he was even when he came to, and we cannot hope to know what he was seeing in his dreams. Perhaps it is only nonsense, and we should not take anything more from it than that.’

It did not sound like nonsense to me. But I couldn’t think what the Englishman might have meant by it. Who were the brave men he had spoken of? Did he mean myself and my knights?

‘In any case I shouldn’t delay you any longer,’ the priest said, interrupting my thoughts. ‘I know you have a long way to travel if you are to reach Scrobbesburh by nightfall.’

‘Before I go there is one more thing,’ I said. ‘I want you to act as my steward while I’m away. To take care of Earnford, and of Leofrun.’

‘I will.’ He did not seem surprised; he had probably been expecting this. But then he was the obvious choice: I could think of no one better suited to taking on such a responsibility, and he had not only my trust but also that of the people too, which was all-important.

‘Post men on lookout day and night,’ I instructed him. ‘If you see the enemy, don’t try to fight them but get everyone inside the fastness.’

‘Yes, lord.’

I clasped his hand, and hoped that it would not be for the last time. I hoped too that when all this was over and the Welsh were defeated, there would still be an Earnford to come back to.

‘I almost forgot,’ he said. ‘There’s something I wish you to take with you.’

He led me inside the church and to the strongbox that was kept
beneath the altar, from which he produced the bronze relic-pendant with the gold cross that we had purchased from Byrhtwald.

‘May St Ignatius guard you through everything to come,’ he said firmly, pressing the cold metal into my palm and closing my fingers around it.

I swallowed, knowing how much power the priest ascribed to the bone contained inside, even if I could not quite bring myself to believe in its authenticity. He wore an earnest expression: the kind that I knew meant that he had made his decision, and would not be swayed.

‘Thank you,’ I said, passing the leather thong by which the pendant hung over my head. ‘I’ll take good care of it, and will bring it back safely.’

He nodded, and after he had locked the chest once more we stepped out into the breaking dawn, where at last we made our farewells.

‘Be safe, father,’ I said.

‘And you,’ he called after me. ‘God be with you, Tancred.’

I turned and tried to smile, but my heart was not truly in it, and with that I left him.

The skies were aflame with the morning light when I arrived back at the hall. Robert’s men were striking the camp they had made in the bailey and the paddock, tying blankets into rolls and making ready to leave, while my own knights were at the stables saddling their horses. We were each taking two: our destriers, which were our war-mounts, vigorous and lightning-footed, trained to the mêlée and the charge; and also rounceys, hardy and dependable animals which would carry our packs, our tents and our provisions, as well as cloaks and spare tunics, lances and spare knives, flint and steel and bunches of kindling for making campfires, and pots and spoons with which to cook.

I let the two stable-hands, Snocca and his twin brother Cnebba, take care of my mare, while I donned my gambeson and my mail, buckling up my hauberk and tying the laces which bound my chausses around my thighs. My saddlebags were packed and waiting, and they attached them to her harness. Both boys
would be coming with us, for we needed someone to look after the animals and make sure that they were fed and groomed, to help polish mail and sharpen blades. Neither of them said a word. Perhaps they sensed my mood, or perhaps they were lost in their own thoughts. This was their home, after all, as much as it was mine.

My destrier, Nihtfeax, was already saddled. His name meant night-mane or shadow-hair, I was told by the owner of the stud where I had purchased him, and it was fitting, for his coat and his mane were as black as pitch, a white star between his eyes being the only marking. Strong-willed and hot in temper, he had been with me for the better part of a year. He would have the chance to prove himself before long.

That was when I spotted Leofrun watching from the entrance to the hall. Forgetting about the horses for a moment, I ran to her. She threw her hands around me and, sobbing, buried her face in my shoulder.

I held her close, knowing that it would be my last chance to do so for a good while. ‘You know that if I could stay, I would.’

‘I understand,’ she replied in a quiet voice. ‘How long will it be before you return?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It might be weeks or it might be months, depending on how long it takes for the Welsh to show themselves.’

‘When you do come back, you will have a newborn son to hold in your arms.’

‘I look forward to it,’ I said, smiling gently as I placed a hand upon her belly. Of course whether it was a boy or girl only God could know. She was hoping for the latter, whereas I wanted a son whom I could one day teach swordcraft and horsemanship and the pleasures of the hunt.

‘I wish I could ride with you,’ Leofrun said.

‘No, you don’t,’ I said, and laughed gently. ‘If you’d ever seen a marching-camp you would know that it’s not a safe place for a woman. Spirits run high, tempers flare and men will not hesitate in killing to get what they want, to slake their desires. If you came
with me, I wouldn’t be able to sleep since I would forever be fighting off all the others lusting after you. You wouldn’t enjoy it.’

She blushed at that and, in spite of her tears, even managed a smile. ‘I wouldn’t be afraid,’ she said. ‘I would bear it if it meant I could stay with you.’

Even had she been fit enough to ride with us, I wouldn’t have wanted her to come. Only too well did I remember what had happened the last time I’d taken my woman with me on campaign, and I was determined not to let the same thing happen again. I would not risk losing Leofrun as I had lost Oswynn.

‘But I would be afraid,’ I said. ‘Trust me when I say that it’s safer for you here.’

She knew I was right, though she wouldn’t admit it. She bowed her head; tears spilt down her cheeks and again I held her to me, stroking to one side a strand of hair that had fallen before her eyes, feeling her warmth, breathing in the scent of her, drinking in everything I could of this moment so that I would not forget it in the weeks to come.

I didn’t want that embrace ever to end, but the others were waiting for me, and so eventually I had to break off. There was time for one final kiss before Snocca brought me Nihtfeax and I mounted up.

‘I’ll be praying for your safety every morning and every night,’ Leofrun said.

‘And I for you.’

Robert rode towards us. In each hand he held a lance to which had been nailed a banner. One displayed his colours of black and gold, while the other was embroidered with the familiar black hawk on white field, which he handed to me.

‘You have everything you need?’ he asked, glancing first at me, then at Leofrun. He looked anxious to leave, and I suppose he was right to be, since Scrobbesburh lay a full day’s ride from here, and that at a good pace. The days were long but we still had to make best use of them.

I leant down from the saddle, clasping Leofrun’s hand. ‘I shall return. I promise.’

‘I know that you will,’ she said.

She followed us as far as the gates. Outside the palisade, on the slopes that led up to the hall, some of the villagers had risen and were waiting. A few bowed their heads as we approached; others stared back at me with plaintive eyes, unspeaking; others still could not fight back the tears. Children clung to their fathers’ trews or to their mothers’ skirts, confused and frightened at the sight of so large a conroi. We rode past them, crossing the ford, turning to follow the winding river eastwards. The wind was at our backs, the sun rising over the hills, casting its warmth upon the new day, but it did little to cheer me, for inside I felt numb and cold. On the opposite bank rose the mound, ringed by the tall wooden stakes of the palisade, with the hall standing proudly atop it, though from below all I could see was the gable and the thatch. Too soon we were past it, past the woods where the pigs were often taken to forage, past the meadows where the cattle grazed, past the mill with its slowly turning wheel, which marked the edge of my manor. Earnford was behind us.

A sick feeling rose in my stomach and my gut, but I did not pause or even slow. And not once did I look back.

We struck out north, following the rutted and uneven track towards the town of Stratune, which lay on the road to Scrobbesburh. The sun rose above the trees lining the eastern hills, and as it did so the mist lifted from the valleys and the day’s heat grew. There was no breeze to speak of, nor any cloud to offer shelter from the sun; before long my brow was running with sweat and I had to remove my helmet and coif. Most Norman men had their hair cut in the French style, short on top and shaved at the back, but in the last year I’d found it easier to let mine grow. It fell in ragged fashion almost to my nape, just past my ears: not as long as many Englishmen wore it, but then I had no wish to be confused for one of them. Now, though, it was matted to my head, and when I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck it came away slick with moisture.

I rode with Robert at the head of the column, with our conroi
strung out in pairs, threes and fours some distance behind us. Down in the valleys we had kept formation in case of ambush, but after an hour or so we found ourselves in open country, with wheatfields on one flank and open pastures on the other. If anyone were to try to attack us here, it would be easy to see them coming.

Behind me Serlo laughed: a throaty guffaw that I knew well. He and the others seemed to be enjoying the company of Robert’s men: a good thing, for these could well be the same men who before too long would be riding beside them in the charge.

‘Fitz Osbern will be glad to have your services again,’ Robert said.

It took me a moment to realise that he was speaking to me. He had not said a word since we had left Earnford, though the manor was several miles behind us now.

‘Fitz Osbern, lord?’

‘Of course.’ Grinning, he clapped a hand upon my shoulder. ‘You are the man, after all, who captured the gates at Eoferwic and opened the city to King Guillaume’s army. You’re the one who made that victory possible.’

Byrhtwald had said much the same thing. Nonetheless I found it hard to believe that my deeds, such as they were, were spoken of so highly.

‘Is that what Fitz Osbern thinks?’ I asked, casting Robert a sardonic look.

‘Probably not,’ he replied. ‘But it’s what many men have been saying. Your reputation grows, Tancred.’

At that I couldn’t help but laugh. Many knights dream of plunder, of silver and gold and sword-hilts inlaid with precious stones, but most of all they want reputation and fame – for when we die and our souls flee this world, that is the only thing that remains of us on earth. We aspire for songs to be written about us: songs of the battles we have fought, of the men we’ve slain and the things we have achieved; songs that will be sung around campfires and in the halls and palaces of Christendom for years to come; songs that will live on through the ages, like that of the knight Rollant and his ill-fated stand at Rencesvals.

I was no different. But at the same time I knew full well that on the field of battle a man’s reputation counted for nothing; the only thing that mattered was the strength of his sword-arm. I supposed if tales of my efforts won me respect from those who before had offered me none, then it could only be a good thing, but that was as much as I was prepared to admit.

‘I’m sure Beatrice will be glad to see you, too,’ said Robert. ‘It must be some while since you last saw her.’

At the mention of his sister I turned in surprise. ‘Beatrice?’

I had not thought about her in longer than I cared to remember. Last year I had been charged by their father with her protection, and had escorted her to the safety of Lundene. It was there that we had shared a kiss: the first touch of a woman that I had known since Oswynn’s death. If truth be told, she was part of the reason I had sworn my oath to Robert rather than take my sword elsewhere, as I clung to the foolish hope of somehow seeing her again.

Since the end of the rebellion last year, however, she had returned to Normandy, and I had been in Earnford, and slowly, almost without my realising it, the memory had faded from my mind. I had found Leofrun, and in so doing had forgotten about Beatrice. Forgotten, that was, until now.

Of course Robert knew none of this. No one did, except his sister and myself, and I trusted that she would not have mentioned our tryst to anyone.

‘She’s travelling with Fitz Osbern’s conroi,’ Robert said. ‘They were due to leave yesterday morning. She’s probably waiting for us in Scrobbesburh even now. I meant to tell you sooner, but with everything that happened there wasn’t the time. Why did you think I was the one who brought you the summons, rather than one of Fitz Osbern’s messengers? She’s the reason I’m here in the Marches.’

I’d assumed he had been visiting relations or some of his vassals who lived in these parts: private business, at any rate, which it was not my place to know.

‘What do you mean, lord?’

‘She’s to be married again, or so we hope.’

At those words I felt a pang in my heart of something unexpected,
that I could neither account for nor quite describe. Not love or jealousy, but something else that had no name.