Knights of the Hawk (20 page)

Thus tomorrow we would ride, to glory or to death. For good or for ill, tomorrow we would fight.

Eventually I managed to sleep, though by the time I did finally close my eyelids there could have been only a couple of hours until first light. In my dreams I was Rollant, gazing down from the mountain pass towards the plains where the enemy massed beneath their banners: a horde of snorting horseflesh, painted shield-faces and gleaming steel; thousands upon thousands of men, together raising a clamour loud enough to raise the dead from their graves. In my hand was Durendal, the sharpest sword in all of Christendom, and hanging at my side was the Olifant, the great gilded war-horn that Charlemagne himself had gifted me, carved from the tusk of an elephant. And then came the foe, marching in a single column up the winding and stony road, steadily growing nearer, until their conrois broke free, their riders raising a battle-cry to the heavens as they dug their heels in and couched their lance-hafts under their arms, with every stride gaining in speed, gaining in confidence—

I never found out what happened next, for at that moment I was brought from my dream by a voice at the opening to my tent. It was not yet day, but as the flaps parted I caught a glimpse of the skies outside, which already were turning from black to grey, and in that faint light I made out Robert’s face.

‘It’s time,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Wake the others. Dawn is nearly upon us.’

As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone. Hurriedly I shook myself free of the coarse woollen blankets in which somehow I had become entangled, pulled on a tunic over my shirt, took a swig of ale from the flask at the foot of my bedroll to moisten my parched throat, and then scrambled out into the half-light. Across the camp men were stirring and dressing for battle, taking whatever food they could stomach and mounting up. Bleary-eyed, I went to Serlo and Pons’s tents and roused them, before donning hauberk and chausses and coif, fastening my helmet-strap, buckling my scabbard upon my waist, checking that both my sword and knife slid easily from their sheaths, and going to help the servant-boys saddle Fyrheard and the other horses.

We led the animals to our conroi’s arranged meeting place by the twisted stump of a wide-bellied oak. There we waited for the rest to assemble. First came Wace together with his three men, and he was soon followed by Eudo, who was doing his best to prise himself free from the grasp of Sewenna, much to the amusement of his knights. Her face was streaming with tears, her hair was loose, and in her eyes was such anger as I had never seen before. With one hand she clung to his arm, while with the other she kept trying to strike him, though he was able to bat each blow away easily, until another of the women – a fair-haired Danish beauty who had pledged herself to one of Eudo’s men – at last spoke some words in her ear and managed to tear her away, upon which the Englishwoman turned and, wailing, fled back towards the tents. Eudo bit his lip as he watched her go, but did not make any attempt to follow her.

‘What happened?’ Wace asked.

Eudo let out a weary sigh. ‘She said that before I rode into battle, we ought first to be wed, as I’d vowed. That way if I happened to die today, at least our souls would find each other in heaven. She even went this morning to find a priest.’

I understood. ‘But you couldn’t.’

He shook his head sadly. ‘You were right. I’ve been a fool. She claims that I misled her with false promises, but it’s not true. I loved her, only not as much as I thought.’

I rested a hand on his shoulder in sympathy, but only for a moment, since Robert’s vassals were almost all assembled, which meant that we were ready to ride. Among them I spied the ruddy-faced Guibert, who had spoken so loudly against the king in the hall at Brandune so long ago it seemed like months, though in fact it was only a week. Whatever ill feeling he might have held towards anyone as a result of that clash was now dissolved, or else buried deep. We could not afford to let petty quarrels divide us. Not now.

Robert himself was the last of all to arrive, flanked by ten of his sworn swords and one of his stable-hands, who bore the banner I had grown to know almost as well as my own: the same banner beneath which for two whole years and more I had rallied, charged and served. It was divided into alternating stripes of black and yellow, and the yellow was shot through with threads of gold so that it would catch the light and be more clearly recognisable in the midst of battle.

Robert passed his lance to one of his retainers, before dismounting and making towards me. His expression was solemn as he extended his arm in greeting. I gripped his wrist, and he mine, and then he embraced me, not as a lord might embrace a vassal of his but rather as if I were of his own kin.

‘I want you to know that you have my gratitude for all that you have done in my name and that of my family,’ he said. ‘I only pray this is not the last time we ride together.’

‘And I, lord,’ I replied. ‘A better lord I have never served.’

The falsehood tasted sour upon my tongue as I remembered some of the grievances I’d uttered against him recently, but what else was I supposed to say?

He attempted a smile, but it was a weak attempt and I knew his heart was not really in it. As nervous as I felt, he looked to me a dozen times worse. He was dressed like the rest of us, but somehow the helmet appeared to sit uneasily upon his head, as if it were too large for his brow, and the hauberk seemed to weigh heavily upon his shoulders. He had never looked entirely at ease in a warrior’s garb, and he looked even less comfortable then.

‘May God be with us, Tancred,’ he said, and with that he left me, mounting up and riding to the head of the conroi while I took my place with my knights. Everyone fell quiet as he unlaced his ventail, letting the flap of mail hang loose by his neck.

‘I’ve just had word that our foot-warriors have set out for the Isle,’ he said, raising his voice so that all could hear. ‘The moment we receive the signal that their attack is under way, we will begin crossing the bridge. From then on there will be no turning back.’ He paused to allow the import of that to settle, before continuing: ‘In all my years I have never known warriors more valiant than you. Regardless of what fate awaits us, I consider it the greatest honour to ride amongst you today, and to fight by your sides. May God and the saints bring us victory, and lend us the courage and the fortune to see this day through.’

It wasn’t the most rousing battle-speech I had ever heard, but it was heartfelt, and powerful for that alone. In any case it would have to do, for the skies were quickly growing lighter, the stars fading, which meant that the time for words had passed. Robert led us from the shadow of the guardhouse, its high ramparts and the crowning palisade, down to the flat stretch of land beside the marsh, where dozens upon scores upon hundreds of horsemen were already gathered, their many-coloured banners and pennons barely fluttering in the still air, their horses tossing their heads and pawing restlessly at the turf. Their exact number I could not say, though it was probably close to a thousand, with more arriving still. These were some of the finest knights ever to ride in the name of Normandy.

And we would be leading them all in the charge. Had someone told me when I was a youth and a warrior in training that such an honour would one day be mine, I wouldn’t have been able to stop laughing. Even now I scarcely believed it. Yet here I was.

I half expected to find Atselin and his clerks overseeing the muster, tallying up knights on his wax tablet, but if he was there I could not spot him. It was hard to miss King Guillaume, though, surrounded as he was by his household guards, his helmet adorned with a tail formed from two scarlet strips of cloth that marked him out, lest anyone lose sight of him in the fray. Holding the banner bearing the lion of Normandy in one hand, he galloped up and down the ranks of horsemen, bellowing instructions, drawing the assembled host into ordered ranks and grouping smaller bands of four and five into larger conrois of twenty, thirty, forty. A few glanced up as we passed on our way to the front of the column, and someone must have recognised our banner, for I heard him call out Robert’s name, and then a cheer went up, and a hundred men and more were raising fists and weapons to the sky. Hearing the commotion, the king turned and watched us for a long while, though he did not speak. His mouth was set firm, his countenance betraying no feeling, and at that moment I glimpsed with my own eyes the iron resolve for which he was renowned. Never once had he failed in any task he took upon himself, and in the same way I understood that he would not fail now. For five years he had striven to defend his right to this kingdom. This would be the morning when he would finish what had begun with the slaying of the usurper at Hæstinges. This would be the morning of his victory. Whatever misgivings the rest of us had, he truly believed it.

We took our positions at the head of the column. Behind us lay an army to wreak terror in the hearts of all but the most hardened of foes. Ahead lay only the fen, with the so-called bridge winding its way towards the Isle, with small pinpricks of light dotted along its length where watch-fires had been set to ward off any would-be attackers. Of the fleet of boats and punts carrying our foot-serjeants, or the opposite shore, the enemy behind their walls, I could see nothing.

I turned to Robert, who was alongside me. ‘What now?’

‘Now we wait for the signal.’

As a conroi we had rehearsed the sequence of events over and over the previous afternoon, committing it all to memory so that every man knew exactly what he was to do and when. We had been told what that signal would be, and what pace we would set across the bridge so that our host did not bunch together and at the same time did not become too stretched out. But sitting there in the saddle, waiting for the word to be given and the attack to begin, suddenly I wanted to hear it all again.

Enough, I told myself. I knew what needed to be done. I closed my eyes, breathing slowly and deeply, as I imagined our charge upon the enemy battle-lines and how I would drive my lance-head home, how I would bring my sword-edge to bear, how we would drive them back and cut them down and turn the Isle’s earth crimson with their lifeblood.

‘There it is,’ said Robert suddenly, with something like excitement in his voice, and I opened my eyes in time to see a trail of flame shooting high up into the grey skies to the north, a mile or so away. A single fire-arrow: the sign that our spearmen and foot-serjeants were beginning their attack. It made a great arc above the marsh before plunging out of sight into the all-enshrouding mist, and at the same time the bellow of the rebels’ distant war-horns sounded out: two sharp blasts that were the usual signal to rally.

And so it began.

‘Stay with me,’ Robert yelled for his whole conroi to hear. ‘Watch your flanks when we arrive upon the Isle. Remember who’s alongside you; don’t pull ahead and don’t fall behind!’ He kicked back, spurring his destrier onwards. ‘For St Ouen, for King Guillaume and Normandy! God aid us!’

‘God aid us,’ we all answered with one voice, and the chant echoed through the ranks:
God aid us! God aid us!

We followed Robert out on to the bridge. Hooves clattered upon timber, and I whispered a prayer that the men who had built it had done their work well. We kept close rank, riding knee to knee, three abreast, for that was as many as the roadway would allow. To my right was Robert, while on his other flank was the captain of his household guard. Behind us were Pons, mounted upon a bay that Lord Robert had gifted him to replace the one killed by Hereward’s arrow, and alongside him Serlo. My sworn swords, the two of them had served me unfailingly these last two years, had followed me in every desperate charge, had given their all for my sake. Behind them were Wace and Eudo and their knights, then the rest of Robert’s hearth-troops and vassals, so that there were more than fifty of us in that leading conroi, all united under the Malet banner.

I had fought in some desperate struggles in my time, but this would be one of the most desperate of all. This was the hour of our reckoning.

We were knights of the black and gold, and we were riding to battle.

Ten

AS EXPECTED, THE
first part of the crossing was the easiest. The marsh there was at its shallowest, the causeway its widest and sturdiest, and we made it without trouble.

Before long we glimpsed the island where the watchtower with the mangonel stood, roughly halfway across the marsh-channel. The first glimmer of gold crept above the eastern horizon and I could suddenly see movement on the Isle. Hundreds upon hundreds of Englishmen with weapons glinting and pennons flying rushed in disarray from their ramparts towards the marsh’s edge, into a storm of missiles being loosed upon them by archers and crossbowmen and even a few small catapults that were positioned on punts and barges out on the fen. Other craft were bringing our spearmen and foot-serjeants in towards the shallows where they could scramble ashore, wade through the murky waters and form a shield-wall amidst the tall reeds to guard against the hordes bearing down upon them. But suitable landing places were few, while the channels leading to them were narrow and easily blocked, which meant that those in the boats to the rear were having to clamber forward from one to the next, all the while encumbered by their shields and heavy spears. War-horns blew; panicked shouts carried across the water as our foot-serjeants marshalled their men and tried to assemble them in some sort of order.

Around a dozen Frenchmen were posted on the watchtower. All of them waved their arms as we approached. ‘Wait,’ they called. ‘Wait!’

Robert slowed his pace and drew to a halt, raising a hand to those behind so that they passed the message on down the line. ‘What is it?’

They were pointing out towards the far shore, and I saw at once the reason for their alarm. The final section of the floating boat-bridge hadn’t yet been secured; in fact several of the pontoons seemed to have drifted free altogether, and even now men were working to manoeuvre them back into position and to anchor them.