Knights of the Hawk (36 page)

‘What will happen now?’ Erchembald asked after some time. ‘What does this mean for you, and for us?’

‘Robert wants to bring me to justice. That’s why those men came the other day, and that’s why they’ll be back for me before too long.’

‘Because you killed a man?’ Galfrid asked, and gave a grunt that I took for a sign of his disbelief. ‘You slay a dozen, twenty, a hundred and the poets praise you, but you slay one more and for that Robert wants your head?’

‘This is hardly the same thing,’ Erchembald pointed out.

He was right, too. ‘I killed a fellow Frenchman, and in my lord’s own hall. A man who was guilty of nothing, whose only crime was that he was drunk and not in possession of his wits.’

‘You said that he attacked you,’ Galfrid said. ‘Doesn’t that count for anything?’

So I had thought, too. Clearly I was wrong.

‘I have enemies,’ I said bitterly. ‘Enemies who, for different reasons, wish to see me brought low, who would poison the bond between myself and Lord Robert, who would take joy in my suffering.’

‘What reasons?’ Father Erchembald asked.

‘Jealousy,’ I answered. ‘Spite. Because of things I’ve done in the past.’

‘And Robert didn’t defend you?’

‘He tried.’ I saw that now, at least. ‘By allowing me to walk away from there, he did what little he could.’

‘Anything more, and he might have started a revolt,’ Serlo added.

‘I can see that,’ Galfrid said. ‘What I don’t understand is why he would let you go, only to change his mind days later?’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe Elise and some of the other barons who were there that night prevailed upon him to do so. I don’t know.’

I was guessing, admittedly, but what other explanation could there be? Obviously Wace and Eudo’s attempts to assuage his anger had been in vain.

That was when another thought crept into my mind. Robert had only just inherited his father’s barony, and all the responsibilities that came with it. His new vassals were looking for him to assert himself and to set an example that would prove he was every bit as strong a lord as the elder Malet had been. If he lost their confidence now, he might rue it for years to come. If men became disaffected and wavered in their loyalty, then the elaborate web of oaths and alliances that his father had carefully woven over so many years could quickly collapse. The legacy that he had tried to leave to his son would be ruined before Robert had the opportunity to build upon it.

And suddenly I understood. If he surrendered me to my fate, then he still had a good chance of winning back the respect he needed. So long as his reputation was maintained, he didn’t care what happened to me.

I felt sick. After all that we had undergone together, after all the trials we had endured in recent years, after all the occasions on which I’d saved his life and pulled him from the fray, after all the leagues I’d travelled in his service, venturing the length and breadth of the kingdom, after all the times I’d accepted tasks on his behalf that he was too craven to undertake himself, how could he turn his back on me? Did none of that count for anything? Were it not for me, he would be dead several times over by now. How could he contemplate giving me up to my enemies?

‘Tancred?’ the priest asked, and I realised he’d been speaking without my being aware of what he was saying. ‘What do we do now?’

‘I can’t stay here,’ I said. ‘That much is certain. They’ll come for me again sooner rather than later, and when they do I need to be far away from here. If Robert’s men catch up with me, I’ll have no choice but to go with them and stand trial, and suffer the penalty, whatever that might be.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Erchembald said. ‘Perhaps all Robert desires is to be reconciled.’

I cast him a wry glance. He was a good friend and meant well, I knew, but he was fooling himself if he truly believed that. If I went back to Heia, there could be only one outcome.

‘If they find me guilty, which they will,’ I said, ‘the very least I can expect is that I’ll be condemned to exile, in which case I’ll find myself in the same situation as I am now. But what if it’s decided that banishment isn’t sufficient penalty?’

‘Your life will not be forfeit,’ the priest said. ‘You can be sure of that much. The law does not allow it.’

‘If I surrender myself to the mercy of my enemies, there’s no telling what might happen. Even if they allow me to keep my head, they might still demand my sword-hand, and that’s if they’re feeling generous. So you see that I have no choice. I have to go.’

‘Where?’ the priest asked.

That part I’d worked out. Indeed my mind had almost been made up even before I became embroiled in this storm, before what happened with Guibert, before that fateful night had even begun. Now that I had nowhere else to go, no lord to obey, no oath to discharge, no wars to fight, I was free to do as I wished, to go in pursuit of my own desires, my own ambitions. To venture across the sea.

‘It’s better if you don’t know,’ I said. ‘That way if Robert’s men come asking, you can profess ignorance. Pretend I was never here.’

Erchembald was shaking his head. ‘There must be a way of settling this. A way that satisfies everyone concerned.’

He had always, as long as I’d known him, provided a voice of reason, and many were the times I’d relied on his counsel in the past. But he was hoping beyond hope for a way to untie this knot that I found myself entangled in.

‘If you have some idea in mind, I’ll gladly hear it,’ I said. ‘Otherwise it’s better if I don’t linger here any longer than I have to. Those men could return tomorrow, or even tonight for all any of us know.’

‘You have our protection here for as long as you need it,’ Galfrid said. ‘No one from beyond the manor need know that you’re here.’

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I’d rather face exile than be reduced to cowering in my own hall.’

‘Stay this night, at least,’ Erchembald urged.

I was about to refuse, to tell him that all we needed were fresh horses and provisions for the journey and we would be on our way again before dusk, when I glanced at the road-weary faces of Serlo and Pons, Eithne and Godric. They had followed me this far, across marsh and moor, hills and hollows, and were prepared to follow me even into exile, beyond King Guillaume’s realm entirely, across the grey and stormy seas to parts unknown. They needed food and rest, as I did. I owed them that much, and if I could not grant it then I was a poor lord indeed.

‘One night,’ I agreed. ‘But tomorrow, we go.’

‘I’ll post Odgar, Ceawlin and a couple of the other lads on watch along each of the tracks leading to the manor,’ Galfrid said. ‘If they spot anyone coming, they’ll come running straightaway to give us warning.’

I smiled in thanks, at the same time wishing that there was some way I could repay the loyalty and kindness they had shown me. For all too soon I would be forced to leave this place behind me, and I had no way of knowing when or even if I would return.

Galfrid was as good as his word, and better. I didn’t think anyone would try to come by dark, when the paths through the woods could prove treacherous to those who didn’t know them well, but he sent those lads nevertheless, and bade a handful of the older ones sleep that night in the hall as added protection for us. He armed them with spears and knives so that if it came to a fight they could defend themselves, though thankfully it never came to that. This business was entirely of my own making, this quarrel with Robert mine and mine alone. While I was grateful to have others on my side, I didn’t want to see anyone else killed or hurt because of it.

Sleep did not come easily that night, and when it did come it was broken by swirling, confused dreams, in which I found myself travelling through places both familiar and strange, from Commines in distant Flanders to the fastness on the promontory at Dunholm, where my first lord had met his end, across barren wildernesses, through forests so dense that the sun’s light could not penetrate them, on high mountain paths and ancient roads that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. Everywhere I saw the faces of sword-brothers long dead, whose names I couldn’t remember, but who at one time had been good friends of mine. By the roadside stood men unknown to me, with scarred cheeks, broken noses and blood-encrusted hollows where their eyes had once been. They shouted at me, accusing me of being the one who had sent them to their graves, and tried to crowd around me, to drag me from my horse. Wildly I struck out with my blade, hoping to dispatch them back to the earth where they belonged, but the moment its edge found flesh they began to flee, running faster than I could pursue them, in every direction, through twisting alleyways and streets thick with mud, between collapsing houses and writhing towers of flame. And then I heard a woman’s voice calling my name.

Oswynn.

I glanced about, searching for her face, but could not find her whichever direction I looked in. And then I turned once more and saw his face. The face of the man I had been seeking: the Danish jarl, Haakon Thorolfsson, with his wiry, greying hair trailing down his back, riding a white horse whose eyes burnt bright orange and whose nostrils spouted clouds of smoke, like the dragon that decorated his banner.

He saw me then, but no words came from his lips. Instead he began to laugh: a great thunderous sound that seemed to echo through the very ground and which caused flaming brands to topple from the nearest building, showering me with sparks, blinding me with their light, and my cloak and tunic and hair were suddenly ablaze, and my mount was rearing up and I was thrashing around, trying at one and the same time to tear the clothes from my back and to put out the flames before they consumed me too—

And that was when I awoke, breathless, my brow running with sweat, the linen bedsheets and woollen blanket that covered them wound about me, the chamber spinning. I blinked, trying to clear the image of the blaze from my mind. The hall was dark, although I could see a glimmer of grey light breaking in through the crack under the door, while from outside came the chirruping of thrushes, heralding the dawn.

A few strands of straw from the mattress had become stuck to my tunic, and I brushed them off as I rose and made my way towards the door, stepping lightly between the sleeping forms of the rest of my party, trying not to rouse them.

Out in the yard all was quiet save for a few chickens scratching at the dirt, but I noticed that the door to the stables lay open, which suggested Ædda was already about. I had seen him the previous night, although the last light was fast fading when he returned, having spent the day taking one of the palfreys to be reshod, which meant a journey of ten miles each way to the nearest manor with a farrier. One of my closest friends among the English, he was a quiet man, who kept largely to his own company, and I was pleased to see he hadn’t changed since I’d last seen him, except in one respect.

‘I have a wife, lord,’ he’d said.

‘A wife?’ I asked, overjoyed though at the same time more than a little surprised. We’d been gone a matter of months, after all. ‘Who is she? When did this happen?’

‘I first met her at the market in Leomynstre, about a week after you left for the Fens. Sannan, her name is. A tanner’s daughter, and a widow at twenty-three.’

‘Twenty-three?’ I repeated.

He gave a boyish grin, and there was a glint in his one remaining eye, which was a rare thing from someone who was usually so sombre. Ædda had long ago lost count of how many summers he had seen, although to judge by his weathered appearance I reckoned he was probably a good ten years older than myself.

‘She met my eye, and I met hers, and for both of us it was love in that moment,’ he said. ‘I’ve never known a creature so beautiful. I saw her again the next week and the one after that, and then the one after that I went to her father with the bride-price and we were wed two days later.’

I was glad for him. Men, women and children alike often feared him on account of his disfigured face, partly the result of an enemy spear that had put out one of his eyes as a youth, leaving only an ugly black scar, and partly due to the burns he’d received in an incident he’d never wished to discuss, which had left the skin across one cheek white and raw and painful to look at, though undoubtedly not as painful as it was to bear. Ædda Aneage, he was sometimes called, which meant Ædda the One-eyed, though people were careful not to speak that byname in his presence lest he became roused to anger. He was, at heart, a gentle soul, as any who knew him well would confirm, and it pleased me that he had found someone who could see past his appearance to the person within.

‘Do you want to meet her, lord?’ he asked. ‘Her mother was Welsh, but her father is English, and she speaks both tongues. She’ll be glad to meet you at last. I’ve told her all about you.’

He’d led me to his small cottage next to the sheepfolds, where Sannan was building up the fire with twigs and broken branches gathered from the woods. Truly Ædda had been blessed, for she was a fine girl, red-haired and slender, who blushed as she smiled and who was at every moment attentive to her man. Though it does me ill to admit it, I was a little jealous of him. They invited me to stay and sup with them, there being just enough food to make a meal for three, and I accepted. We filled our bellies with boiled mutton, beans and fresh-baked bread, and though the fare was simple, I was content to be there and to enjoy their company.

All this I would miss.

Now, though it was barely first light, the stableman was already at work, placing feedbags on the doors to each of the stalls.

‘Lord,’ he said with some surprise when he saw me. ‘You’re risen early.’

‘For the first time in weeks I find myself with a comfortable mattress to lie down on and I can’t even sleep the whole night through,’ I said ruefully.

Ædda did not join me in a smile. The mischievousness he’d shown yesterday was gone, and his usual sombreness had returned. Last night it had been possible to pretend that all was well, but now the day had come when I would leave Earnford behind, and we both knew it.

‘I took a stone from the hind hoof of the girl’s palfrey,’ he said. ‘He’ll need to rest that foot for a day or two, but she can take one of the others.’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t mean to pry but I was wondering, lord. That girl, Eithne. Is she your—?’