Knights of the Hawk (47 page)

He pushed his way through the throng towards us. ‘Is it true?’ he called across from
Wyvern
. ‘Is it true that this Haakon was responsible for what happened at Dunholm?’

‘That’s what I’ve been told,’ I replied, raising my voice for the benefit of the others, who were watching, listening. ‘He was in the vanguard. He was the one who stormed the fastness and set fire to the mead-hall.’

Close to two thousand Normans had met their deaths that night when Eadgar and his allies had attacked. Men, women and children alike been cut down without mercy; the streets had run with their blood. No army of ours had ever suffered such a reverse on English soil. It was a humiliation that most of us would rather have forgotten, and yet how could we forget it? Even now, three entire campaigning seasons later, Northumbria remained unconquered; the king’s efforts to scour that land last winter had not made him its master nor brought the instigators of the rebellion to justice. And so the stain of that defeat lingered, while those who had inflicted it continued to live.

‘My cousin was at Dunholm,’ Oylard said as he turned to address his fellow boatmen. ‘A farrier’s apprentice, he was, no more than a boy. I later found out that he never came back. Dead at only thirteen summers old.’

They couldn’t fail to have heard about what happened that night three years ago. Many had probably heard it firsthand, from those like Eudo and Wace and myself who had been there and who had survived, although such had been the slaughter the enemy had wrought that we were few in number. No doubt Oylard was not the only one to have lost a friend or relative to the enemy’s sword at Dunholm, or at the very least knew someone who had.

One of the others, bald and thick-necked, spoke up. ‘I don’t know about you, Oylard, or any of the rest of you, but I for one won’t be risking my neck unless there’s the chance of reward at the end of it.’

‘There’ll be spoils enough to go around,’ I said. ‘From what I hear—’

‘From what you hear? What kind of an assurance is that?’

‘You have my word,’ Magnus interjected before I could answer. ‘He stole from me, as he has stolen from many others over the years. His treasure-chests brim with silver and gold, so rich has he grown profiting from the triumphs of others. I can promise that there’ll be no shortage of plunder should we succeed.’

‘And you’re willing to share in that wealth, are you?’ asked Bald-head.

The Englishman hesitated, and I understood why. Naturally he didn’t want to have to share, not if he could help it. If
Wyvern
were to join us then whatever booty did come our way would have to be divided more than a hundred ways. And yet another ship’s crew worth of allies would undoubtedly prove useful. There was much more to this expedition than pursuit of riches, and so if that was the price we had to pay for their help, then so be it.

That was how it seemed to me, anyway. But the decision was not mine alone to make. Magnus was chewing his lip, his face drawn as if contemplating.

‘Well?’ asked Bald-head.

‘If you’ll join us,’ Magnus said after a moment’s pause, ‘then, yes, we’ll share that wealth with you.’

He glanced at me to make sure that I was in agreement, and I nodded. The bald one went to confer with Aubert, Oylard and his fellow boatmen. Again there was grumbling, and again voices were raised, but at the end of it the shipmaster came forward.

‘Have you decided?’ I asked.

Aubert smiled. ‘We’ve come this far, haven’t we? It seems to me we might as well venture a little further. If Robert has anything to say about it later, well –’ he shrugged and gestured towards Wace and Eudo ‘– I can always claim that they forced me to come north against my will, can’t I?’

‘If you do, those will be the last words ever to come out of your mouth,’ Eudo warned.

His expression suggested he was only half joking, but Aubert laughed all the same.

‘So,’ the shipmaster said. ‘Where do we find this Haakon?’

After that day’s calm, the wind picked up again on the next. A fierce storm blew in that made it impossible to sail, but we came upon a village close by the shore whose folk proved friendly enough, once they realised that we weren’t interested in robbing them. There we put what coin and goods we had to good use, exchanging them for a barrel of salted pork to replace one we’d lost overboard whilst riding out the squall several days before, as well as two more of ale in place of some that the seawater had spoiled. Our purchases made, we waited for the gale to subside, for the rain to cease lashing down, and for the skies to lighten once more.

I thought of old Snorri, and hoped
Hrithdyr
was safe in port rather than having to weather out this storm on the open seas that lay between here and Ysland. Assuming that they had made it without harm through the Suthreyjar, that was, although if there was anyone who would know which passages were safe to take and which islands to avoid, it was probably him.

‘He wouldn’t have lived as long as he has, doing what he does, if he didn’t know how to take care of himself,’ Magnus assured me. ‘He’ll be all right. If he’s sensible he’ll have sought out a travelling companion or two for the voyage. At this time of year the sea wolves are beginning to slumber, but nonetheless you’ll often find traders will band together for protection.’

‘As we have,’ I said.

‘True, but no one’s likely to attack us, are they?’

‘Why not?’

‘You’ll find easy spoils aboard a trader, but on a longship all you’ll find are warriors. You never see wolves preying upon their own kind, do you? Why should they waste their time fighting each other when there are more than enough pickings to allow them all to grow fat?’

That made sense, although even so I found myself more than a little nervous when the next morning, after the sea-mist had lifted, our two ships left the shores of Yrland behind us, for I knew we were venturing further north than I or any Norman had ever been before, into waters unknown even to Aubert.

I only prayed this latest undertaking did not prove to be a mistake on my part. The Danes were renowned across Christendom for being hard men to kill, and if the stories about him held any grain of truth, we were pitting ourselves against one of the fiercest and most ruthless of them all.

Winter was almost upon us. Even hours after the sun had lifted above the hills off our steerboard side, my breath misted before my face, while the wind bit through my cloak, working its chill through my flesh and deep into my very bones. This was the time of year when most sensible folk were slaughtering what animals they couldn’t afford to keep fed through the winter, mending holes in their warm clothes and caps, and huddling down close by their hearths.

But we were not most folk.

The further north we sailed, the steeper and darker grew the islands that rose like jagged mountains out of the sea, the more thickly wooded they became, and the fewer signs we saw of anyone living there. No wisps of smoke rose towards the slate-grey skies; no sheep grazed upon the hillsides; no fishermen’s hovels stood above the shoreline. These were sparse, barren lands, where the inhabitants of the one village we did come across were subject to no king that they knew of, whether English or Scots or Irish or Danish. Indeed, if any lord at all held sway in these parts, they had not heard of him. They tended their chickens and their few goats, and sometimes sold their goods to passing merchants and other travellers, though not often, and for the most part those were the only souls they saw outside of their own valley. But when Eithne and Magnus, who both happened to speak their language or something very like it, mentioned to them the name of Haakon Thorolfsson, and asked if he had been heard of recently, they all made the sign of the cross and began babbling at once.

‘He came to these parts only a week ago, they say,’ Eithne told me. ‘They all started running as soon as they saw the crimson sails of his ship appearing from the mist, but it turned out he hadn’t come with any intention of raiding.’

These people had precious little that was worth stealing, so that was no great surprise. ‘What did he want?’

‘He was looking for men who could hold a spear. He offered to give two sheep and five geese to every man who would go with him for the winter, although naturally they were all suspicious of him, and so none accepted.’

‘Why would he be looking to hire spearmen?’ Magnus wondered aloud. ‘He can’t be planning on going foraging at this time of year, surely?’

‘Maybe he’s looking to bolster his defences,’ I said.

‘But why?’ The Englishman hesitated. ‘Unless—’

‘Unless he knows we’re coming,’ I finished for him.

And I could explain, too, how he knew. Only one person who wasn’t a part of our expedition was aware that we were seeking out Jarl Haakon, and why. I wondered how much he’d been paid for his information, and felt embarrassed at having only the other evening been concerned for him out there on the wild and open ocean. Now I hoped that he choked on his next meal.

Old Snorri, who had deceived us with his friendly manner, had betrayed us to our enemy.

Haakon knew, then, that Magnus was coming for him, and that was why he was looking to purchase the services of fighting men, to help guard the walls of his stronghold. But I hadn’t revealed my real name to the trader, so Haakon couldn’t yet know that accompanying Harold’s son was the knight Tancred, nor that he brought with him a second shipload of warriors, allies from England. He remained ignorant of exactly how many we numbered, and that was one advantage we still held over him.

Events in England had been moving apace in the short time that I’d been away. During those days as we crept up the coast of northern Britain, Wace and Eudo related how King Guillaume had accepted the submission of the principal leaders of the Elyg rebels, granting forgiveness and receiving them at court. No sooner had they dismissed their armies and sent all their followers home in time for the ploughing season, however, than he cast them all in chains and confined them to the castle dungeon at Cantebrigia until he decided what to do with them.

‘He did that?’ I asked, having joined my countrymen on
Wyvern
. I found it difficult to believe that the king, who was not usually one to break a pledge, and indeed prided himself on that reputation, would go back on his word, and in so blatant a fashion.

‘That’s what we’ve been hearing,’ Eudo said. He turned to Godric. ‘It means there’ll be no earldom for your uncle. All Morcar’s estates and those of his vassals have been confiscated.’

Godric grunted. His lips were set firm, his expression unfeeling. ‘It’s no more than he deserves.’

Wace grinned and clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s lucky that you’re with Tancred now, isn’t it, whelp?’

‘Otherwise you’d be rotting away along with Morcar in whatever dank prison the king finds for him,’ Eudo added.

Godric said nothing, and I wondered if he wasn’t perhaps feeling a little guilty at having evaded such a fate, at having turned his back upon his uncle, who had, after all, sheltered him for so many years. Yet he had nothing to feel ashamed of. Morcar had broken promise after promise, first to the king and then to the rebels, committing one betrayal after another, playing both sides to his advantage. In hindsight he’d been foolish to think that the king would act any more honourably towards him. He had brought about his own ruin.

‘They’re still looking for Hereward, you know,’ Wace said.

‘Still?’ I asked. ‘They haven’t given up?’

‘The king is convinced he’s out there somewhere, hiding, plotting. Several bodies were pulled from the marsh in the week or so after the battle, we’re told, one of which was supposedly about the same size and build as Hereward, but his flesh was too bloated and his skin was peeling away, so no one could tell for sure. Most people seem to think he’s fled England altogether. In the meantime the king’s keeping up the search, and will probably do so all winter.’

King Guillaume was well known for his bullheadedness, as we had seen for ourselves during the campaign in the fenlands. If he had decided that Hereward remained alive and a threat, then he would do everything he could to hunt him down, even if that meant scorching the Fens to draw him out, in the same way that he’d ravaged the north during his campaign last winter.

News wasn’t the only thing they’d brought from England, either. ‘We have something else for you,’ Eudo said.

Beckoning me to follow him, he made his way to the hatch that led to the hold space beneath the steering platform, from which, with my help, he hauled out a small chest about half as long as a man was high, with iron handles mounted on either end.

‘What’s this?’ I asked. ‘A gift?’

He didn’t answer, but untied the leather thong that was attached to his belt and held out the key that had been hanging from it. Not quite sure what to expect, I took it from him, eyeing him suspiciously, then knelt down, placed it in the lock, twisted until I felt it click, then lifted open the lid—

To find my packs, just as I had left them at Heia, as well as a sword in its scabbard, wrapped in a bundle of white cloth. And not just any sword. Its hilt was decorated with a single turquoise stone, set into the centre of the disc pommel.

A turquoise stone that I recognised at once.

‘We both reckoned that if you were to go back to face Robert, it would be better if you didn’t arrive looking like a flea-ridden beggar, but had your blade and all your other belongings,’ Eudo said with a grin.

I was too surprised and overjoyed even to think, let alone find the words to thank him. Laughing in delight, I lifted the scabbard, still shrouded in its cloth, out from the chest, laying it on the deck beside me, and drew the blade from the sheath. The steel had been recently polished so that, even in the small light of that dull day, it gleamed like silver.

‘Open out the cloth,’ Wace said, having come to join us.

‘What?’ I asked. ‘Why?’

‘Unfurl it, and you’ll see.’

Carefully I unwound the thick bolt of linen from around the scabbard, wondering if perhaps there was something else wrapped inside, although I couldn’t think what. It only took me a moment to realise what I was holding, as I glimpsed first a wing and then the head with its short, curved beak, the bird emblazoned in black upon a white field, in flight with talons extended as if stooping for the kill. The hawk of Earnford – and of Commines, too, for it had also been the symbol of our former lord. When the time had come for me to choose a banner of my own, I’d adopted the device as a mark of respect, thinking that I would thereby serve his memory in the same way that I had served the man himself.