‘He’s gone,’ said the one on horseback. His was a deeper voice.
‘Bastard,’ said the other.
They disappeared from view, moving on down the quay, still speaking.
‘Have you seen anyone come this way?’ I heard the mounted one call.
‘Not tonight, my friend.’ One of the ship-men, perhaps.
The man on the horse cursed, and I heard the two knights talking to each other though the words were no longer distinct. I kept as still as I could; there was a little ridge of rock where I could put my feet. All feeling in my hands and arms was gone, and I found myself gasping, as if the cold had stolen all the air from my chest. The black water lapped around my chin, some of it finding its way up and into my open mouth, and I had to swallow it so as not to choke. I closed my eyes, willing the two men to leave.
It seemed like an eternity but eventually the voices ceased and distantly I heard hooves clattering on the planking, riding away. I could not delay, or else I was sure the waters would drag me down. I swam along the side of one of the ships to where there were steps set into the wharf, looking about to make sure that the two men had left.
There was no one. Clumsily, with hands that were all but numb, I managed to haul myself out of the river, dripping, shivering. Snow whirled about me. I spat on to the ground.
‘Hey! Who are you?’
I turned; it was one of the ship-men, standing at the stern of his vessel, holding a lantern. I ignored him and ran, clothes plastered against my skin, and I did not stop running until I reached the house.
Twenty
I BURST INTO
the hall, sending the door crashing against the inside of the wall. The snow billowed around me as, shaking violently, I stumbled in. My breath caught in my chest. I hadn’t realised how far it was back from the wharves.
I closed the door fast against the outside and lifted the thick timber plank that rested against the wall. My arms protested, drained of all their strength, as I set the bar in place across the door. A large brass key rested in the lock and I tried to turn it, but there was little feeling in my fingers and it slipped from my grasp, falling with a dull clang on to the flagstone paving. I cursed out loud but did not stoop to pick it up, instead making my way straight to the hearth. There was a stack of firewood beside it; I picked up several of the smallest pieces, casting them liberally on to the embers, and huddled down on the stool in front of them. I needed fire. I needed warmth.
‘What’s going on?’
I looked over my shoulder as Eudo sat up, rubbing his eyes. I wondered what I must look like, wet and trembling by the fire, but only briefly, for the cold was seeping into my bones.
‘Fetch me a dry tunic,’ I said, my jaw quivering. ‘Braies and a cloak too.’
He saw me properly then and got quickly to his feet. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘First get me some dry clothes,’ I said, as I stripped off my tunic and undershirt and cast them on to the floor. A few tiny flames began to lick at the dry wood I had added; I blew on them to encourage them, trying to will them larger as I tossed more pieces on. I gathered up some of the rushes from the floor in my arms
and added them to the smouldering pile. They were dry and ought, I hoped, to burn easily.
Stepping over the sleeping forms of the other knights, Eudo went to where my pack lay beside the round table, and fumbled inside. Wace sat up, dazed and blinking, while the three younger men began to stir. Light appeared, bobbing down the stairs. It was the steward, a candle in his hand.
‘I heard noise,’ he said, frowning. His bald pate gleamed in the firelight. ‘Is everything all right?’
I rose from the stool as Eudo brought me my spare clothes, and his own cloak. ‘I was set upon,’ I said. ‘In the streets by St Eadmund’s church.’
The steward stopped where he was, clearly confused by my appearance, as he looked me up and down. ‘You were—?’
I pulled the dry tunic over my head. ‘I was attacked. By another knight.’ I belted up the cloak while I waited for the impact of that to settle. ‘A Frenchman,’ I added.
‘A Frenchman?’ Wace asked, through the middle of a yawn.
‘You must have been mistaken,’ Eudo said.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘I saw him. I heard him speak.’
Eudo shook his head. ‘Why would a fellow Frenchman attack you? Especially in the king’s own city.’
‘It’s the truth,’ I said, and turned away as I unlaced my wet braies, letting them fall to the floor. The air was cold against my bare skin, and I hastily tugged on the dry pair. Straightaway I imagined I could feel the heat returning to my legs, the blood beginning to course through them once more.
I turned to the steward even as I finished lacing the braies up. ‘Where’s Ælfwold?’ I asked him.
‘Asleep in his room, I should think,’ Wigod said.
‘Are you sure?’
The steward looked at me, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
If Ælfwold was missing, then I could be almost sure that it was him I had seen with the priest. ‘Wake him,’ I said.
‘Why, are you hurt?’
After everything that had followed, I had all but forgotten about
the fight and the blow I had taken to the cheek. I pressed a hand to it; my fingers came away warm and smeared with crimson, but I was too numb to feel any pain.
‘Just bring him here,’ I said.
While Wigod hurried away to find the chaplain, I related to the rest what had happened: how I had been unable to sleep and had gone for a walk to clear my head; how suddenly I had found a knife at my throat; how I had managed to fight off my attacker; how I was chased down to the wharves; how I’d had to jump into the river to evade them. I did not mention anything about the two men I had seen speaking by the church, or that one of them I had thought to be Ælfwold; on that matter I wanted to confront him in person.
Besides, now that I had sat down and my heart was no longer beating quite so fast, I found that doubts were beginning to form in my mind. After all, it had been dark and I was tired; the man had had his back to me and I hadn’t been able to see clearly through the snow.
‘What did your attacker look like?’ Eudo asked.
‘He was tall, with a scar above his left eye,’ I said. ‘His hair was cut in the Norman style; in all he looked about five years older than me.’ I ran my finger across my cheek again. The flesh stung this time and I winced. ‘He was a good fighter, too.’
‘And what about the other – the one on horseback?’
I shook my head. ‘I didn’t see him well enough.’
There were footsteps on the staircase and the steward returned, this time with two servants. One of them was Osric, the other a boy I had not seen before, shorter and, it appeared, younger, with dark hair that was a tangle of curls.
‘He’ll be with us shortly,’ Wigod said, which surprised me a little, as I had thought he would have found the chaplain missing. But on the other hand I had been gone some while; he would have been able to return to the house long before me. I felt my heart begin to pound; at least I would have the chance to challenge him in person. I wanted an explanation.
The two boys saw to the fire, and soon it was burning fiercely again, though a chill had taken hold of my body and I realised I was
still shivering. Osric went and came back in with two iron pails filled with water, which he suspended on the spit over the flames.
‘Bring me some food,’ I said to him.
He looked back at me with a blank expression on his face, and I recalled that he did not speak French. I looked to Wigod despairingly.
‘
Breng him mete and drync
,’ the steward said loudly. Osric grunted and hurried away through a door at the end of the hall.
‘Do you know why he attacked you?’ Wace asked.
I shrugged, though it was clear to me that whatever business the two churchmen had had, they had not meant it to be witnessed by anyone else. The two knights had to be in the pay of one of them. I couldn’t think of any other explanation which made sense.
‘He might have been drunk,’ I suggested, though I was fairly sure that he was not.
Wace frowned, his good eye narrowing, the other all but closing, so that if I hadn’t known better I might have thought he were winking at me. ‘Did you provoke him?’ he asked.
‘Provoke him?’ I choked off a laugh. ‘I didn’t even see him.’ That at least was true enough. ‘The first I knew of him was his knife at my throat—’
Ælfwold emerged from upstairs and I broke off. I rose sharply from my stool – too sharply, for a sudden dizziness overtook me. My feet felt uncertain of their grounding and I had to put a hand out against one of the hall’s wooden pillars to steady myself.
The chaplain was dressed in the same tunic and trews he had worn on the road; his hair was loose and stuck up in tufts from his head. ‘What’s the matter?’ He looked at me and stopped, and he must have noticed my cheek for a look of concern spread over his face. ‘You’re wounded,’ he said.
‘I was attacked,’ I said flatly. ‘Tonight, by St Eadmund’s church.’ I watched him carefully, in case my mention of the place yielded a response, but his face did not so much as flicker.
‘Attacked?’ he asked.
I did not reply, still trying to determine from his expression whether there was anything he might be concealing, but I found nothing.
‘By another knight,’ put in Eudo.
The chaplain’s eyes opened wide. ‘Is this true?’
‘It’s what I said, isn’t it?’ I asked.
‘Do you know who it was? The name of his lord?’
I stared back at him, searching. Either he was able to control himself far better than most men, or truly it had not been him. ‘No,’ I said eventually.
‘How did this happen?’
Osric came back in, carrying in one hand a wooden platter with bread and some kind of meat, and in the other an iron pot with an arched handle, which he hung over the hearth. He placed the platter down beside the stool; my stomach gave a low rumble, but I ignored it for the moment.
‘How it happened isn’t important,’ I said. A flash of pain ran through my cheek, and I put my hand to it.
‘Are you still bleeding?’ Ælfwold asked as he approached.
‘It’s nothing,’ I replied, stepping away from the wooden post and sitting back down on the stool. ‘No more than a scratch.’ If it wasn’t Ælfwold I had seen earlier, then who was it? Who had hired those men?
‘It looks deep. Let me see it.’ He squatted down beside me, digging out a small cloth from his pocket and raising it slowly up to my cheek.
‘It’s nothing!’ I repeated, wrenching away from him and towards the hearth.
He drew back, and from the look of sheer confusion that crossed his face I knew that it could not have been him. Anger flared up inside me and I felt suddenly foolish. I had thought to accuse a priest, a man of God and the Church, who had helped me recover after my fever only three weeks before. The same priest who was chaplain and confessor to the man who was now my lord.
The hall fell silent but for the water bubbling on the hearth and the crackling of the logs beneath. I felt the eyes of the others upon me, and wondered what they must be thinking.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said again, more quietly this time. I sat down again on the stool beside the fire, tore off a corner of the bread
and dipped it into the broth heating in one of the iron pots. ‘I just need to eat, and then to rest. We have another few days’ travel ahead of us.’
I took a bite of the bread. The broth it was soaked in tasted of heavily salted fish, and while it was not especially pleasant, neither was it distasteful. It was warm and that was all I cared about, though perhaps the heat of my anger had done something to dispel the chill, for I found that I had stopped shivering. I ladled some more into a wooden bowl which Osric had brought, and lifted it to my lips, sipping it slowly.
‘We should send word straightaway to the town-reeve,’ said Wigod. ‘We could bring a plea before the hundred court.’
‘On what grounds?’ the chaplain replied. ‘There was no injury, short of a mark to the cheek.’
‘Disturbing the king’s peace,’ Wace offered. ‘Isn’t that reason enough?’
‘It would do no good,’ said Ælfwold. ‘Without at least a name to attach blame to, there can be no case.’
The steward sighed. ‘You’re right. And the court here in Lundene isn’t due to sit for another two weeks.’
‘By which time we’ll have gone north with the king’s army,’ I said, defeated. I was no closer to knowing who any of those men were, and indeed it seemed had no way of finding out.
‘I’ll go to the reeve in the morning,’ Wigod said, obviously sensing my frustration. ‘For whatever that might be worth.’
The hall began to empty not long after that, and one by one the other knights fell back asleep, until once more I was the only one left awake. I sat by the fire for a while longer, drawing out the last of the cold, for it had worked itself deep into my bones. The two servants had brought in more wood from the store outside and I added it to the hearth, keeping the flames roaring until my skin had dried completely. Eventually I let the fire be and I lay on my back upon the rushes, gazing at the whorls and splinters in the timber planks that made up the ceiling. My body ached and my limbs clamoured for rest, but my mind was still awake as I fingered the cross at my neck. I saw the fight clearly
in my mind: every stroke of my blade, every parry, every thrust. It was then that I remembered I had left my sword behind. I was not going to fetch it then, however; that could wait until the day.
I had thought when we arrived in Lundene that in some small way I would be returning home. Now, though, I wanted nothing more than to be away from here.
Not far off, bells began to chime, marking the beginning of the matins service at one of the monasteries nearby. It could not have been much longer until I did manage to sleep, for in my dreams they were chiming also, and I was there with the monks in their cold stone church, and I was twelve years old again.
We’d hoped to set off for Wiltune at first light, but the snow fell heavily that night, so heavily that in the morning it came halfway to my knee: a blanket across the whole city and the countryside beyond, making it impossible to travel.