For an instant there was nothing but blackness. Numbly, I felt myself stagger forward. Exactly what happened next I struggle to recall, but my feet must have gone out from under me, since when my sight returned I found myself on my knees, clinging to the edge of one of the long tables as if for support, with white stars dancing in my eyes. I blinked to make them go away, but they would not. The hall was ringing all at once with laughter and shouts of alarm.
‘Stop!’ the same man shouted, and this time I was sure it was Robert. ‘Stop this madness!’
A wordless roar came from behind. My own blade I’d left on the table where I’d been sitting, but a long carving-knife lay on the table. I seized it in clumsy, unfeeling fingers, trying to ignore the throbbing in my skull as I turned—
Shapes and colours swam before my eyes, but through the stars and the haze I saw Guibert’s eyes and the drunken hatred that lay behind them. I saw the gleaming brass of the candlestick, raised high, poised to be brought down upon my face. And I saw the opening I needed.
There was no time to consider whether what I was doing was right or wrong. It was my life or his. That was the only thought running through my mind. I lunged forward, gritting my teeth and concentrating all my strength in my weapon-hand, trusting to God that I wouldn’t miss, that the steel would strike home.
It did.
The blade found Guibert’s belly and I plunged it deep, through cloth and skin and flesh, until I felt it scrape against bone. Blood bubbled forth and a stifled cry escaped his lips, and I drove it deeper and deeper and deeper still, yelling my anger and my triumph. The candlestick slipped from his limp fingers, and he stumbled backwards. I let go of the sticky, crimson-covered handle, leaving it lodged there in his gut.
Breathless, I clutched at the back of my skull, rubbing the place where he had struck me. There was no blood but already it felt as if a lump were forming there. My legs felt weak, as if they didn’t quite belong to me, while my head seemed to be on fire. Sickness brewed in my stomach.
No longer were men cheering, clapping, jeering, or chanting. I heard the sound of my breathing, and I heard a crash as Guibert met the floor, but that was all. No one moved. No one spoke. Silence reigned for what could only have been a moment, but so vivid is my memory of that moment that it feels as though it lasted an hour.
Blinking to try to clear my sight, I gazed down at Guibert’s still form and saw his blood trickling away, staining the rushes and pooling by his side, soaking the front of his tunic. Men rushed to his side, vainly calling his name.
Only then did I realise what I had done.
All at once the warmth seemed to flee my body. My throat felt tight, as if I could hardly breathe. Bile churned in my stomach and I wanted to heave, but somehow I managed to resist the temptation and hold myself back.
And then the silence was broken, and the shrieking began. It was a woman’s shriek, shrill and piercing, and it came from the dais at the far end of the hall.
‘Murderer!’
I looked up from where Guibert lay and saw that it was Elise.
‘Murderer!’ she screamed as she pointed at me, her cheeks flushed with fury.
All eyes were upon me. I expected at any moment to be set upon and brought to the floor, but no one moved. Perhaps they all feared shedding more blood in Robert’s presence, but I think that they were simply too shocked by what they’d seen to do anything. Most were no great friends of mine, but they all knew well who I was and would have heard the tales of my deeds. They knew, too, that Robert and I were close, and that, I believe, is why they hesitated.
‘Seize him!’ Elise was screeching. ‘Seize the murderer!’
Beside Elise on the dais stood Beatrice, her face pale, one hand raised to her mouth in alarm. She met my eyes for a heartbeat, and quickly turned away, not wishing to look upon me. Her husband was calling for one of the kitchen-boys to fetch him his sword, but like everyone else they merely stood as if frozen, waiting for instructions from their lord.
My eyes met Robert’s. He stared at me with an expression that suggested he didn’t know whether to be horrified, or angry, or both.
‘If no one else will do it, I will,’ said Guillaume d’Archis, his scabbard having finally been brought to him. Drawing his blade, he began to advance down the middle of the hall, between the tables towards me.
‘No more bloodshed in my hall,’ Robert shouted from the other side of the high table. ‘Do you hear me? I order you to put your sword away!’
‘Guillaume, no!’ Beatrice said. She ran after her husband and clutched at his sword-arm, trying to slow him down, but he shook her off easily. The steel gleamed in the firelight, and I saw how keen was its edge. Weaponless as I was, I stood little chance against a man armed and roused to anger. I backed away, towards the open doors.
‘A blade,’ I yelled at the onlookers, desperately searching for a friendly face among them. ‘Someone give me a blade!’
‘Lay so much as a scratch upon him and you’ll have us to answer to,’ Wace said as he appeared on my flank, and with him, brandishing his knife drunkenly in front of him, his eyes bleary as if he were still half-asleep, was Eudo.