‘I never thanked you, lord,’ Godric said, in between mouthfuls.
‘Thanked me for what?’ I asked.
‘For vouching for me,’ Godric said. ‘Again.’
Not that it had done me much good. Because of his reckless boastings and my own foolish sense of honour we now found ourselves here, cast out and wandering the bleak, flat lands of East Anglia.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘For whatever that might be worth.’
As well he should be. I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps I’d have done better to leave him to whatever fate Guibert might have dealt him. Straightaway I castigated myself for the thought. The boy had saved my life, and for that I owed him. What else could I have done?
My head ached. I rubbed at the lump that had formed, though it did nothing to relieve the pain. Serlo lifted his bowl to his lips and drained what was left of its contents. My own was going cold in front of me. There was cabbage in it, and leek as well, and the smell of both was enough to make me wrinkle my nose, but it was the whiff of salted eel that made me want to spew. For weeks in the marshes we had lived on almost nothing but eel stew, and I was sick of it.
Serlo nodded towards it. ‘Are you going to eat that?’
‘It’s yours if you want it,’ I replied.
The big man needed no second invitation. He reached across the table, slid the bowl towards himself and began ladling it into his mouth, so quickly that some failed to reach his mouth, spilling instead down his beard and the neck of his tunic.
He paused when he saw us all looking at him. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t eaten since last night.’
‘You can have mine too,’ Eithne muttered in English, scowling as usual. She pushed her own bowl towards Serlo. Like me, she had barely touched hers. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You’ll eat what you’re given and be glad for it,’ I told the girl, and placed it back in front of her. ‘I paid good silver for it, and I’m not letting you waste away. You’re thin enough as it is.’
‘You don’t have to speak to me as if I’m a child,’ she said, with that same scowl as before. ‘I’m fifteen summers old.’
‘So is Godric, but he’s under my protection just as you are.’
‘You’re telling me he’s the same age as me?’ Eithne asked. She gazed doubtfully at Godric, looking him up and down as if appraising a horse. ‘He doesn’t look it.’
Insulted, Godric frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You think yourself a warrior?’ she scoffed. ‘I could probably best you in a fight, if it came to it.’
‘I wouldn’t fight you,’ said Godric.
‘Why not? Because I’d win, you mean?’
‘No—’
‘Because you’re afraid of getting hurt?’
Godric’s cheeks flushed red. ‘I’m not afraid.’
‘Prove it, then.’ Eithne rose from her stool and stood over him. ‘If you’re the fighter you claim to be, prove it to me.’
He glanced uncertainly at me. ‘Lord?’ he asked, clearly at a loss as to what to do, though what help he thought I might offer, I wasn’t sure. In my time I had known many strong-willed women, none more so than Oswynn, but for all that experience, still I hadn’t worked out how best to manage them, or if it were possible at all.
‘Sit down,’ I said, pointing at the girl. ‘And eat. No one’s doing any fighting today.’
My head was hurting enough as it was, and I didn’t need their squabbling adding to my woes.
‘What was that about?’ asked Pons. He, like his sword-brother Serlo, had yet to learn much of the English tongue.
‘Godric’s learning his place,’ I said. The old saying came to mind. Men might govern the world, but it is women who govern those men. So it had always been, and so it would continue to be.
Having finished my bowl as well as his own, Serlo leant back and gave a loud belch. ‘What do we do now, then, lord?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘If I did, don’t you think we’d be doing it, instead of sitting here in this dank place?’
We had, as I saw it, two choices. The first of those was to hole up here for a few more days while tempers in the Malet household cooled, and then return to Heia with heads bowed once Robert’s mood had had a chance to soften.
‘How long might that take, though?’ Pons asked when I suggested this. ‘Even with Lords Eudo and Wace interceding on your behalf?’
‘If you think about it, Robert’s done you a favour,’ Serlo added.
‘A favour?’ I echoed. ‘How is this a favour?’
‘How many men saw you strike Guibert down, lord?’
I shrugged. ‘Fifty? Sixty? More even than that, maybe.’
‘And how many of those would have been willing to swear oaths to the same effect, had Robert made you stand trial for his killing?’