‘He would thank me for ridding the world of such a worthless rodent.’
Atselin sighed, and it was a deep, weary sigh, as though he had heard many such threats in his time and was no longer troubled by them. He pointed at me with the feathered end of his quill. ‘I have met men like you before, Tancred of Earnford. I know your kind. Hot-tempered and wedded to your swords, you brag of your feats and wish others to praise you, to shower you in gold and write down songs of your brutish deeds so that they may pass into legend. It may surprise you to learn, then, that I have no interest in your boasts. I do not write songs. I am interested only in keeping the records for our lord king. So unless you have something truly important to tell me, trouble me no more with your wild tales.’
My blood boiled in my veins, but I sensed that this was not a battle I was likely to win. Without a further word I stalked off, leaving him to his parchments and returning to Pons and Serlo, who were waiting while other officials from the king’s household, helped by a pair of stout knights, searched the carts. For each item on their list they counted out the number we had brought to make sure that it tallied with the number expected, that we had not been cheated in our purchases or that we ourselves had not taken the liberty of helping ourselves to any of the supplies. Goods were forever going missing in the camp, and while most men could be trusted, there were always some who wouldn’t hesitate to steal if they thought they could get away with it. And so we were forced to stand patiently and submit to their questions, in case they discovered something that required further explanation.
Whenever my back was turned I felt Atselin’s eyes upon me. What right did he, a mere scribe and a keeper of rolls, have to question my sincerity? What right did he have to pour scorn upon my deeds, when without me the kingdom might have fallen to the enemy? After all, without a king to serve and chancery records to write, he was nothing. He owed me more than he could possibly realise.
And yet the truth was that by that September, in the year one thousand and seventy-one, my standing was not as great as once it had been. After our victory in the great battle at Eoferwic I had been rewarded with a manor of my own, with enough wealth to attract men to my banner, and a reputation that had travelled before me. Now, however, I found myself all but destitute. My hard-earned silver was mostly spent, while my once-rich manor at Earnford had been burnt by the Welsh and half the folk who had lived there slain by their hands. We had done our best to rebuild it in the months since, but the winter had been hard and many more had perished through starvation or sickness, and the spring had brought unrelenting rains that led the river to overspill its banks and flood the pastures, and caused many of the newly built houses and barns to collapse. Now it was a place of sadness, where those who had survived toiled hard to produce enough food to keep themselves and their families fed, all the while surrounded by the memories of what had happened and of their fallen kinsfolk.
My reputation, too, was dwindling. No longer did men respect me to the extent that they had even a year ago. Fame is fickle, and already the tales of my exploits had grown old; men had found other heroes worthy of their admiration. Nor was my current lord as highly regarded as once he had been. Like the man to whom I had sworn my first oath, he too was named Robert, although the two men were very different in character. Whereas the first had been like a father to me, this Robert was more like a brother, being similar in age to myself. He and his family had suffered greatly during the rebellions of the past couple of years. They had lost many good retainers, including several whom I had known, shared repast with and led in the charge. His father, Guillaume Malet, once a powerful man responsible for governing much of the north of the kingdom, had fallen from the king’s favour, been stripped of his position and made to forfeit many of his estates as a consequence of his failure to defend against the Northumbrian rebels and their Danish allies. The stain upon his character was a stain upon the entire Malet house. All of which meant that they had little now to offer by way of land or silver, even for the man who had risked his life to save theirs. I had rescued them from imprisonment at the hands of Eadgar and the Danes in Beferlic, and for that deed alone I deserved some form of recognition.
So far, though, my only rewards had come in the form of promises, which appeared ever more empty with each day that went by. Meanwhile I remained shackled to their service by the oaths I had given them: bonds woven from words and yet stronger than words. Bonds of my own making, that I could not escape, only endure.