Sensing what was to come, I said, ‘Your forgiveness is all—’
He raised a finger to forestall me. ‘Please, while I still have breath left in my chest. You would have learnt of this in time, in any case, but I wanted you to hear it from me first. I have made provision for you and Wace and Eudo. As you know, I have little enough land or silver at my disposal, but nonetheless I wish to leave you a token of my gratitude. To that end, each of you is to receive two of the finest destriers from my stables, and three palfreys, too. I know that you will make good use of them.’
I didn’t know what to say to that. ‘You are too generous,’ I said once I’d recovered my voice.
‘There is more, if you will listen. After all, were it not for you, Tancred, I would have perished at the hands of the Danes and would never have lived to see this day. To see the conquest of England complete. For you I have a particular gift.’
‘I want nothing more,’ I said, and surprised myself with how honestly I meant it.
‘I have already made up my mind, so there is no use in disputing with me. Do you see the chest in the corner?’
An ironbound box stood up against one wall. Wondering what sort of gift he had in mind, I went to it.
‘In here, lord?’
He nodded weakly. ‘Open it.’
I flicked open the catches and then, finding that it wasn’t locked, lifted the lid.
Inside, lying atop stacks of dry, crinkled parchment, was a curved drinking horn, one of the largest I had ever seen, as long as my arm and more than a hand’s span in breadth at its rim. Silver binding ran around the rim, on which were engraved a fleet of dragon-prowed ships with sails billowing and decks filled with close-packed warriors. Another band ran around the middle on which was depicted a hunting scene, while the point was ornamented with a bird cast in gold.
‘Made from the horn of an urus,’ Malet said.
I’d never heard of such a beast. ‘An urus?’
‘A creature like a bull, only much larger, which I am told is found in lands far to the east of here. This was a gift from my father on the day I came of age. I have not had much use for it of late; there has been precious little to celebrate in recent months. Now I want you to have it.’
‘Lord,’ I protested as I lifted it up, hefting it in my hands and feeling its weight. It was a heavy thing, far heavier than it looked, and polished smooth so that, even in the soft candlelight, it gleamed. ‘This is too much.’
‘It is less than you deserve.’
‘What about Robert?’ I asked. ‘Won’t he—?’
I was about to say that as a father’s gift to his son, surely it was only right that it should be passed in turn to his heir.
Malet must have guessed what I was thinking. ‘He will not mind. He has always said it is too gaudy for his liking, and he cares little for drinking, as you know. You will appreciate it more than he will. Please, take it now, with my blessing.’
It was indeed a beautiful thing, more valuable, I didn’t doubt, than any other possession of mine save my sword and my mail, my helmet and my horses.
‘Thank you,’ I said, although the words seemed insufficient to express my gratitude.
‘I trust you will take care of it, and I wish you luck in all your undertakings. God be with you always, Tancred.’
‘And with you, my lord,’ I replied.
‘As for that,’ he murmured softly, a note of melancholy in his voice, ‘we shall soon see. We shall soon see.’
His eyes closed once more. Before long his breathing had grown heavy and I knew for certain this time that he was asleep. A strange feeling overcame me as I left that chamber, the drinking horn in hand, and closed the door behind me, knowing it was to be the last time I saw Guillaume Malet, the man to whom, though I had not always cared to admit it, I owed so much.
Again that night I could not rest, and again I was not alone. Even as Pons and Serlo joined in the celebrations of those who had returned to camp, and Godric returned to his uncle Morcar on the Isle, I waited with Eudo and Wace and several of Malet’s other vassals, some of whom I knew by name and others I didn’t, in the yard outside the hall, where we warmed ourselves beside a charcoal brazier.
Once in a while Robert would come out from the hall with furrowed brow to tell us how his father was faring. His strength was failing fast, he said; with every hour the life was going out of him. His breath was growing shallower, his pulse was weakening and he grew ever colder. The leech-doctors who had seen him did not think he would last until dawn. Already Dudo had heard his final confession and given him the sacrament. It would not be long.