‘I’m not lying,’ Godric blurted, and inwardly I cursed him for not keeping his mouth shut. ‘Lord Tancred was there. He knows. Ask him!’
The lad hadn’t moved. Indeed he had nowhere to go, surrounded as he was by Guibert’s friends, whose gazes were all now on me. Everywhere but in our corner of the hall, the revelries went on.
Guibert snorted. ‘You’ll vouch for him?’
I shrugged. ‘What does it matter whether he’s telling the truth or not? Either way, he’s not worth bothering with.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘How so?’
‘Think about it this way,’ I said. ‘If he’s as harmless as you think he is, then you have nothing to fear from him and can leave him be. But if he’s telling the truth and Hereward did indeed die at his hands, maybe you should think again before you provoke him.’
I let Guibert puzzle over that for a few moments. If Godric was a little the worse for wear, the Frenchman was several wine-cups further down the road towards drunkenness. I could almost see the thoughts working their way through his head.
He paced unsteadily towards me. ‘I say he lies,’ he hissed. ‘What do you say?’
Probably the sensible thing would have been to agree with Guibert and thus settle the matter there and then. But I wasn’t thinking about what was sensible. No, I was thinking that I’d made a promise to the boy, and if I allowed him to come to harm then I would have broken that promise. What was more, the longer I looked upon Guibert’s ugly, pox-scarred face and the longer his ale-reeking breath filled my nose, the less I was inclined to back down. If anyone were to yield, it should be him, not me.
‘I say Godric speaks the truth.’
He stared at me, as if he couldn’t understand why I should lend my support to such a ridiculous tale.
‘I was there,’ I said. ‘With my own eyes I saw him strike Hereward down. So unless you want to fight me to deny it, I suggest you find a stool and sit yourself back down.’
His expression hardened. His already ruddy cheeks turned a deeper shade of scarlet. ‘Are you mocking me, Breton?’
I was fast losing patience. ‘Mocking you? Why would I mock you?’ I drew myself up to my full height and then, speaking slowly to make sure he didn’t misunderstand me, said: ‘I have no quarrel with you, Guibert, and neither does the Englishman, so why don’t you and your friends go and find someone else to bother, and leave us both to enjoy our wine in peace?’
I should have known better than to patronise him. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than Guibert was hurling himself at me, howling in rage, his yellow teeth bared. He might have been drunk but he was also strong, and I wasn’t ready for such an attack. He threw me backwards across one of the long tables, sending wooden plates and clay pitchers and candles clattering to the floor. Around us people were shouting, cursing, and Guibert was screaming in my face and showering me with his spittle as he leant over me, his hands gripping my shoulders, pinning me down.
‘Nobody mocks me,’ he barked. ‘You hear me? Nobody!’
Gritting my teeth, I swung my fist at his face and managed to connect with his cheekbone. It was hardly a solid blow, but it was enough to make him let go of me as, reeling, he took a step back. That was all the space I needed. I barrelled into his midriff, hoping to bring him to the floor, but he was more stoutly built than I, and quickly recovered his balance, throwing me off him and towards the open space in front of the hearth. The rushes were sodden with spilt wine and mud; my feet found little purchase, and I found myself sprawling forward, barely managing to keep my balance. Men cleared a space around us, cheering, clapping, jeering, chanting.
I turned in time to see Guibert draw a knife and rush towards me. By tradition it was forbidden to carry swords and other weapons into a feasting-hall, but knives were allowed since without them one would struggle to eat. He attempted a stab, but the move was ill timed and I was able to step to one side, at the same time grabbing hold of his arm and twisting sharply. He yelped in pain, dropping the knife, and I shoved him hard, sending him stumbling sideways.
‘Enough of this!’ someone yelled, and it sounded like Lord Robert, but the cry came from behind me and so I couldn’t be sure. ‘Guibert! Tancred!’
Guibert came at me again, this time snatching up a brass candlestick that had fallen on the floor. He swung it like a club at my face, screaming through clenched teeth, and I tried to duck, but the wine had slowed my movements. Searing pain blossomed inside my skull as the base struck a glancing blow across the back of my head.