‘Stand firm!’ I said again, but it was to no avail, for they had dozens of men and we did not have the strength to check them. I gritted my teeth, putting all my will into my shield arm, but even then it was not enough. We were losing ground, losing the gates, losing the battle—
The tall Englishman started to raise his spear, ready to stab down again, but this time I would not fall for the same trick, and kept my shield where it was, instead thrusting forward with my sword, up and into his face. He was not expecting it, and as I struck his helmet he staggered back, dazed, into the midst of his comrades, and the enemy halted for a moment.
Once more the horns sounded: two sharp blasts that were the signal to rally. By now the English would surely be gathering against Fitz Osbern, and whatever advantage he might have gained by the surprise attack would soon be lost. Sickness swelled in my stomach. We had failed.
It was then I noticed that some of the enemy, at least among the front ranks, had stopped driving forward, but were just standing there, as if unsure whether to keep attacking or whether to flee. The horns came yet again, and this time I realised they were not coming from inside the city, but from behind us.
I risked a glance over my shoulder, between the heads of Radulf and Godefroi. Mail and spearpoints gleamed in the moonlight, and there were pennons flying, horses galloping, and as I turned back to face the enemy, suddenly I found myself laughing, my arms filled with renewed vigour.
‘Forwards!’ I shouted.
The enemy wavered. Those in the shield-wall at the front had noticed what was happening and were hesitating, but those at the back could not see and they were still trying to push forward. In such moments of indecision did the fate of battles lie, and I knew that we had to take this chance.
I charged, hoping that Eudo and the others would follow, swinging my blade into the shield of the tall man before me. The blow shuddered through my arm as the edge cut through the leather rim, digging into the wood. He gave a cry as he stumbled back, still holding on to the shattered shield though it was now all but useless, and I pressed the attack, ramming the point of my blade towards his chest. He tried to block but it was in vain, as the steel broke through the wood and found his heart.
The sound of hooves could be heard now, drumming upon the earth, and it seemed that more of the enemy had spotted the danger, for some of those further back were abandoning their comrades, turning and running.
Their shield-wall was breaking, and even though we were but six men, we were amongst them, tearing into their ranks, exulting in the joy of the fight, the glory of the kill, challenging those who remained to stand against us, to meet their deaths on our sword-edges. Then, almost as one, they fled, making for the safety of the side streets, for the bridge, for anywhere they could hide.
The gates belonged to us, and through them now came a column of horsemen, lances couched and ready to strike, riding at full gallop, kicking up dirt and stones as they went, and I saw on their pennons the familiar gold lion upon a scarlet field.
‘For Normandy and King Guillaume!’ I said, pointing my sword to the sky, and Eudo and Wace took up the cry, followed by Radulf and Godefroi and Philippe, all of us roaring as one.
I sheathed my sword and untied my helmet, pulling back my coif while I wiped the sweat from my brow. I looked for the king, or Robert, or any other lords I might have recognised, but they were not there, or at least not in the vanguard. For still the column of knights continued. I had forgotten how many men we had in our army, but they all came now: knights to begin with, then spearmen and archers. And then I saw King Guillaume, resplendent in his mail, his helmet-tail flying behind him, with one of his retainers alongside, bearing the same banner that just a few hours ago had been soaring over the camp. And not far behind him was the vicomte’s son, alongside Ansculf and Urse and all the rest of his men, and with them they had brought six mounts without riders.
‘Lord,’ I called to him, waving to catch his attention. ‘Robert!’
His gaze found me, and he rode to where we were standing by the side of the street, his men releasing the reins of our horses and handing them down to us. I looked for the white diamond on the forehead that marked mine out, and swung myself into the saddle.
‘It’s good to see you, Tancred,’ Robert said.
‘And you, lord.’
I noticed he was carrying two lances, one of which he tossed across to me. I caught it comfortably, before he gave a tug on his reins and rode to the head of the conroi. I understood: this was no time for conversation. The night was not over, the fight for Eoferwic not yet won. We had to get to the bridge before the enemy’s leaders realised that we had entered the city and sent men to hold it against us.