I was about to say that it wasn’t true, but I knew that he would not believe me. In any case this was not the time for arguments. ‘You fought well,’ I said instead.
‘How would you know? You weren’t even there.’ He began to laugh, a thick rasp that was as painful to hear as no doubt it was for him to make. It descended into a cough, and then his whole body was shaking as he began to choke, and there was blood in his mouth, blood spilling on to the ground.
‘Here, sit up,’ Godefroi said. ‘Tancred, help me.’
He took hold of one of Radulf’s arms, and I the other, and together we dragged him closer to the tree, so that his back rested against the trunk. He shut his eyes and almost succeeded in biting back a yell, but not quite. I felt a stab of guilt, but at the same time knew that nothing we could do for him now would take that pain away.
Godefroi produced a wineskin from beside him and took out the stopper. He lifted the flask to Radulf’s lips and he gulped at it, spluttering, groaning with every swallow. A flash of mail caught my eye and I turned to find a conroi of horsemen riding past. They were laughing, punching each other on the shoulder, raising their pennons to the sky.
‘Normandy!’ they shouted, all together. They sounded drunk, and perhaps they were, if not yet on ale and wine then certainly on the thrill of battle, on English blood.
‘Can you hear that?’ I asked. ‘That’s the sound of victory. The enemy have fled. The city is ours.’
‘It is?’ Radulf said. He had finished drinking and his eyes were closed once more, his breathing all of a sudden becoming shallower. He was not long for this life.
‘It’s true,’ Godefroi put in. ‘We showed them slaughter such as they had never seen.’
Radulf nodded, and there was for a moment a trace of a smile upon his lips, so slight as to be barely noticeable, but it quickly vanished as his face contorted in pain again.
‘Where’s Lord Guillaume?’ he croaked.
I hadn’t yet seen the vicomte; indeed in the midst of the battle and everything else I had almost forgotten that he was the reason we were here. I glanced at Godefroi, who looked blankly back at me, then at Wace and Eudo, who offered only a shrug.
‘He’ll be here,’ I said. ‘You served him well.’
Radulf nodded again, more vigorously, and now at last the tears began to flow, streaming down his cheeks as his breath came in stutters. He raised his bloodied hand to his face, as if trying to hide his sobs from us: his palm covering his mouth, his fingers splayed in front of his eyes.
‘He will be proud of you,’ I went on. ‘Of everything you have done for him.’
He clenched his teeth, and his hand fell to his wound once more, leaving his face marked with crimson streaks. The blood was flowing freely now, too much of it to be staunched. If the blow had been less deep, perhaps, or if it had struck his side rather than his chest … It was pointless to think that way, I knew, for nothing could change what was already done. But I could not help it. The same could have happened to me and yet I had survived. Why had I been spared but Radulf had not?
I felt moisture forming in the corners of my eyes, despite myself, and did my best to fight it back. Ever since we had first met I had thought him hot-headed, arrogant at the best of times, quick to take insult. Yet instead of goading him I might have tried harder to earn his trust, to gain his respect. And so in part at least I was responsible for him, and for what had happened.
‘You did well,’ I said again. ‘And I am sorry. For everything.’
His eyelids opened, just a fraction, enough that he could look at me, and I hoped that he had heard. The colour had all but drained from his face, and his chest was barely moving, his breathing growing ever lighter, no longer misting in the morning air.
‘Go with God, Radulf,’ I told him.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, and I leant closer, straining to hear him above the roar of victory that was all around. Whatever he meant to say, though, he never had a chance to utter, as in one long sigh his final breath fled his lips. His eyes closed once more, and slowly he sank backwards, into the trunk of the tree, his head rolling to one side, his cheek falling against his shoulder.
‘Go with God,’ I murmured again. But I knew that his soul had already fled this world, and he could hear me no longer.