Malet glanced about. ‘We can’t talk of this here, surrounded by so many people. Come with me, back to the castle.’
We passed through the bailey, past the tents and burnt-out campfires. There were men guarding the gates, but if they thought it strange to see their lord returning so soon, they did not question it.
Malet led us to the tower, to the same chamber where he had first spoken to me of his task all those weeks ago. It was much as I had remembered it: there was the same writing-desk, the same curtain hanging across the room, the same rug upon the floor.
‘I would ask you to sit as well, but this is the only stool I have,’ Malet said as he sat down. ‘You will forgive me, I am sure.’
None of us spoke, waiting as we were for him to begin, though he seemed in no rush to do so. An iron poker hung beside the hearth and he picked it up, prodding at the burnt logs in the fireplace. There were still some embers amidst the ash, and a faint tendril of smoke curled upwards as he disturbed them, but it was cold in the chamber nonetheless.
Eventually he turned back to us. ‘So,’ he said. ‘You have read my letter to Eadgyth.’
I did not answer. He already knew that we had. There was nothing else to add.
‘You cannot let this be known to anyone,’ he said, a fearful look in his eyes. ‘If the king were to find out that I had told her …’
He did not finish, but bowed his head as he wrung his hands. His lips moved without sound, and I wondered if he were whispering a prayer. The morning sun shone in through the window, causing the sweat upon his brow to glisten.
‘You must understand why I did what I did,’ he said. ‘When I wrote that letter – when you swore to undertake this task for me – I did not think that Eoferwic would hold. And if the enemy managed to take the castle, I did not know whether I would survive.’
He had said something similar that evening when I had given my oath to him. Indeed I recalled how struck I had been by his honesty, how he had seemed almost resigned to the fact that his fate was bound with that of the city: that if Eoferwic were to fall to the English, then so too would he. But I did not see what that had to do with the business at hand.
Nor, it seemed, was I alone. ‘What do you mean, lord?’ asked Wace.
‘I was the only one who knew the truth,’ Malet said. ‘Were I to have been killed, all knowledge of Harold’s resting place would have been lost.’ He sighed deeply, and there was a hint of sadness in his tone. ‘I was only doing what in my mind was right. Eadgyth always saw me as having betrayed her husband, having betrayed our friendship. I thought that by doing this I might somehow atone for that – for all the hurt I had caused her.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. Not for the first time, I thought.
‘All she wanted was to mourn her husband properly,’ he went on. ‘I have lost count of the number of times she has sent letters to me, demanding to know where he was buried, and of the number of times I have sent word back, saying that I did not know. But when I heard that the English army was marching on Eoferwic, I knew I might not have another chance. The guilt upon my conscience was too great to bear.’ He looked up from the floor, towards us. ‘And that is why I had to tell her.’
‘Tell her what?’ I asked. He was not making sense.
Malet stared at me as if I were witless. ‘Where Harold’s body lies, of course.’
I glanced at Eudo and Wace, and they back at me, and I saw that they were thinking the same. For something was not right. I recalled Malet’s message to Eadgyth: those two simple words. Tutus est. I had held the parchment in my hands, traced the inky forms of the letters with my own finger. There had been no clue there as to Harold’s resting place, unless somehow those words held some other, hidden meaning – one that we had not worked out.
‘But you wrote that it was safe, nothing more,’ said Eudo.
Malet’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I saw the letter, lord,’ I said. ‘Tutus est. There was nothing else on that scroll.’
‘But that is not what I wrote.’ The vicomte stood to face us now, and there was colour in his cheeks again as a puzzled look came across his face.
‘I saw the letter.’ My blood was still hot from the battle, but I tried not to show my frustration. ‘Your seal was on it, lord.’
‘I did not write those words,’ Malet insisted. ‘That was not the message I sent.’
‘But if you didn’t write them, then who did?’ Wace asked.
So far as I could see, there was but one person who could have seen that scroll, apart from myself and Eadgyth. Indeed I remembered his anger when I let slip that I’d read it. He would not have reacted like that unless he himself had also known. Unless he himself were the one who had written those words. A shiver came over me.
‘It was ?lfwold,’ I said.