This, then, was the man who was responsible for what had happened at Dunholm. For the deaths of Lord Robert and Oswynn and all my comrades. My heart was pounding and beneath my helmet I felt sweat forming on my brow. How easy would it be, I wondered, to pull my blade from its scabbard, to take Eadgar by surprise and cut him down where he stood?
Yet even as the thought came to me, I knew I could never manage it without his huscarls reaching me first. Fighting peasants was one thing, but these were experienced warriors, and four men to my one. And vengeance was worth nothing if it cost me my life. I breathed deeply as I fixed my gaze upon the ?theling.
‘Guillaume Malet,’ he said as he approached. ‘We meet once again.’ His voice was gruff, though he spoke French well enough – not that that was any surprise, given the time he had spent at the king’s court.
‘I didn’t think it would be so soon,’ Malet answered. ‘I’d hoped that when you skulked away last year it would be the last we saw of your wretched hide.’
But Eadgar seemed not to hear as he nodded towards the contingent of knights Malet had brought with him. ‘A formidable host indeed,’ he said, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Then his dark eyes settled upon ?lfwold and he frowned. ‘What’s an Englishman doing keeping company with these sons of whores? You should be with us.’
The priest blinked as if startled. ‘He – he is my lord,’ he managed to say, shrinking back under the stare of the ?theling, who was at least a head and a half taller than him.
‘Your lord? He is a Frenchman.’
‘I have served him faithfully for many years—’
Eadgar spat upon the ground. ‘No longer will I bend my knee before any foreigner. This is our kingdom, and I won’t rest until we have taken it back. Until we have driven every last Frenchman from these shores.’
‘England belongs to King Guillaume,’ Malet spoke up. ‘You know full well that the crown is his by right, bequeathed to him by his predecessor, your uncle King Eadward, and won with the blessing of the Pope. You swore to serve him loyally—’
‘And what would you know of loyalty?’ Eadgar interrupted him. ‘As I remember you used to be a close friend of Harold Godwineson. What happened to that friendship?’
I glanced at Malet, wondering if I had heard properly. What did Eadgar mean by calling him a friend of the usurper? The vicomte’s cheeks reddened, though whether from anger or embarrassment I could not tell.
Eadgar was smirking now, clearly enjoying his opponent’s unease. ‘Is it true that the scourge of the north, the great Guillaume Malet, has a soft heart? That he feels remorse for Harold’s death?’
‘Hold your tongue, ?theling, or else I will cut it out,’ said Gilbert. He rested his hand upon the pommel of his sword.
Eadgar ignored him as he advanced towards Malet. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘did you feel the same sadness at the deaths of your own kinsmen? Did you shed a tear when you heard about Dunholm, when you heard how Robert de Commines burnt?’
At the mention of Robert I felt my blood rising, pounding in my ears, until all of a sudden the battle-rage was upon me and I could hold myself back no longer.
‘You murdered him,’ I said, striding forward. ‘You murdered him, just as you murdered Oswynn and all the others.’
‘Tancred,’ Malet said warningly, but the blood was running hot in my veins and I was not listening.
The smile faded from the ?theling’s face as he turned. ‘And who are you?’
‘My name is Tancred a Dinant,’ I said, drawing myself up to my full height as I came eye to eye with him, ‘once knight of Robert de Commines, the rightful Earl of Northumbria.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw his huscarls’ hands reach towards their sword-hilts, but I was not about to back down. Eadgar held up a hand to stop them as he stepped towards me. He was within arm’s reach now, close enough that I could see his yellow teeth, his wide nostrils; close enough that his stench, foul like fresh horse-shit, filled my nose.
‘Robert was a coward,’ Eadgar said. ‘He didn’t deserve to live.’
‘I ought to slit your throat right now for what you did.’ I jabbed a finger towards his breast.
He wrenched it away. ‘Touch me again,’ he growled, and I felt the heat of his breath upon my face, ‘and it will be your throat that’s slit, not mine.’
It was the wrong thing for him to say, for in my anger I took his words as a challenge. Before I could think better of it I raised my hands and, with all the strength I could muster, shoved him back. He staggered under the weight of his mail, struggling to keep his footing, until he came crashing down, landing on his backside in the mud.
‘You bastard,’ Eadgar said as he got to his feet, and I saw the hatred in his dark eyes. Straightaway he drew his blade, and I drew mine. His four huscarls, shields raised and spears outstretched, rushed to protect him.
I let out a laugh. ‘Are you so afraid of one man that you hide behind four of your own?’ I asked, shouting so that the rest of his retinue could hear me. ‘You’re the coward, not Lord Robert!’