Eudo grinned at me. ‘Because we have ?lfwold with us.’
It was a weak attempt at a jest and I did not smile. I was thinking of the twelve English ships I had counted, and my heart sank as I realised that each one might carry as many as fifty Englishmen, and even if only half of those were fighting men, it meant that Eadgar would have another three hundred spears under his banner. Together with those already besieging Eoferwic it made for a considerable host, several times larger than that which Malet had left to him. Wace was right: the vicomte would need God’s help.
‘He’ll hold out in the castle even if the city falls,’ I said.
‘But for how long?’ Wace asked.
‘For as long as he needs to.’ Otherwise the whole of Northumbria, from Dunholm to Eoferwic, would lie in the hands of the English rebels.
Wace gave me a wry look but said nothing.
‘No doubt we’ll hear soon enough,’ I said. It did not warrant dwelling upon. Our task was to see Malet’s womenfolk safely to Lundene; all we could do was carry that out.
I turned away from the river, towards the oarsmen, exhausted after the chase. Some sat bent forwards, hands on their heads, heads bowed low between their legs. Others lay collapsed across their ship-chests, on their backs or on their sides, breathing deeply of the night air. One of the younger men leant over the side, spewing forth a long stream of vomit, some of which dribbled down into his beard and on to his tunic.
A dozen or so had crowded beside the man who had been killed, those behind peering over the shoulders of those in front. The shipmaster himself was there, and he murmured a few words before standing and making his way back towards the bow. It took two of the men to lift the youth’s body: one taking the legs, the other the shoulders. Together they followed the shipmaster, who lifted away some of the deck-planks, revealing the hold space where Elise and Beatrice had hidden. He motioned the two men forward and gently they lowered the body into the gap. They stood there a while, not speaking, just looking down upon him, until the shipmaster lay a sheet of spare black sailcloth over him and replaced the boards.
‘We’ll pay our dues to him properly when we reach Alchebarge,’ he said.
The others nodded and returned to the rest of their companions. Too tired even for tears, I thought, or simply numbed by the tide of emotions. Exhilarated by the victory, at having themselves evaded death, yet at the same time grief-stricken for their fallen friend. I knew such feelings well.
Aubert returned to the tiller and sat down. I went and placed a hand on his shoulder in sympathy.
‘He had only been with me since last summer,’ the shipmaster said, and swallowed. ‘Strong lad, he was. Always eager.’
I wanted to say something, but in truth there was nothing more to add. Privately I couldn’t help but think that we had been lucky to lose only one man; it could so easily have been worse.
Aubert rose, shrugging off my hand. I looked up as Lady Elise hustled her way along the length of the ship, her daughter and the chaplain close behind. The ladies’ skirts were raised above their ankles, prompting stares from more than one of the rowers as they picked their way between them. The embarrassment on Beatrice’s face was clear but she held her head high and tried to ignore them, almost tripping over one of the cross-beams in so doing. Elise paid them no attention; her face was a shade somewhere between distress and anger.
‘My lady,’ I said. ‘You look troubled.’
‘We must send word to my husband.’ Her dress was damp; a few strands of grey hair had come loose from beneath her wimple to fall across her face. ‘An English fleet sails towards Eoferwic. We must warn him.’
‘There is nothing we can do,’ I said. ‘The river is closed to us, and no message that we might send overland will reach Eoferwic before them.’
She turned to the shipmaster. ‘And what do you say?’
‘He’s right,’ Aubert replied. ‘The enemy will be rowing against the current, but if they travel through the night they’ll be there by dawn. Given horses and open country, we might get word through in time, but not on foot and across these marshes.’
‘We must do something,’ she protested.
‘There is nothing we can do,’ I repeated, my ire rising. Why could this woman not understand this? ‘I swore an oath to your husband – an oath that I would protect you and your daughter. That is what I intend to do.’
I looked for support from Aubert, who nodded in agreement. ‘We have no choice. The best we can do is to get to Alchebarge as soon as possible.’
‘And leave my husband in mortal danger?’ the lady Elise said, on the verge of tears. She clasped her daughter’s hand tightly. ‘How are we to live with such uncertainty?’