Malet’s son glared at him. ‘I will do what I wish, or else I will go to your lord, the town-reeve, and inform him of your insolence. Now release him,’ he repeated with greater force. ‘I’ll deal with him myself.’
Pock-face said nothing as he stood still as stone, his face reddening. Eventually he waved an arm and his two men lifted their hands from me, before remounting their horses. I glared at each of them as I rubbed my forearm, easing the pain where they had twisted it.
‘Give him back his sword,’ Malet’s son said.
Pock-face’s eyes were seething as he tossed it down. It landed in the snow; I bent down to pick it up and watched as the five men began to ride off back up the street, in the direction of the markets at Ceap.
Pock-face was the last to leave. ‘The reeve will know of this,’ he called.
‘As well he might. And when you tell him, make sure to mention the name of Robert Malet. If he pleases, he may take the matter up with me.’
Pock-face snarled and then dug his heels in, riding back to join his men. The crowd had swelled in numbers since last I saw; several dozen had now come out of their houses to watch.
‘Go,’ Robert said to them, waving an arm at the same time to send them away. He leant down from his mount to speak to me. ‘I’ll seek an explanation for all of this in due course. For now, however, we should return to my father’s house.’ He glanced about. ‘You have brought a horse with you?’
‘No, lord,’ I replied.
‘Then, Tancred a Dinant, we shall walk.’ He swung down from his saddle, and then signalled for his manservant to do the same as he patted his mount on the neck and took up the reins.
I nodded, not knowing what more to say. For I now owed debts to two members of the Malet house, and neither, I sensed, would be easily paid.
Twenty-one
THE SUN WAS creeping above the marshlands to the east, shrugging off its veil of wispy cloud, tingeing the eastern skies yellow. Beneath it, Lundene was waking.
Already the streets were growing busier: there were women carrying wooden pails; men with firewood under their arms. A group of children shrieked as they ran after each other with clods of snow in their hands, almost colliding with two burly men carrying large sacks over their shoulders. Down on the river, some of the smaller craft were putting to sail, making their way out towards the estuary and the sea beyond.
My sword-belt was buckled on my waist once more, and I was glad to feel my scabbard by my side. Malet’s son walked alongside me, reins in hand, his manservant trailing close behind with his own horse.
‘What news do you have of my father?’ he asked as soon as we had left the crowds behind us.
‘You haven’t heard?’
‘I’ve heard nothing since we sailed from Normandy yesterday,’ he said. ‘What is it?’
I stopped by the edge of the narrow street to make way for an oxcart which was coming up the hill. ‘The news isn’t good, lord,’ I said as the beasts plodded past us, clouds of mist erupting from their nostrils. I told him everything that Wigod had said the evening before: how the rebels had broken into the city, killed three hundred men and forced the vicomte to retreat to the castle. ‘So I’ve been told, at least,’ I said. ‘The king is even now gathering an army to march north.’
Robert looked to the sky, and then closed his eyes. His lips moved but made no sound; no doubt he was saying some prayer. ‘When we left Saint-Valery yesterday morning, all we knew was that the city was still under siege,’ he said at last. ‘But my father lives?’
‘As far as I know,’ I said. ‘Your sister and mother too – they’re here in Lundene.’
‘They’re here?’ Robert asked, wide-eyed suddenly. ‘You know that for certain?’
‘I was the one your father charged with escorting them,’ I said. ‘I brought them from Eoferwic, along with your father’s chaplain, ?lfwold. They’re all at his townhouse.’
‘?lfwold too,’ he murmured. ‘I haven’t seen him in a long while.’ He took a deep breath and turned to face me, clapping a firm hand on my back. ‘That is easily the best thing I’ve heard in the last few days. I owe you my thanks, Tancred.’
‘As I owe you mine, lord.’
‘Tell me,’ he said, smiling as we began to walk once more, ‘how long have you been in my father’s service?’
I counted back in my head. ‘Eight days, lord,’ I said, and for some reason felt embarrassed to say it, for it felt far longer. But it was true: it had been the fifteenth day of the month when the vicomte had called me to his chamber at the castle, and it was now still only the twenty-third.
‘Eight days?’ he asked, with a look of disbelief.