‘Before then I was sworn to the Earl of Northumbria, Robert de Commines,’ I explained, holding his gaze. My throat was dry. ‘That was until Dunholm.’
He nodded gravely for a moment, his brow furrowed. ‘Eight days ago I was minding affairs back at home in Graville. Even then the Northumbrian rebels seemed but a distant threat. Yet now I return here to find that my father’s very life is in danger. You see, Tancred, how quickly both our lives have been changed by recent events. There is much that we have in common.’
My fingers tightened into a ball. How could he compare his troubles to my own grief? At least Malet was still alive. But I remembered how I had been just as insensitive towards Beatrice and Elise back on board the ship, and so held my tongue.
We trudged on down the street. Snow slid in drifts off the roofs to either side, exposing the thatch beneath. Men and women approached us, trying to sell us bundles of firewood, or shrivelled carrots that were almost as pale as the snow, but I waved them all away.
‘It’s good to be in Lundene at last,’ Malet’s son said. ‘It has been a long journey. The moment I heard that Eoferwic was under siege, I began making the preparations to sail. We left Graville that same afternoon. That was three full days ago; bad weather prevented us sailing any sooner.’ He shook his head. ‘And all that time we could only wait, praying to God to preserve my father.’
It was not as long a journey as ours from Eoferwic had been, but I did not say it. If anything he should have been thankful that he hadn’t been delayed more than he was; February was not the best time of the year to make the crossing. I had often heard it said that the Narrow Sea was changeable: that what looked at sunrise like calm water could by midday turn into a maelstrom. And they were lucky, too, if they had missed the snow that had fallen here, since it would have been impossible to sail through such conditions.
We soon arrived back at the house. The same servant who had guarded the door on our arrival was there again now; he and Robert’s retainer led their mounts around to the stables at the back.
Inside, the rest of the knights had risen and were seated around the hearth as they broke their fast on cheese and bread. The chaplain sat at the table, sipping quietly from a cup as he squinted at a sheet of parchment. He looked up as we entered, almost dropping the cup in surprise as he saw Malet’s son. He threw out his arms as he got to his feet, and they greeted each other like old friends, speaking in both English and French, until Wigod came in and ?lfwold hurried to find the two ladies.
I sat down beside Wace and Eudo, taking off my gloves and warming my fingers by the flames.
Wace poured me some beer into a cup. ‘Who is this?’ he asked, nodding his head towards the newcomer.
‘The vicomte’s son,’ I said. ‘Robert Malet.’
‘I didn’t realise Malet even had a son,’ Eudo said.
‘Nor did I,’ I replied, and glanced up at Robert, who was speaking with the steward.
‘It’s certainly good to be back in this house,’ he said, gesturing animatedly at everything around him: at the hearth-fire, the wall-hangings, the ceiling. ‘The last time I was here was for King Guillaume’s coronation.’
‘I’ll admit I didn’t think it had been that long,’ Wigod said. ‘Two years is quite some time—’
He broke off at the sound of quick footsteps on the stairs. Beatrice came rushing down, dressed in a dark green gown, her skirts raised just above her ankles. She caught sight of her brother and straightaway burst into delighted laughter, running across and flinging her arms around him. Her mother was not far behind and soon joined in the embrace.
I turned away. I was not much used to families, and the sight of them all together was more than I wanted to see. Mauger, Ernost, Ivo, Fulcher, Gérard: they had been my brothers, in life as well as in arms; the closest to a family I had ever known.
You live by the sword, Aubert had told me, back when we were on the ship, just after we had fled Eoferwic. Until now I hadn’t realised how truly he spoke.
Beatrice released Robert and stepped back, smoothing down her skirts. The gown she wore was cut for her figure, embroidered with yellow thread on the bodice and down each of the sleeves, and I could not help but notice the swell of her breasts beneath it.
‘When did you arrive?’ she asked her brother, wiping a tear from her eye.
‘We put in at Stybbanhythe at high tide, not an hour before dawn. I rode straight here with my manservant. He’s seeing to our horses.’
‘What about the rest of your men?’ Wigod asked. ‘Did you bring any over from Normandy?’
‘A full twenty of my household knights, their horses following in a second ship. They were all I could muster in the time I had before we left. I came as soon as I heard—’
‘And your brother?’ Elise asked, cutting him off. ‘Where is he?’