We were about to set off when I heard raised voices close by, and gave the signal to retreat further into the shadows between the storehouse and the pig-pens that lay behind it. We were just in time, for a column of horsemen perhaps forty in number rode into sight under two banners. The first was decorated in alternating stripes of purple and yellow, which I recognised as the colours of Northumbria, while the other depicted a white raven in flight clutching a cross in its talons. Beneath them at the head of that column, bellowing instructions, were two figures. One I did not know, although to judge by his haughty bearing, the intricate decoration upon his sword and his shield and the gold-threaded and fur-trimmed cloak that hung about his shoulders, he could be none other than the Danes’ king, Sweyn, about whom so much had been spoken. Despite his grey hair and beard, he was still known as a fierce swordsman, unyielding in battle and lacking in any Christian mercy in spite of his professed faith in our Lord.
The other man I recognised in an instant. His features were obscured in large part by his helmet with its gleaming cheek-plates and its gilded nasal-guard, but I knew it was him. A head taller than most of his men, he was possessed of a robust stature and a confident manner. Already he had the look of a seasoned fighter, even though, if one believed the stories told about him, he was then but eighteen years of age. His unkempt, straw-coloured hair trailed from beneath the rim of his helmet, falling to his shoulders. Nephew to the old king, Eadward, he was the last of the ancient English royal house. But all the noble blood had long since run dry in the veins of that vile oath-breaker and murderer. He had sworn his solemn allegiance to King Guillaume in the weeks after H?stinges and been received with honour and dignity at court, only to reveal his true aspect two winters ago when he had fled and raised an army in rebellion.
Eadgar. The one they called the ?theling: the good and noble, the throne-worthy. The one the Northumbrians dared to acclaim as their king. The one I longed to kill above all others.
This was the first time I had laid eyes upon him since that day at Eoferwic more than a year and a half ago, and I hated him even more now than I had then. I hated him for what he had done, for the injury he had inflicted upon me, for the lives he had taken. Because of him so many lay dead: not just my old lord but so many of my sword-brothers too, and Oswynn—
‘Tancred,’ Eudo hissed, grabbing my arm and shoulder, dragging me backwards with such force that I almost lost my balance. ‘Are you trying to get us all killed?’
Without realising I’d been creeping forward, until I was crouching almost in full view, unhidden by the storehouse and the shadows. Fortunately Eadgar, Sweyn and their huscarls were some thirty or more paces away, or otherwise they would surely have spotted me. My fingers were gripped tightly around my sword-hilt, and my heart was thumping so loudly it seemed a wonder that the whole town didn’t hear. Sweat ran off my brow, stinging my eyes.
‘Eadgar is there,’ I said breathlessly as I blinked and drew a sleeve across my face, trying to clear my sight. ‘His huscarls as well. I saw him—’
‘And they’ll see us too, if you’re not careful. Did you think you could fight them all by yourself?’
He was right, of course. Not for the first time, revenge would have to wait.
‘We’ll have our chance,’ Eudo said. ‘But not yet.’
I breathed deeply, trying to calm myself while we waited for the band of men to disperse before emerging from our hiding place. Pons kept his knife-edge at Runstan’s neck, ready to slit his throat if he so much as coughed, but thankfully the Englishman was not that stupid, and he stayed silent.
Eventually I could make out the sound of hooves upon the hard ground, steadily fading as they receded further and further. I glanced around the corner of the storehouse at the party of horsemen in the distance, riding towards the burning ships. I couldn’t spot Eadgar among them, and so whether he had gone with them or not was difficult to say.
‘Come on,’ I said when it seemed that the way was clear enough. The diversion provided by the burning ships would keep the enemy occupied for a while, but as soon as they realised there was no French host descending upon them from the marshes or the hills, they would return. We had not a moment to spare.
We found the gates to the monastery open and unguarded, which struck me as somewhat careless of the enemy, but rather than pause to dwell upon that fact I took it simply as a sign that luck and God’s favour were shining upon us. Of course Eadgar and Sweyn would be expecting a threat from outside, not looking to defend against an enemy within their own stronghold, and so perhaps the men who would usually have been posted there had been ordered elsewhere.
Indeed it was strangely quiet; no one demanding to know our names or what our business was. Forbidding stone walls rose up on all sides, reminding me of the place close to Dinant where I had grown up all those years ago, more like a fortress than a house of God. Outside in the streets men called to one another; boots and hooves thudded upon the dirt as they ran past. Some fifteen or so tents were pitched in the yard close to the well and the workshops that abutted the outer wall. Fires glowed, although whoever had been tending them was no longer there. Neither was there any sign of the monks, and I asked Runstan what had happened to them.