He had failed to capture me once before, but at that moment he must have thought that God’s fortune shone upon him, for he had his chance again.
‘Run!’ I said, gripping Beatrice’s hand and urging her and the others onwards. Eudo and Wace took up the cry, passing it on to those in front: ‘Run!’
We raced through the yards behind the houses, ducking past goose houses and butts filled with rainwater, climbing over low fences, until we found ourselves in the middle of a grassy paddock. But it was no use. Half of our party were weakened or hurt, and they could not move as fast as the rest of us, and besides there was nowhere to go. For as well as those behind us there were spearmen running to block our route ahead and also coming around the sides of the houses, as the order to stop us was passed on to some of the other thegns.
And I knew it was hopeless. We could not hope to fight our way through so many, not when we had Beatrice and her father to defend too. After everything, we found ourselves trapped and outnumbered and staring death in the face. To surrender would be to invite a slow and painful demise at the hands of the enemy. Which left us with but one option.
‘Shield-ring!’ I shouted in desperation, feeling a shiver run the length of my body as I did so.
It was a command that every knight feared, for it was an admission of defeat, the final recourse when all else had failed, when there was no retreat and the end was near. We formed a close circle, each of us overlapping the rim of his buckler with that of the man to his left until we made a continuous wall of limewood and steel, presenting the painted leather faces and the bosses and the points of our blades to our foes, inviting them to come and die. At our backs, inside the ring, stood Malet and Beatrice. I gave a fleeting look over my shoulder and met her eyes: her wide, terrified eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, cursing myself for having brought this upon her and her family. But if she said anything in reply I did not hear her above the cries of the enemy, perhaps fifty or sixty of them in all by then, roaring instructions to one another in English and Danish, spreading out so as to entirely encircle us. Five or six spear-lengths separated our wall and theirs, separated us from death. Serlo stood on my left with Pons the other side of him. There were few men I would rather have had beside me in such circumstances. On my right, meanwhile, was Robert, carrying the tall kite shield with the raven and the cross that he had taken from one of the huscarls, and wearing a grim expression.
‘I never meant for it to come to this, lord,’ I said.
‘I know.’ He did not look at me but stared directly ahead at the forest of spears and axes upon which our blood would shortly be spilt. ‘You have served me well, Tancred, and for everything you have done I thank you. May we send many of them to their graves tonight. May the eternal kingdom greet us both.’
‘Yes, lord.’
There was nothing else to be said. I made the sign of the cross upon my breast as, breathing deeply, I glanced about at the gathering hordes and prepared myself for battle for what was undoubtedly the last time, tightening my hold around my shield-straps and the hilt of my weapon, suddenly aware of all the small things: the leather grip pressing into my palm; the blood drying on my fingers; the drizzle falling gently upon my cheeks; the way the light from the still-burning ships in the distance glimmered off my blade and those of the enemy. My only consolation was that at least this way it would be quick.
‘Keep to the shield-ring,’ Serlo barked to those on the other side of the circle. ‘Don’t let them draw you out; don’t let them break the wall!’
‘Let’s kill the bastards,’ Eudo said. He began to beat his blade against the iron rim of his shield, and then one by one the rest of us joined him, raising the battle-thunder in spite of our small numbers: a warning to the enemy that we would not die easily.
‘Kill them!’ yelled Pons, and he was joined by Serlo and then by me, our bloods rising until we were all chanting as one: ‘Kill them! kill them!’
And then through the ranks of the English and Danes came Eadric, the Wild One himself, marching with the same arrogant bearing that I remembered. Over his mail he wore an embroidered cloak with a golden clasp. He motioned for quiet among his men.
‘Tancred a Dinant,’ he called, his voice almost lost amidst the roar of our chants. ‘Once more our paths meet, only this time you won’t be getting away.’
I did not offer an answer, but held his stare.
‘Are you the one to blame for all this trouble?’ He gestured towards the east where the fires still burnt. ‘To have come here you must be more foolish than I’d realised. Do you know what indignities I’ve suffered because of you?’