Oswynn.
It couldn’t be, and yet it was. Somehow I had to be imagining this, but for all that I blinked to dispel the image, it would not vanish. My head felt light, my breath caught in my chest, and I felt a chill come over my entire body from my head down to my feet.
She hadn’t yet noticed me. Beside her a greying but powerfully built man vaulted into the saddle of a white stallion. Broad-chested, his straggling hair was tied in a braid, while around his arms were rings like mine, made from rods of gold twisted around one another. Upon his shield and those of his hearth-troops was emblazoned a black dragon with eyes of fire and an axe in its claws.
‘Oswynn,’ I called. ‘Oswynn!’
I untied my chin-strap, letting my helmet fall to the ground so that she could see my face. Over and over and over I shouted her name, my throat raw and my voice hoarse, drowned out by the battle-cries and the clash of steel that was all around, and I was beginning to lose hope, when at last she saw me.
Her dark eyes widened as recognition flickered across her face. Open-mouthed, she stared at me, and I at her, as much in joy as in shock that she still lived. For what seemed like an eternity we held each other’s gaze, though it could only have lasted a few fleeting moments, since before she had a chance to say anything in reply, the man on the white stallion had grabbed hold of her reins and they were riding away through the alleyways towards the smouldering remains of the ships and the safety of the marshes beyond them. Before I lost sight of her she glanced once more over her shoulder. Her lips moved, and even though her voice was lost amidst the din, there was no mistaking what she was calling.
Tancred.
And then she was gone. Men ran past on all sides; the last of the enemy fled or met their deaths at the touch of Norman steel. Chants of victory rose to the heavens. Beferlic belonged to us.
Drained of all strength, I sank to my knees and closed my eyes, breathing deeply, listening to the heavy beat of my own heart. The bitter easterly wind cut through my corselet and tunic as the rain began to fall harder, lashing my cheeks, biting into the flesh and wounding deep.
I felt a hand upon my shoulder and opened my eyes to find Eudo standing next to me.
‘I saw her,’ I said simply. Even as the words issued from my lips I could barely believe them. ‘I saw Oswynn.’
‘It wasn’t her,’ Eudo replied, and he spoke softly, which after the noise of battle was strange to hear. ‘It couldn’t have been. She’s dead and has been for more than a year.’
So I had thought too. Wasn’t that what I’d been told at Dunholm? And yet my own eyes had shown me that was not true. All this time I had thought her murdered, when in fact she lived.
‘It was her,’ I said through clenched teeth.
‘Tancred—’
‘I know what I saw.’ I tore my arm away from him and rose to my feet. My patience was worn thin, and the words came out more harshly than I meant. I was tired, my limbs were aching, and I was in no mood to argue.
My woman was alive. And yet she was the captive of another man, and no matter how much I tried, I could not rid the image of him from my mind.
Thirty
BEFERLIC BURNT AND we fled.
Those of the enemy who had remained with their ships further up the river Hul were now on their way, sailing downstream and marching across the open country to the aid of their leaders. The last thing we wanted was to end up trapped between the fields and the marshes in a half-destroyed town, whose very walls were aflame and collapsing around us, and so the order was given to retreat. We made for the abandoned barn where ?dda was waiting with our horses, then rode harder than we had ever ridden before to catch up with the rest of the Norman raiding-army as it made its withdrawal across the wolds.
We’d left the town not a moment too soon. Even as we in the rearguard climbed into the hills and slipped away into the night, I looked back and glimpsed the first band of battle-fresh foemen, their spears as yet unbloodied, arriving upon the smouldering remains of what had once been the camp to find their kinsmen slain in their dozens and their hundreds.
Sweyn and the ?theling had managed to disappear into the marshlands. Berengar and his conroi had pursued them for a while, but had struggled to follow them through the maze of paths across that treacherous ground, and had been forced to give up. Which meant Eadgar was still out there somewhere. I couldn’t help but feel that if it had been myself chasing him down, he would not have got away. The moment that thought crossed my mind, I censured myself for it, and for my lack of gratitude. I’d never thought it would happen, but Berengar had come to my aid.
‘Why?’ I asked when our paths crossed some hours later. ‘You risked your life for the sake of me, my friends and our lord.’