‘When you do come back, you will have a newborn son to hold in your arms.’
‘I look forward to it,’ I said, smiling gently as I placed a hand upon her belly. Of course whether it was a boy or girl only God could know. She was hoping for the latter, whereas I wanted a son whom I could one day teach swordcraft and horsemanship and the pleasures of the hunt.
‘I wish I could ride with you,’ Leofrun said.
‘No, you don’t,’ I said, and laughed gently. ‘If you’d ever seen a marching-camp you would know that it’s not a safe place for a woman. Spirits run high, tempers flare and men will not hesitate in killing to get what they want, to slake their desires. If you came with me, I wouldn’t be able to sleep since I would forever be fighting off all the others lusting after you. You wouldn’t enjoy it.’
She blushed at that and, in spite of her tears, even managed a smile. ‘I wouldn’t be afraid,’ she said. ‘I would bear it if it meant I could stay with you.’
Even had she been fit enough to ride with us, I wouldn’t have wanted her to come. Only too well did I remember what had happened the last time I’d taken my woman with me on campaign, and I was determined not to let the same thing happen again. I would not risk losing Leofrun as I had lost Oswynn.
‘But I would be afraid,’ I said. ‘Trust me when I say that it’s safer for you here.’
She knew I was right, though she wouldn’t admit it. She bowed her head; tears spilt down her cheeks and again I held her to me, stroking to one side a strand of hair that had fallen before her eyes, feeling her warmth, breathing in the scent of her, drinking in everything I could of this moment so that I would not forget it in the weeks to come.
I didn’t want that embrace ever to end, but the others were waiting for me, and so eventually I had to break off. There was time for one final kiss before Snocca brought me Nihtfeax and I mounted up.
‘I’ll be praying for your safety every morning and every night,’ Leofrun said.
‘And I for you.’
Robert rode towards us. In each hand he held a lance to which had been nailed a banner. One displayed his colours of black and gold, while the other was embroidered with the familiar black hawk on white field, which he handed to me.
‘You have everything you need?’ he asked, glancing first at me, then at Leofrun. He looked anxious to leave, and I suppose he was right to be, since Scrobbesburh lay a full day’s ride from here, and that at a good pace. The days were long but we still had to make best use of them.
I leant down from the saddle, clasping Leofrun’s hand. ‘I shall return. I promise.’
‘I know that you will,’ she said.
She followed us as far as the gates. Outside the palisade, on the slopes that led up to the hall, some of the villagers had risen and were waiting. A few bowed their heads as we approached; others stared back at me with plaintive eyes, unspeaking; others still could not fight back the tears. Children clung to their fathers’ trews or to their mothers’ skirts, confused and frightened at the sight of so large a conroi. We rode past them, crossing the ford, turning to follow the winding river eastwards. The wind was at our backs, the sun rising over the hills, casting its warmth upon the new day, but it did little to cheer me, for inside I felt numb and cold. On the opposite bank rose the mound, ringed by the tall wooden stakes of the palisade, with the hall standing proudly atop it, though from below all I could see was the gable and the thatch. Too soon we were past it, past the woods where the pigs were often taken to forage, past the meadows where the cattle grazed, past the mill with its slowly turning wheel, which marked the edge of my manor. Earnford was behind us.
A sick feeling rose in my stomach and my gut, but I did not pause or even slow. And not once did I look back.
We struck out north, following the rutted and uneven track towards the town of Stratune, which lay on the road to Scrobbesburh. The sun rose above the trees lining the eastern hills, and as it did so the mist lifted from the valleys and the day’s heat grew. There was no breeze to speak of, nor any cloud to offer shelter from the sun; before long my brow was running with sweat and I had to remove my helmet and coif. Most Norman men had their hair cut in the French style, short on top and shaved at the back, but in the last year I’d found it easier to let mine grow. It fell in ragged fashion almost to my nape, just past my ears: not as long as many Englishmen wore it, but then I had no wish to be confused for one of them. Now, though, it was matted to my head, and when I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck it came away slick with moisture.