I rode with Robert at the head of the column, with our conroi strung out in pairs, threes and fours some distance behind us. Down in the valleys we had kept formation in case of ambush, but after an hour or so we found ourselves in open country, with wheatfields on one flank and open pastures on the other. If anyone were to try to attack us here, it would be easy to see them coming.
Behind me Serlo laughed: a throaty guffaw that I knew well. He and the others seemed to be enjoying the company of Robert’s men: a good thing, for these could well be the same men who before too long would be riding beside them in the charge.
‘Fitz Osbern will be glad to have your services again,’ Robert said.
It took me a moment to realise that he was speaking to me. He had not said a word since we had left Earnford, though the manor was several miles behind us now.
‘Fitz Osbern, lord?’
‘Of course.’ Grinning, he clapped a hand upon my shoulder. ‘You are the man, after all, who captured the gates at Eoferwic and opened the city to King Guillaume’s army. You’re the one who made that victory possible.’
Byrhtwald had said much the same thing. Nonetheless I found it hard to believe that my deeds, such as they were, were spoken of so highly.
‘Is that what Fitz Osbern thinks?’ I asked, casting Robert a sardonic look.
‘Probably not,’ he replied. ‘But it’s what many men have been saying. Your reputation grows, Tancred.’
At that I couldn’t help but laugh. Many knights dream of plunder, of silver and gold and sword-hilts inlaid with precious stones, but most of all they want reputation and fame – for when we die and our souls flee this world, that is the only thing that remains of us on earth. We aspire for songs to be written about us: songs of the battles we have fought, of the men we’ve slain and the things we have achieved; songs that will be sung around campfires and in the halls and palaces of Christendom for years to come; songs that will live on through the ages, like that of the knight Rollant and his ill-fated stand at Rencesvals.
I was no different. But at the same time I knew full well that on the field of battle a man’s reputation counted for nothing; the only thing that mattered was the strength of his sword-arm. I supposed if tales of my efforts won me respect from those who before had offered me none, then it could only be a good thing, but that was as much as I was prepared to admit.
‘I’m sure Beatrice will be glad to see you, too,’ said Robert. ‘It must be some while since you last saw her.’
At the mention of his sister I turned in surprise. ‘Beatrice?’
I had not thought about her in longer than I cared to remember. Last year I had been charged by their father with her protection, and had escorted her to the safety of Lundene. It was there that we had shared a kiss: the first touch of a woman that I had known since Oswynn’s death. If truth be told, she was part of the reason I had sworn my oath to Robert rather than take my sword elsewhere, as I clung to the foolish hope of somehow seeing her again.
Since the end of the rebellion last year, however, she had returned to Normandy, and I had been in Earnford, and slowly, almost without my realising it, the memory had faded from my mind. I had found Leofrun, and in so doing had forgotten about Beatrice. Forgotten, that was, until now.
Of course Robert knew none of this. No one did, except his sister and myself, and I trusted that she would not have mentioned our tryst to anyone.
‘She’s travelling with Fitz Osbern’s conroi,’ Robert said. ‘They were due to leave yesterday morning. She’s probably waiting for us in Scrobbesburh even now. I meant to tell you sooner, but with everything that happened there wasn’t the time. Why did you think I was the one who brought you the summons, rather than one of Fitz Osbern’s messengers? She’s the reason I’m here in the Marches.’
I’d assumed he had been visiting relations or some of his vassals who lived in these parts: private business, at any rate, which it was not my place to know.
‘What do you mean, lord?’
‘She’s to be married again, or so we hope.’
At those words I felt a pang in my heart of something unexpected, that I could neither account for nor quite describe. Not love or jealousy, but something else that had no name.
‘Married?’ I asked. ‘To whom?’
Robert was looking straight ahead and so did not seem to notice my disquiet, for which I thanked God.
‘To Fitz Osbern’s son,’ he said. ‘I accompanied Beatrice to Hereford so that I could propose the union in person, to strengthen the bond between our two houses.’
Fitz Osbern had several sons, not that I could at that time recall their faces, even though I must have crossed paths with them. Nevertheless, I could see that such a marriage would make for a powerful alliance. Just as Fitz Osbern held sway over much of the south and west of the kingdom, so the Malets were one of the most powerful noble families in the north and the east.