‘I’ll join them straightaway and see what it is he wishes,’ Robert said.
‘Let me take you to him.’ Beatrice gave a flick of her hand, and suddenly I noticed two maidservants waiting behind her at the entrance to the pavilion. One was plump and in her middle years, while the other was younger, probably not more than thirteen or fourteen summers old, with brown hair that fell loosely past her shoulders, and it was she who hastened away.
‘Has there been any further word about the Welsh?’ I asked Beatrice.
‘Nothing yet,’ she said. ‘At least, not as far as I’ve heard. But then people rarely think to tell me much about what’s happening.’
‘Fitz Osbern will know,’ said Robert. ‘I’ll find out from him, and when I do, I’ll make sure to tell you.’
The girl returned with a dappled grey mare. Without a word to her, Beatrice took the reins and climbed up into the saddle.
‘It has been good to see you, Tancred,’ she said. ‘I trust it won’t be so long before we meet again.’
‘I trust not, my lady,’ I said.
She smiled once more, warmly but without the affection that I had grown used to. It was as if we had barely met, as if she had forgotten everything that had passed between us, or else buried those memories so deep that they could no longer be raised up. It shouldn’t have mattered to me, and yet for some reason it did.
Beside her, Robert had also mounted up. ‘I’ll be back before long,’ he told me. ‘Keep a pot of stew and a jug of ale waiting for me.’
With that, brother and sister rode away. I watched them as they made their way from the camp towards the castle on the hill, and I was left standing there alone, numb with a strange sense of hurt and disappointment.
Ansculf was marshalling Robert’s men, sending some to take care of the horses while directing others to fill wineskins from the river. Some of Robert’s servants had travelled ahead with Beatrice and Fitz Osbern, and had set up camp in a good location, in the lee of a clump of birches not far from the water’s edge.
I signalled to Serlo and the others, who were pacing about, stretching their legs. Together we followed Robert’s men to their fire, where already a pot of water was boiling. The smell of carrots and fish filled my nose, but I did not feel hungry.
‘Start putting those tents up,’ I said to my knights as I unhitched my saddlebags from our horses, and then to the twins Snocca and Cnebba: ‘Fetch some more wood for the fire.’
We would need it, I reckoned: the wind was rising, changing direction, and the skies were clear. Even though the day had been warm, the night ahead would be a cold one.
Shaking my head to clear it, I got to work.
We retired almost as soon as it was dark. Robert came back from the castle shortly after that, though all I heard was his voice as he bade good night to the few of his men who were still drinking and playing dice in the dying light of the flames. I did not try to get up. By then I was bone-tired and barely able to keep my eyes open. Whatever news he had, it could wait until the morning, I decided, and that was the last thought to cross my mind before at last I fell asleep.
When next I stirred it was still night. Morning was some way off, for the birds had not yet begun to sing. All was silent, and at first I could not work out what had roused me. I strained my ears but could make nothing out, and I was about to roll over and try to get back to sleep, but then I heard movement: the muffled sound of feet upon grass.
Staying as still as I could, hardly breathing, I listened. There was someone just outside the tent, close by the fire, I reckoned, though it was hard to tell. They circled about, moving slowly, softly, as if trying not to be heard. It was unlikely to be any of my men or Robert’s, but who else would be lurking around our camp at this time of night?
Whilst on the march we usually slept two men to a tent, except that as a lord and a leader of men I always made sure I had one to myself. Whereas many barons were accustomed to taking whores and camp-followers to their tents, I had not shared mine with anyone since Oswynn. In those days my only bed-companions were my sword, which lay on the blanket at my side, and my knife, which rested beneath the rolled-up cloak I used for a pillow. Slowly, so as not to alarm whoever was out there, I reached for the latter, sliding the blade silently from its sheath. If it came to a fight at close quarters, a short blade was better than a long one.