And there stood I, Tancred a Dinant: the bringer of both. The guardian of the weak and the killer of men. The shield and the scourge. The arbiter of fates. With one hand I gave life and hope, while with the other I took it away and in its place dealt slaughter and pain.
Sweat rolled off my brow, stinging my eyes, blurring my sight, and I blinked to try to clear it. Berengar let out a grunt, and only then did I realise how close my knife was to the vein in his neck: barely a hair’s breadth from his skin. He neither moved nor spoke as he allowed Serlo to gently lift the infant from his grasp, no doubt aware how close he was to spending an eternity in hell.
Pons and Turold helped the Welshwoman up. Spluttering, she received her child, cradling him in her arms, holding him tight to her chest as she caressed his tiny head.
‘Now go,’ I said to her, and to the rest of the men: ‘Make a path; let her through.’
This time they did as instructed, without question or hesitation. For a moment the girl stared at me, as if expecting some sort of trick.
‘Go,’ I said again, more forcefully this time, taking my hand off Berengar’s arm momentarily so that I could gesture down the hill, back towards Caerswys. Even then he knew better than to try anything; indeed he would have to be a brave man to do so, or else a stupid one, and he did not seem to me like either of those.
At last the girl seemed to understand what I was saying. Keeping her head down, not once looking back, she hurried as quickly as she could away from there, following the road. A group of three men were busy looting corpses not far off and they started forward when they saw her, but I shouted to them to let her alone, and thankfully they listened, instead returning to fight between themselves over a battered helmet that one of them had found.
Slowly I withdrew my knife from Berengar’s neck and replaced it in its sheath. No sooner had I done so than he wrested free of my grip, whirling about to face me, his eyes suffused with rage.
‘You bastard,’ he said, his hand flying to his sword-hilt. ‘You Devil-turd, you son of a whore!’
He stopped short of actually drawing his weapon, and I saw why, for Wace and Eudo as well as others were riding up, having seen what was happening. He must have realised that even if he managed to strike me down he would still have their lances to answer to, and judged that his life was worth more than that.
‘I ought to kill you now,’ he said, his voice low. His words were for me alone. ‘You’re lucky that you have your friends to protect you, but in future you’d better keep a watch out, for I’ll be waiting. Waiting until you make a mistake, and when you do, I’ll be there to make sure you know it.’
He spat on the ground at his feet, and with a final glare turned and marched away, waving without a word for his men and his comrades to follow him.
‘Don’t even think to cross me, Berengar,’ I yelled as he went. ‘Do you hear me?’
He did, of course, but he neither said anything nor even looked in my direction. His horse was brought to him by a retainer, he mounted up, and then he was riding away, and I was left standing there, my blood boiling, my anger barely subsiding. All around me there was silence, as the other barons waited for my next instruction: none wanted to be the first to speak for fear of incurring my wrath.
‘Gather your men,’ I said to them. ‘Let’s leave this place.’
That done, I turned and made for a stunted ash tree beneath which the Welsh brothers Maredudd and Ithel were embracing and congratulating each other on a well-won victory.
‘Was that wise?’ Wace asked as he fell into step beside me. ‘Threatening him in front of his own men, I mean.’
‘We’ll soon see, won’t we?’ I wanted to think no more about Berengar.
‘And for the sake of a single child too. You realise that after all that he’ll probably die of a fever next week. Either that or starvation; he looked that thin.’
‘He didn’t deserve death,’ I said. ‘And nor did she. Berengar wouldn’t have stopped at the baby.’ Admittedly that was a guess, though I could well imagine what might have happened. He would have made sure to draw it out, too. Only when he had finished with her would he finally have stuck his knife in her breast.
‘If you keep provoking him, it will simply turn others against you too. Soon you’ll find you have more enemies than you can even count.’
‘He’s hated me from the moment we met,’ I said. ‘What I want to know is why.’
‘And how are you going to find out?’
‘Have some of your knights, or else some of Eudo’s, talk to those who are closest to him and find out what they know.’
‘Why not your own men?’ he asked, frowning, and there was a hint of indignation in his tone.
‘They recognise Serlo, Turold and Pons,’ I said. ‘They’ve seen them in my company too often; they’ll be wary of them.’
Wace paused as if considering. ‘If you find out, what will you do then?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know.’