Each stared at me as if uncomprehending, then back at their comrades, before finally their senses returned and the two of them fled into one of the narrow alleyways. I heard their footsteps receding into the night, but before long they were gone.
I turned my attention back to their lord. All the man’s earlier arrogance had vanished and now he lay at the point of my sword, whimpering, still pleading for mercy.
‘Why should I spare you?’ I asked him. ‘You tried to rape the girl. You tried to kill me.’
He had no answer to that, and instead he closed his eyes, muttering a prayer to God and shivering as he waited for the strike that would end his life. I left him there to lie in the dirt and hurried to Papia’s side, carefully taking the knife from her still-shaking hand and wiping its blade on the corpse’s cloak before sheathing it. At the same time I was joined by Beatrice, who, now that the danger had passed, had come rushing from the churchyard and threw her arms around the sobbing girl, hugging her tight.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said as she smoothed down Papia’s hair. ‘I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?’
Papia shook her head, but I knew it straightaway for a lie. Even if she had not been visibly harmed, she had seen things this night that no woman should ever have to see, and certainly no girl her age. And it was my fault, since it was because of me that she was here in the first place.
I looked away, gripping my shoulder where I’d been struck. I couldn’t see the wound but I could feel it, for every time I moved my arm a fresh bolt of pain shot through it.
‘You’re bleeding,’ Beatrice said.
‘I’ll live.’ After all, it could have been much worse: had I been but a fraction slower, my opponent’s sword-edge would have found my face or my chest, and I might not be standing here. I tried to put it from my mind.
Dogs barked and I heard voices coming from inside some of the houses. It would not be long before the townsmen mustered enough courage to venture out and see what had happened, and when they did I wanted to be far away from here.
‘We can’t stay here,’ I said. ‘Those men will return, and when they do they’ll bring others with them.’
At that moment, though, there came a grunt, followed by heavy footsteps, and I turned. The lord had risen to his feet and, brandishing his sword before him, he came slowly towards me, except that he must have come down hard on his ankle when he fell or otherwise have hurt himself in the fight, for he was hobbling.
‘Get back,’ I said to the two women. ‘Behind me, now!’
They did not need telling a second time, but obeyed without question. I fixed my gaze upon the man and his twisted, scarred face, and he stared back at me, his broken teeth clenched.
‘It’s over,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to fight me. Throw down your sword and I’ll let you run.’
He halted about ten paces from me. ‘I won’t run, you bastard,’ he said, and he spat upon the ground. ‘Your whore killed one of my men. He did nothing to any of you.’
I almost laughed. It wasn’t my fault that they had failed to kill me, nor that that man had wasted his life in pursuit of slaking his lust.
‘Take my advice and go,’ I said. ‘Otherwise I will kill you too.’
He did not listen, but with a howl of rage he rushed towards me, wielding his blade in both hands, his eyes wild with madness as if he were the Devil’s own son. He was slowed by his injured leg but I didn’t risk making the same mistake as before, instead meeting him face to face. He aimed a cut towards my neck and I raised my sword to parry his, ignoring the protests from my injured shoulder, trusting in the steel not to break as I forced his blade to one side. He stumbled and, as he tried to recover, I suddenly had the opening I needed.
Before he could bring his weapon to bear again I gritted my teeth and lunged forward, thrusting my sword towards his chest. He saw it coming and desperately tried to twist out of the way. It was too late. All at once my blade-point was penetrating cloth and flesh, burying itself in his gut. My attacker screamed out in a greater agony than I could begin to imagine as I twisted the blade and wrenched it free.
Still he clutched his weapon, though he must have known that it was useless to him now. His breath came in stutters as he looked up at me despairingly, then collapsed backwards into a puddle. From down the hill came shouting and the sound of hooves, and as I glanced up I thought I could make out the flicker of lantern-light coming from around the corner, though I was not sure. Men were on their way, at any rate, and I didn’t want to have to spill any more blood this night. We could not stay here much longer.
‘Who are you?’ the man managed, his voice barely more than a croak. He was not long for this life.
I crouched down beside him. ‘My name is Tancred,’ I said. ‘And I am your death.’
He stared back at me, his eyes moist as he saw the last moments of his life slipping by and knew that he would never wield a sword, never feel a woman’s touch, never so much as eat or drink or breathe again.
‘Do it,’ he whispered. ‘Make it quick.’
I nodded, lifting my sword in both hands so that I held it like a dagger over his chest, then in one clean blow drove it between his ribs, thrusting it deeper until it found his heart. One final gasp escaped his lips, and then his eyes closed and his head rolled to one side. I wrested my blade free, rising without another glance at him, leaving him there as I bolted back in the direction of the church, to Beatrice and Papia. Those shouts were louder now, closer than before, and if we delayed any further then all this would have been for nothing.
‘This way,’ I said, sheathing my sword at last, gesturing towards one of the side streets that led back towards the river. ‘Quickly!’
Beatrice did not move. She was staring at the bodies which now lay strewn across the way, and I thought she was about to vomit, but I grabbed her hand, tugging her away from there, and then at last she seemed to wake from her thoughts.
‘Come on,’ I told her. ‘Now!’
She did not need telling again, and as I broke into a run, so did she, with Papia not far behind us: the three of us darting through the narrow alleyways, past inns and pig-sheds and crumbling hovels, slipping into the shadows.
Eight
Twice I glanced behind to see if we were being pursued. I saw no one, but nonetheless we kept running until I saw the river ahead, glittering faintly under the light of the stars. By then the cries of panic and the sound of hooves had faded almost to nothing. Now there was only the sound of rats scurrying along the wharfside and on to the boats moored there, the calls of a moorhen disturbed from its sleep, and our own breathing.
We ducked into a narrow alley which ran behind a large storehouse, where we could not be easily spotted from the river. Shipmasters usually left some of their crew behind to guard whatever cargo was left on board, or even defend the boat itself against those who might try to steal it, and I decided it was better that they did not see us.
Even now I could scarcely believe that I was still alive, that we had all three of us managed to escape unharmed. Unharmed, that was, except for the cut to my shoulder. Now that the rush of battle was gone, it had begun to throb: like tiny arrows of fire shooting through my flesh. A trickle of blood ran down my arm and I clutched at it, at the same time glancing out into the street, looking back the way we came. The belfry of St Ealhmund’s church stood on top of the hill, rising above the houses, with faint lantern-light flickering across its stonework, and when I stilled my breathing and listened carefully I could make out voices. Mercifully, though, there was no sign of anyone following us.
Relief came over me and I closed my eyes as I leant back against the wall of the storehouse, letting the night’s cool air fill my chest, doing my best to ignore the pain. The stink of putrid fish, offal and ox dung filled my nose.