But then why had these ones said they’d been sent by Rhiwallon himself? A mere dozen men was too small a band to cause much disturbance, and if they met with any resistance then all they could do was flee. Unless their purpose was simply to make trouble, to harass our lands this side of the dyke and instil fear amongst their enemies. In which case they had failed. Instead, by killing them, we had sent a warning back to their lord.
‘They’re growing bolder,’ Serlo said, and even though he was turned away from me, I pictured the scowl that would be on his face. ‘There’s something brewing, something big. Isn’t there, lord?’
I hesitated. Apart from the raids, the last year had in truth been fairly settled. While there were often tales of disturbances in one corner of the country or another, for the most part they were local matters, and easily put down. There had been no news of the northern rebels, who were lurking somewhere in the hills and the woods of Northumbria. Nor had anything been heard of Eadgar?theling, the man I had sworn to kill, who last year had murdered my former lord in the ambush at Dunholm. He was out there with them, though no one knew where, and while many suspected he would make another attempt to take the crown that he believed was his, there had been no sign of it yet; no word of his men marching or of his ships sailing.
Many months lay between now and winter, though: plenty of time in which to mount a campaign, and I didn’t doubt that the?theling was busy plotting something. And so a part of me couldn’t help but share Serlo’s suspicions. My sword-arm itched at the very thought. It had been too long since I’d had the chance to test it in battle, and by that I meant a proper fight, not the small raids and skirmishes we were always fighting in this border land. I yearned for the clash of steel upon steel, the blood rushing through my veins, the delight of the charge, the pounding of hooves, the weight of the lance in my hand ready to strike, the cries as we drove into the enemy’s lines. The bloodlust. The battle-joy.
‘Lord?’ Serlo said again.
But I had no answer for him. Instead I passed him the flask I’d been drinking from. ‘Here. Try some of this. I need a piss.’
I ventured down the hill, towards the willows by the stream, though not so far that I lost sight of the tents upon the rise. My right leg had gone numb from the way I had been sitting and I tried to stretch it out, limping slightly as I went.
I reached the stream and was just about to unlace my braies when, carrying on the faint breeze, I heard what sounded like sobbing. Frowning, I ducked beneath the branches and the drooping leaves, fending them away from my face as I made my way towards the noise. I did not have to go far. Barely ten paces away from me, kneeling down by the stream with her head in her hands, was Hild.
How had she managed to slip away without either Serlo or I noticing? Probably while we were speaking, I thought, and silently I castigated myself for not being more careful. If I couldn’t keep close watch over our own camp, how easy would it be for the enemy to take us by surprise?
She saw me standing there, and straightaway scrambled to her feet, brushing dirt from her skirts, speaking quickly in words I didn’t understand. She was a thin girl, short of stature; not yet married, for her hair was uncovered and unbound, and not unattractive either, despite the graze to her cheek where she had been struck.
‘It’s all right,’ I said, raising my hands and opening my palms to show that I meant her no harm. She was probably only about sixteen or seventeen summers old, though I was never much good at guessing ages. I tried to remember whose daughter she was, but I could not.
She did not move, as if her feet had taken root where she stood. I felt I ought to say something more. In the past year I’d learnt to speak some English, but at that moment few words came to mind.
‘It’s all right,’ I said again, though I was not prepared for what was to come, as she spluttered into tears and threw her arms around me. I was too surprised to do anything but stand there as she clutched at me, her face buried in my cloak.
‘Lyfing,’ she said, between sobs. ‘Lyfing.’
I felt a stab of regret. There was no way we could have carried his body with us so many miles back to Earnford, and we’d had no time to dig a proper grave either, and so we’d had little choice but to leave him for the crows and the wolves to feed upon.
And yet I knew what it meant to lose someone so close. The same night that my lord had died at the Northumbrians’ hands, I’d also lost Oswynn. I had not even had the chance to say farewell, nor to tell her how much she had truly meant to me, and now that chance was gone for ever. She still came to me in my dreams from time to time: her black hair unbound and unkempt, falling loose to her breasts; her embrace as tender as I remembered. But what I missed above all else was not her dark beauty but her strength of will, her lack of fear even in the face of the proudest of my fellow knights. The world may be governed by men, but it is women who govern our hearts, and I had never known another woman like Oswynn. Even though our time together had been short, and many things had changed for me since then, one thing remained the same, for still I missed her.
It was then that I remembered the comb with the initial ‘H’ carved into it that?dda had found on the path, which I still carried in my coin-pouch. Gently I prised first Hild’s hands, then the rest of her away from me and drew out the small piece of antler.
‘This is yours, I think.’
Her eyes, heavy from so many tears, opened wide. She took it from me, clasping it in both hands close to her chest, before pressing it to her lips. I wondered whether it was Lyfing who had given her that comb, and, if so, how hard he must have worked and how long he must have saved his few silver pennies to be able to afford it, to help win her affections. Though it had all come to nothing. Perhaps he would be waiting for her at the end of days, just as I hoped Oswynn was waiting for me.
She murmured something: a thanks, perhaps, or else a prayer. In the distance a wolf howled, and its call was answered by a second and then a third. A pack returning from the hunt, I thought, just like us.
‘Come,’ I said. ‘It’s not safe here.’
She was looking towards the stream, gazing into the broken waters tumbling over the stones. I didn’t know if she had even heard me, but I placed a hand on her shoulder and she met my eyes.
‘We’ve got a long day’s travel ahead of us,’ I said. ‘You should get some rest.’
Unspeaking, she nodded. After a final, forlorn glance at me, she bowed her head and was gone.
It was growing late when we arrived back the next day. Now that our numbers had swollen, we travelled more slowly than I would have liked, but at last around sunset the summit of Read Dun — the Red Hill, as it was known to the people who lived at its foot — came into sight. Its forbidding and thickly wooded slopes marked the western bounds of my land, and I knew we did not have far to travel. Before long we had emerged from its shadow, and in front of us lay fields thick with green wheat, with the silver ribbon of the river winding its way between them. Cottages and hovels nestled by its banks, with spires of smoke rising from the thatch. Beyond them on the higher ground stood stables and granaries, the slaughtering shed and the hen coop and the still-empty house that formed the steward’s lodgings, with the great hall at their centre, all of it enclosed by a simple ditch and timber stockade.
Earnford. The manor given to me by my new lord, Robert Malet. The place that I called home, strange though it seems when I look back upon those times now. Of course I couldn’t have known then what lay ahead, what path fate and God had chosen for me, so perhaps it was not so strange at the time. Besides, by that summer — my twenty-seventh, and the one thousand and seventieth since our Lord’s Incarnation — I’d already held the manor for the better part of a year. Indeed it was fifteen months since King Guillaume had been victorious at Eoferwic: since we had routed the English rebels under their leader, the pretender Eadgar, and driven them from the city back to their halls in the north. Back then I had been but a knight in my lord’s service, oath-sworn and hungry for battle, for redemption and vengeance and the chance to prove myself. Now I was a lord in my own right, with lands and a hall and a gatehouse, with loyal knights to lead under my banner.