‘He has taken leave of his senses,’ Wace said one afternoon while we were patrolling along the riverbank immediately to the south of the city. ‘If he destroys everything of worth in this land, why have we come all this way to fight for it?’
I shot him a glance, though he knew as well as I how dangerous such words were. But apart from myself there was no one close by who might hear, and even if they did, such sentiments were already commonplace, to the extent that on the fringes of the camp men were beginning to voice them openly.
‘He wants to face the?theling and King Sweyn in open battle,’ I said. ‘Nothing else will satisfy him. He hopes that by laying everything waste he might enrage Eadgar and his supporters enough to lure them out.’
By then it was known that they had retreated to their ships amidst the streams and the marshlands of that nook of land by the Humbre known as Heldernesse, though no one could say exactly where they were quartering. Even if they could, the king was not prepared to lead his host into such difficult country. Far better to wait until they broke out, when we might face them on ground that was more advantageous to us. That was the only part of the king’s strategy in which I could find any merit.
We followed the river downstream as it wound its way through that flat land, searching for we knew not what. Still, it was better than staying with the rest of the army, where we could only sit on our arses and wait for instructions to arrive from the king, and in the meantime entertain ourselves as bitter scuffles broke out between rival lords and their knights. They had come to fight the enemy, and since they could not do that, they fought amongst themselves instead.
As the light began to fade, we headed back. The city and the encampment outside its broken walls had just come into sight when Wace stifled a cry.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
About a quarter of a mile off, on a slight rise to the south of the city and the camp, stood a small clump of trees to which Wace directed my gaze. ‘There,’ he said. ‘One of the enemy’s scouts, do you think?’
From the branches rose a flock of some dozen or so pigeons, and amidst the trunks and the gently falling orange-gold leaves I caught the faintest trace of movement. The sun was low in the sky and though I thought I could make out the shadowy shapes of a horse and its rider, I was not sure.
‘He’s adventurous, I’ll grant him that,’ said Wace. There was precious little cover, and he was so close to our camp that I imagined he must be able to smell the bubbling cooking-pots.
‘How long do you think he’s been there?’
‘All day, maybe. He could have arrived under cover of darkness. He’s probably waiting for night to fall before leaving again.’
It didn’t seem that he had spotted us, or if he had he clearly did not consider us a threat, for otherwise he would surely not have risked venturing so close. All the same it made sense not to attract attention if we could avoid it, and so, pretending we hadn’t seen him, we turned around and rode back along the banks of the Use as if we were patrolling according to a determined pattern. But as soon as that clump was out of sight we left the riverbank, circling around until we had found what we reckoned was the path that he would follow away from there.
There we hid, and waited. Night fell, the stars emerged and still we waited, growing ever more impatient. I was beginning to think this had been a waste of time, that our quarry had somehow slipped away without our noticing, when about an hour past dark I heard the sound of galloping not far away and saw a single horseman, his black cloak flying behind him, riding hard in our direction.
At either side of the path were low bushes, and Wace and I lay low behind them, keeping as still as possible, having already tethered our horses some way off where they would not be easily spotted. Slowly I drew my blade from its scabbard. I did not dare raise my head in case the rider should see us, but as the sound of hooves grew louder I could imagine him approaching ever closer, oblivious, until he was almost on top of us-
‘Now!’ I shouted to Wace. I burst out from the cover of the brambles and swung my sword into the path of the oncoming horse. The rider had no time to swerve or halt; my blade struck the animal high on the foreleg, slicing through sinew and finding bone and bringing it crashing with a shriek to the ground. Its eyes were white as, unable to stand, it writhed upon the dirt, screaming in pain, blood bubbling from the open wound. At the same time Wace dragged the rider from the saddle, drew the man’s knife from its sheath and flung it far into the long grass where he could not reach it. The man gave a shout and tried to struggle, but Wace was much stronger than he, and soon had him pinned with his face against the ground.
‘Shut up,’ Wace barked at the man, who was whimpering what sounded like a prayer, or else a plea: he spoke too quietly and too quickly for me to make out the words.
I crouched down low so that he could see my face and the moonlight glinting upon my sword-edge. His eyes widened and he fell quiet. At a guess I would have said he was around eighteen in years, like Turold, and of a similar stature too.
‘Do you speak French?’ I asked him, at the same time trying to work out whether he was one of the?theling’s men or one of King Sweyn’s. The Northumbrians wore their hair long in much the same fashion as the Danes; indeed there was much blood shared between the two peoples, and it was often difficult to tell them apart.
When he did not respond I tried in English: ‘Whom do you serve?’
‘Eadgar,’ he said, trembling slightly. ‘King Eadgar is my lord.’
At that I recoiled slightly. I knew he had proclaimed himself ruler of this land, but that was the first time I’d actually heard one of his followers refer to him as king.
‘What do they call you?’ I asked.
‘R-Runstan,’ he said. ‘Runstan, son of Penda.’
‘My name is Tancred a Dinant. Does that mean anything to you?’
At that Runstan fell quiet.
‘You’ve heard of me, then,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘They say. .’ he began, and then mumbled something that I could not make out.
‘Speak louder,’ I told him, and brought my blade closer to his throat. ‘What do they say?’
He swallowed. ‘They say King Eadgar is offering a reward to any man who captures you and brings you to him. You were the one who wounded him upon the cheek and gave him his scar.’
So he knew the tales that had been told about me, and that was a good thing, for he knew then that it would not be wise to cross me.
‘Tell me where your lord is now,’ I said. ‘And tell me truthfully, or else I will open your belly, string you up by your guts from the nearest tree and leave you there until you choke to death.’
He faltered, but fortunately he was not the sort of man who was prepared to die for his oath. ‘King Eadgar is at Beferlic,’ he said at last.
Beferlic. I had heard of that town in passing before, and knew it lay to the east of here, on the edges of Heldernesse.
‘And Sweyn?’
‘King Sweyn is with him, together with his two sons, his brother Osbjorn and all his jarls.’
It took a while to get all the answers I needed, but eventually Runstan explained to me how they had fortified the old monastery that stood there and were now waiting for King Guillaume to come to fight them by the swamps. Clearly the Danes hoped that the opportunity to destroy in one encounter all the leading men of their realm would be too tempting for us to ignore.