The first one I had brought down was clutching at his injured leg, shouting out in agony. Standing over him, I briefly met his eyes and saw the fear within them, before driving the point of my blade down upon his neck and through his throat, at once silencing his screams.
All was still again, save for the indignant calling of a pair of moorhens that had been disturbed from their sleep by the commotion. I waited, trying not to breathe too heavily as I listened for any sound from the men on watch upon the town walls, hoping that the shouts of the boat guards had gone unheard. Thankfully there was nothing. In any case they would shortly have more important things to worry about, for as the fires within the ships began to spread, I spied the first glimmers of light emanating from within their hulls.
This was the moment upon which everything depended. I rubbed a palm across my brow; it came away dry and free of sweat. Yet I knew this was only the start, and that much more blood would need to be shed before this night was through.
Twenty-eight
As intended, it wasn’t long before the fruits of Eudo and Wace’s labours were spotted and the alarm was raised. Of course the five ships by themselves weren’t important, but the Danes were known to be as fond of their boats as we Normans were of our destriers, and for this plan to work I was counting on what they would do next.
I wasn’t disappointed. We had all gathered by then, all nine Frenchmen and one Englishman, and we watched while the enemy raced in their dozens and their scores out across the mud towards the stricken vessels, trying desperately to douse the writhing, twisting, towering columns of flame, and when they realised that all their efforts were in vain, to retrieve what they could before it was too late. War-horns blasted; from the towers of some of the churches bells pealed out in a great discordant clangour. Soon there were spearmen rushing to defend the ramparts, no doubt thinking that the firing of the boats signified the beginning of an attack. Their helmets and the tips of their weapons gleamed in the reflected light of the blaze, and while they were all transfixed by the light of the fire or else watching the fields and the hills to the west, we crept towards Beferlic, with the mist concealing us.
By the time we reached the storehouses and fishermen’s hovels that faced out across the marshes, the flames had engulfed each ship so completely that all one could see of the timber framework within was a black skeleton. The air was filled with panicked shouts and calls to arms and dogs’ barking, the whole town rousing from their dreams into confusion. Jarls and thegns barked orders to their hearth-troops, trying to form orderly bands under their pennons and their banners, to little avail. Men wielding torches and spears and seaxes, swords and knives and long-handled axes, some only half-dressed and others wearing mail or leather or hides, emerged from the houses where they were quartering, running in all directions, and in the disorder we managed to slip largely unnoticed from shadow to shadow between the buildings, making in the direction of the minster and the halls surrounding it. Of course, with so many people rushing about it was difficult to stay entirely hidden, and once or twice I thought we would be seen as suspicious by those who were passing, but no one stopped us or questioned what we were doing there. Men will see what they want to see, and at that moment their minds were elsewhere. They were looking for a Norman army numbering in the hundreds or the thousands, and so no one thought anything of a group of just ten men, most of whom were dressed and armed for battle in a similar fashion to them. Like me, the rest had foregone their mail and their tall kite-shaped shields in favour of leather and small, round bucklers that were both lighter and less cumbersome.
In truth we could have been anyone. Most likely the Danes assumed we were some of Eadgar’s men while the English probably took us for hirelings of King Sweyn, or else some of the Flemish or Frisian adventurers and freebooters that had joined his fleet. It almost made me smile to think of it. Almost, but not quite. I was only too aware of how much danger we were in, and how slender were our hopes of escape should we be caught now.
‘Which way?’ I asked Runstan once the burning ships and the throngs were far enough behind us. Keeping our hands close to our sword-hilts, we hid behind a long storehouse that stank of fish. From here I could see up each one of the main tracks that led across the town: to the monastery ahead, and to the great halls that stood upon the higher ground on the western side. I saw, too, where several houses had been torn down for their timber, so that it could be used in the building of the rampart and palisade.
‘I don’t know, lord,’ the Englishman replied.
I stared at him. ‘You don’t know?’
We had brought him all this way because of his familiarity with the town, and I had been relying on him to show us to the place where Robert and the other hostages were being held.
‘Not exactly,’ he said hurriedly, clearly realising that if we had no further use for him then he was no longer worth keeping alive. ‘The kings made the monastery their stronghold. That’s where your friends will be, although I cannot say in which building.’
A monastery was a large place, and I didn’t want to have to spend this entire night searching it when our foes lay at every turn and a single false step spelt death. Still, that small piece of knowledge was better than nothing at all. So long, that was, as it proved true.
‘You had better be sure of this,’ I said to the Englishman. ‘If I find you’re lying to us, I will see to it that your death is a painful one.’
He nodded, understanding, but did not change his story. I only hoped he was not leading us into a trap.
We were about to set off when I heard raised voices close by, and gave the signal to retreat further into the shadows between the storehouse and the pig-pens that lay behind it. We were just in time, for a column of horsemen perhaps forty in number rode into sight under two banners. The first was decorated in alternating stripes of purple and yellow, which I recognised as the colours of Northumbria, while the other depicted a white raven in flight clutching a cross in its talons. Beneath them at the head of that column, bellowing instructions, were two figures. One I did not know, although to judge by his haughty bearing, the intricate decoration upon his sword and his shield and the gold-threaded and fur-trimmed cloak that hung about his shoulders, he could be none other than the Danes’ king, Sweyn, about whom so much had been spoken. Despite his grey hair and beard, he was still known as a fierce swordsman, unyielding in battle and lacking in any Christian mercy in spite of his professed faith in our Lord.
The other man I recognised in an instant. His features were obscured in large part by his helmet with its gleaming cheek-plates and its gilded nasal-guard, but I knew it was him. A head taller than most of his men, he was possessed of a robust stature and a confident manner. Already he had the look of a seasoned fighter, even though, if one believed the stories told about him, he was then but eighteen years of age. His unkempt, straw-coloured hair trailed from beneath the rim of his helmet, falling to his shoulders. Nephew to the old king, Eadward, he was the last of the ancient English royal house. But all the noble blood had long since run dry in the veins of that vile oath-breaker and murderer. He had sworn his solemn allegiance to King Guillaume in the weeks after H?stinges and been received with honour and dignity at court, only to reveal his true aspect two winters ago when he had fled and raised an army in rebellion.