Knights of the Hawk (25 page)

‘Where are you going?’ Wace shouted back.

‘After Hereward!’

He looked at me as if I had lost my wits, and perhaps I had, although the wildness that possessed me was of a different sort to that which had seized the rest of our army. A confidence burnt inside me that I could not account for. Suddenly anything seemed possible.

‘You’re going after Hereward?’ he asked, and wiped another trickle of blood from his cheek.

‘Why not?’ I replied.

To him this no doubt sounded like a fool’s errand, but I knew otherwise. For I wasn’t only thinking of the oath I had sworn. I was also thinking that here was our chance to do something worthy of the king’s attention, something that the chroniclers would write of when, in years to come, they came to lay quill to parchment about the battle for the Isle. Whether they admitted it or not, fame was what all those who made their living by the sword craved, more than silver or gold or fine-wrought blades or horses with jewel-studded harnesses or land or power. I was no different. I longed to restore my dwindling reputation, and I saw in Wace’s eyes that he had the same hunger.

‘Why not, indeed?’ he said with a smile, and I grinned too, because I’d known he wouldn’t refuse.

‘Do you really think we can catch them, lord?’ asked Pons.

‘Maybe not,’ I said. ‘But we can try.’

No one noticed as, led by young Godric, we slipped away from the rest of King Guillaume’s host, leaving behind us the clash of steel, the shouts of triumph and of pain, as we rode in pursuit of Hereward.

And glory.

Twelve

WE RODE HARD
, following winding, flint-studded paths so narrow and treacherous that in many parts we were forced to go in single file. Reeds flashed past on both sides as we skirted stagnant pools and leapt fast-trickling rivulets, trusting in our steeds not to falter over the soft ground. In every direction a wide expanse of bog stretched to the horizon, broken occasionally by dense copses of birch and elm, above which jackdaws circled, cawing loudly as if warning those ahead of our approach. I only hoped the enemy weren’t lying in wait for us there, since we would make easy targets if they were. I watched the trees carefully as we passed, expecting at any moment to see a flurry of silver-shining arrowheads flying forth from out of those yellow-green leaves, soaring over the reeds, glinting with the promise of death.

But no arrows came. Fyrheard was flagging, his head bowing, but I coaxed him on. In some places the path had fallen away into one of the countless channels that crossed the land, and we had to dismount in order to lead the horses through the muddy waters. Every so often we would spy footprints, and by the number of them and the way the mud had been churned we could tell that a significant number of men had travelled this way. Whether those prints had been set down recently, though, none of us could say for sure. I wished then that we had Ædda with us. My stableman and the ablest tracker in all of the Welsh Marches, he was also my closest friend among the English, but he was back at Earnford. In his absence we had no choice but to follow Godric, and trust that he knew what he was doing. Every so often the path would seem to fork and he would come to a halt, his young brow furrowed while he looked for tracks upon the ground and gazed about the surrounding swamp for landmarks that showed we were on the right course.

‘Are you sure you know where you’re going?’ Wace asked when, for the fourth time that hour, Godric paused. The morning was wearing on and the sun was growing high in a cloudless sky, beating down upon our backs. There was no shade to be found anywhere; beneath my mail my arms and chest were running with sweat, and my tunic and shirt were clinging to my skin. Flies buzzed in front of my face and I tried to swat them away, but they kept returning.

Three ways presented themselves. One continued straight ahead, leading due north, while the others branched out to the east and the north-west.

‘Not all of them necessarily lead anywhere,’ Godric explained. ‘Not anywhere we want to go, at least. Some look safe, but if you aren’t careful you can find yourself cut off when the tide rises. Many men have lost their lives that way.’

‘But you know which one to take, don’t you?’ I asked.

He studied the ground closely, and squinted as he gazed out towards what looked like a ruined cottage, a spear’s throw away to our right. ‘I’ve only travelled these paths a couple of times, lord.’

‘Only a couple of times?’ Wace asked, and turned to me. ‘Why are we letting ourselves be led by this pup?’

‘I can find the way, lords,’ protested Godric. ‘I need some time to think, that’s all.’

‘Time is something we don’t have,’ I muttered peevishly. The lad didn’t seem to have heard me, and that was probably as well, because I didn’t want to hurry him into making a decision that we might come to regret.

After long moments Godric pointed down the branch heading north. ‘This way,’ he said firmly.

‘You’re certain of this?’ I asked.

‘Certain, lord.’

Wace cast a doubtful glance my way, but I could only shrug, and so we ventured on. Once in a while the path seemed to turn back on itself, or else peter out amongst the undergrowth, but we never lost it entirely, and I supposed that meant we were on the right trail. That suspicion was confirmed when, not long after, we came across what looked to be the same tracks as before, except that this time, trodden into the mud, were smears of horse dung, and freshly laid horse dung at that. We stopped and Serlo crouched down to inspect it.

‘Still moist,’ he said, rubbing some between his fingers and then sniffing them. ‘Still warm, too.’

‘If they’re mounted rather than on foot, then we’ve no chance of catching them,’ growled Tor.

‘They aren’t,’ Serlo said. He rose and vaulted back into the saddle. ‘If they had, we’d have spotted more of their dung before now.’

‘Sumpter ponies, then?’ Pons suggested, and looked to the rest of us for confirmation.

I nodded and at the same time felt fresh hope rising within me. Hereward and his band would be slowed by their pack animals, and that meant we must surely be catching them.

‘Keep going,’ I said. ‘They can’t be much further ahead.’

No sooner had I spoken than there came a distant shout from behind us. I turned sharply to see a band of horsemen, perhaps a dozen strong, approaching from the same direction as we had come, and I tensed at once, my hand tightening around the haft of my spear.

‘They’ve found us,’ Godric said. The colour had drained from his face. ‘It’s them!’

So I thought at first too, but how could they have known we were following them, and how did they end up behind us on the path? My answers came in the form of a greeting, shouted out in the French tongue, and I realised that they were friends, not foes.

Godric looked ready to flee, but I drew alongside him and seized hold of his mount’s reins. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘They’re some of ours.’

Who they were, though, I couldn’t tell at such a distance. The sun was behind them and so it was difficult to make out their features, and I had to raise a hand to my eyes to shield them from the glare.

‘Lord Tancred!’ one of them called brightly. ‘You didn’t think you were going to claim the whole reward for yourselves, did you?’

‘What?’ I shouted back.

‘The reward,’ he said. ‘For Hereward’s capture.’

The voice was familiar but only when he grew nearer, and I was able to see his ruddy jowls and small, hard eyes, did I finally realise who it was. In that moment my temper soured.

‘What are you doing here, Hamo?’ I asked.

‘The same as you. So I thought, anyway, except you all seem to be more interested in the dirt than in doing anything useful.’

I ignored that, glancing at the eleven companions he’d brought with him, most of whom I remembered from our escort duties. But I saw no one who looked like a guide.

‘How did you know the paths through the marsh?’ I asked.

‘We didn’t,’ Hamo said with a smirk that spoke of self-satisfaction but which at the same time seemed to mock me. ‘But then we hardly needed to. We could see your helmets and your spearpoints a mile off. All we had to do was follow them, and trust that you were going in the right direction. And so here we are.’ He flashed me a gap-toothed smile. ‘Together once again.’

‘Together once again,’ I muttered under my breath. Eighteen men were better than seven, for certain, although Hamo was hardly a steadfast ally, or the kind of man that I could rely on to hold his nerve in the thick of a fight. His only loyalty was to his purse, and if things began to turn against us, his first thought would be to protect his own hide.

‘Are we riding on, then?’ Hamo asked. ‘Or are we just going to wait here while Hereward and his band get ever farther away?’

‘We ride on,’ I replied. ‘But first understand this: you’ll listen to us, and do everything that either I or Wace here tell you to, without question or hesitation.’

‘I am my own man, sworn to no one,’ he said with a sneer, drawing close enough that I could see the hairs sticking out of his nostrils. ‘I can make my own choices.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘You’ll listen and do as you’re told, or else we could all end up dead. Do you hear me?’

He returned my stare but said nothing. I only hoped he heeded my words, for I wasn’t prepared to waste any more time or breath arguing with him.

‘Lead on,’ I told Godric, whose colour had returned, although he continued to regard Hamo and his friends with an apprehensive look. He didn’t seem to hear me at first, but then I repeated myself and he turned to face me. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘The longer we tarry, the less chance we have of catching them.’

He nodded and kicked on down the path, and we followed, past tangles of crooked trees and splintered branches brought down by the recent winds, past thick reed-beds and shallow streams in which wicker eel-traps lay. How many miles we’d come from Elyg, I had no idea, although it was probably not quite as many as it felt. My arse was aching; we’d left camp at first light and midday was fast approaching, and most of that time we’d spent in the saddle.

We must have ridden for another half an hour before Godric gave a stifled cry. Perhaps half a mile ahead, a flock of marsh birds took wing, some hundred and more of them rising into the sky, turning as one in a great circle, before descending and disappearing from sight behind a stand of drooping willows. Straightaway I checked Fyrheard, and held up a hand to the others as a signal to stop.

‘Something must have scared them,’ Wace murmured.

My heart was pounding as I squinted into the distance, trying to make out what that something might be, and whether at last we had found our quarry. If it was Hereward, however, he and his band were well hidden amidst the undergrowth. Yet who else had any reason to be out here?

It had to be them.

‘Stay close,’ I said. ‘From now on, not a sound.’ I glared at Hamo’s men, who as usual were laughing between themselves at some private joke, probably at my expense. ‘We move quickly and we move quietly.’

I didn’t wait for any acknowledgement but spurred Fyrheard on. The path led us to the willow thicket, which stood upon one of the many small islets that dotted the fen. Its slopes were slick with mud, but we struggled up them, ducking beneath low branches, pushing our horses as fast as we dared as the track dipped and rose, until we burst forth from the trees into the blinding brightness, and could see the way stretching out in front of us.

And there I saw them. There were, I reckoned, around three dozen of them, although it was difficult to make an exact count, since they were not all together, but rather strung out along the path, the closest of them a mere hundred paces ahead of us. And those were just the ones who looked to me like warriors, for there were also women and even a few children, scurrying along behind their mothers, not to mention those leading the packhorses, who had taken up the rear.

Hamo gave a whoop. Before I could do or say anything, he was galloping past me down the slope, almost knocking me from the saddle. Behind him thundered the rest of his men, their bows in hand.

‘Kill them,’ he yelled. ‘Kill them!’

‘Hamo!’ I shouted, but it was too late. I’d wanted if possible to surprise the enemy, but there was no chance of that now. I swore aloud.

He nocked an arrow to his bowstring, narrowed his eyes as he pulled back, took aim and then let fly, closely followed by his companions. The air whistled and the midday sun glinted off the steel heads. The first struck one of the sumpter ponies on the rump, tearing through its flesh, and it went down with a shriek, thrashing its hooves and spilling the contents of its packs. The second buried itself in a man’s back and the force of the impact sent him tumbling forward, and then came the rest, raining death upon the Englishmen and their families. Children were screaming and crying; somewhere amongst them a dog was barking, and men were shouting to one another as they realised the danger. While some grabbed the hands of their womenfolk and picked up the smallest of the children to carry them to safety, others were shoving their way to the rear, unslinging their round shields from where they rested across their backs and forming a line to obstruct our path and cover their retreat. The way was wide enough for three men at most to stand abreast and they formed the shield-wall across it.

But they could do nothing to stop the hail of steel. The air whistled as Hamo and his men let another volley fly, and another and another, and they did not seem to care whether they loosed all together or not, for they were merely intent on killing as many as possible and staining the marshes with English blood. One of the women stumbled as she ran, and fell upon the ground. A boy who might have been her son turned to try and help her up, only for an arrow to take him in the chest. The remaining ponies were whinnying, rearing up, kicking out at anyone who came too close, the whites of their eyes showing. The wounded lay on the ground, cursing, yelling out to God and the saints.

And then, striding forward through the throng of fleeing women and children, came Hereward himself. It was only the second time our paths had crossed, and on this occasion he wore a helmet that served to mask his face, but I recognised him at once. His dark hair straggled about his shoulders, and there was the same purpose, the same confidence in his bearing that I remembered. He came with a seax upon his belt and his own bow slung across his back, and with a score of mailed warriors behind him. Abbot Thurstan must have been mistaken, for he didn’t look injured at all.