Knights of the Hawk (33 page)

‘Leave him alone, Guibert,’ someone shouted, even as others were calling for a fight. ‘He’s had a little too much to drink, that’s all. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.’

‘Is that so?’ Guibert asked. He eyed Godric closely, but the boy was too afraid to speak, and could only stare back at the Frenchman, blinking with the vacant expression of a drunkard. ‘How much have you had?’

‘Enough to loosen his tongue.’ I spoke up as I pushed my way to the front of the crowd that was forming around them. ‘Not enough that he’d be so stupid as to start a fight with you. Now, let’s put an end to this before someone gets hurt. The Englishman’s worth nothing to you.’

He let go of Godric’s collar and turned to face me. ‘And he is to you, Breton?’

‘He’s under my protection.’

‘In that case perhaps you need to teach him some discretion. He’ll do himself no favours by spouting lies everywhere he goes.’

‘I’m not lying,’ Godric blurted, and inwardly I cursed him for not keeping his mouth shut. ‘Lord Tancred was there. He knows. Ask him!’

The lad hadn’t moved. Indeed he had nowhere to go, surrounded as he was by Guibert’s friends, whose gazes were all now on me. Everywhere but in our corner of the hall, the revelries went on.

Guibert snorted. ‘You’ll vouch for him?’

I shrugged. ‘What does it matter whether he’s telling the truth or not? Either way, he’s not worth bothering with.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘How so?’

‘Think about it this way,’ I said. ‘If he’s as harmless as you think he is, then you have nothing to fear from him and can leave him be. But if he’s telling the truth and Hereward did indeed die at his hands, maybe you should think again before you provoke him.’

I let Guibert puzzle over that for a few moments. If Godric was a little the worse for wear, the Frenchman was several wine-cups further down the road towards drunkenness. I could almost see the thoughts working their way through his head.

He paced unsteadily towards me. ‘I say he lies,’ he hissed. ‘What do you say?’

Probably the sensible thing would have been to agree with Guibert and thus settle the matter there and then. But I wasn’t thinking about what was sensible. No, I was thinking that I’d made a promise to the boy, and if I allowed him to come to harm then I would have broken that promise. What was more, the longer I looked upon Guibert’s ugly, pox-scarred face and the longer his ale-reeking breath filled my nose, the less I was inclined to back down. If anyone were to yield, it should be him, not me.

‘I say Godric speaks the truth.’

He stared at me, as if he couldn’t understand why I should lend my support to such a ridiculous tale.

‘I was there,’ I said. ‘With my own eyes I saw him strike Hereward down. So unless you want to fight me to deny it, I suggest you find a stool and sit yourself back down.’

His expression hardened. His already ruddy cheeks turned a deeper shade of scarlet. ‘Are you mocking me, Breton?’

I was fast losing patience. ‘Mocking you? Why would I mock you?’ I drew myself up to my full height and then, speaking slowly to make sure he didn’t misunderstand me, said: ‘I have no quarrel with you, Guibert, and neither does the Englishman, so why don’t you and your friends go and find someone else to bother, and leave us both to enjoy our wine in peace?’

I should have known better than to patronise him. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than Guibert was hurling himself at me, howling in rage, his yellow teeth bared. He might have been drunk but he was also strong, and I wasn’t ready for such an attack. He threw me backwards across one of the long tables, sending wooden plates and clay pitchers and candles clattering to the floor. Around us people were shouting, cursing, and Guibert was screaming in my face and showering me with his spittle as he leant over me, his hands gripping my shoulders, pinning me down.

‘Nobody mocks me,’ he barked. ‘You hear me? Nobody!’

Gritting my teeth, I swung my fist at his face and managed to connect with his cheekbone. It was hardly a solid blow, but it was enough to make him let go of me as, reeling, he took a step back. That was all the space I needed. I barrelled into his midriff, hoping to bring him to the floor, but he was more stoutly built than I, and quickly recovered his balance, throwing me off him and towards the open space in front of the hearth. The rushes were sodden with spilt wine and mud; my feet found little purchase, and I found myself sprawling forward, barely managing to keep my balance. Men cleared a space around us, cheering, clapping, jeering, chanting.

I turned in time to see Guibert draw a knife and rush towards me. By tradition it was forbidden to carry swords and other weapons into a feasting-hall, but knives were allowed since without them one would struggle to eat. He attempted a stab, but the move was ill timed and I was able to step to one side, at the same time grabbing hold of his arm and twisting sharply. He yelped in pain, dropping the knife, and I shoved him hard, sending him stumbling sideways.

‘Enough of this!’ someone yelled, and it sounded like Lord Robert, but the cry came from behind me and so I couldn’t be sure. ‘Guibert! Tancred!’

Guibert came at me again, this time snatching up a brass candlestick that had fallen on the floor. He swung it like a club at my face, screaming through clenched teeth, and I tried to duck, but the wine had slowed my movements. Searing pain blossomed inside my skull as the base struck a glancing blow across the back of my head.

For an instant there was nothing but blackness. Numbly, I felt myself stagger forward. Exactly what happened next I struggle to recall, but my feet must have gone out from under me, since when my sight returned I found myself on my knees, clinging to the edge of one of the long tables as if for support, with white stars dancing in my eyes. I blinked to make them go away, but they would not. The hall was ringing all at once with laughter and shouts of alarm.

‘Stop!’ the same man shouted, and this time I was sure it was Robert. ‘Stop this madness!’

A wordless roar came from behind. My own blade I’d left on the table where I’d been sitting, but a long carving-knife lay on the table. I seized it in clumsy, unfeeling fingers, trying to ignore the throbbing in my skull as I turned—

Shapes and colours swam before my eyes, but through the stars and the haze I saw Guibert’s eyes and the drunken hatred that lay behind them. I saw the gleaming brass of the candlestick, raised high, poised to be brought down upon my face. And I saw the opening I needed.

There was no time to consider whether what I was doing was right or wrong. It was my life or his. That was the only thought running through my mind. I lunged forward, gritting my teeth and concentrating all my strength in my weapon-hand, trusting to God that I wouldn’t miss, that the steel would strike home.

It did.

The blade found Guibert’s belly and I plunged it deep, through cloth and skin and flesh, until I felt it scrape against bone. Blood bubbled forth and a stifled cry escaped his lips, and I drove it deeper and deeper and deeper still, yelling my anger and my triumph. The candlestick slipped from his limp fingers, and he stumbled backwards. I let go of the sticky, crimson-covered handle, leaving it lodged there in his gut.

Breathless, I clutched at the back of my skull, rubbing the place where he had struck me. There was no blood but already it felt as if a lump were forming there. My legs felt weak, as if they didn’t quite belong to me, while my head seemed to be on fire. Sickness brewed in my stomach.

No longer were men cheering, clapping, jeering, or chanting. I heard the sound of my breathing, and I heard a crash as Guibert met the floor, but that was all. No one moved. No one spoke. Silence reigned for what could only have been a moment, but so vivid is my memory of that moment that it feels as though it lasted an hour.

Blinking to try to clear my sight, I gazed down at Guibert’s still form and saw his blood trickling away, staining the rushes and pooling by his side, soaking the front of his tunic. Men rushed to his side, vainly calling his name.

Only then did I realise what I had done.

All at once the warmth seemed to flee my body. My throat felt tight, as if I could hardly breathe. Bile churned in my stomach and I wanted to heave, but somehow I managed to resist the temptation and hold myself back.

And then the silence was broken, and the shrieking began. It was a woman’s shriek, shrill and piercing, and it came from the dais at the far end of the hall.

‘Murderer!’

I looked up from where Guibert lay and saw that it was Elise.

‘Murderer!’ she screamed as she pointed at me, her cheeks flushed with fury.

All eyes were upon me. I expected at any moment to be set upon and brought to the floor, but no one moved. Perhaps they all feared shedding more blood in Robert’s presence, but I think that they were simply too shocked by what they’d seen to do anything. Most were no great friends of mine, but they all knew well who I was and would have heard the tales of my deeds. They knew, too, that Robert and I were close, and that, I believe, is why they hesitated.

‘Seize him!’ Elise was screeching. ‘Seize the murderer!’

Beside Elise on the dais stood Beatrice, her face pale, one hand raised to her mouth in alarm. She met my eyes for a heartbeat, and quickly turned away, not wishing to look upon me. Her husband was calling for one of the kitchen-boys to fetch him his sword, but like everyone else they merely stood as if frozen, waiting for instructions from their lord.

My eyes met Robert’s. He stared at me with an expression that suggested he didn’t know whether to be horrified, or angry, or both.

‘If no one else will do it, I will,’ said Guillaume d’Archis, his scabbard having finally been brought to him. Drawing his blade, he began to advance down the middle of the hall, between the tables towards me.

‘No more bloodshed in my hall,’ Robert shouted from the other side of the high table. ‘Do you hear me? I order you to put your sword away!’

‘Guillaume, no!’ Beatrice said. She ran after her husband and clutched at his sword-arm, trying to slow him down, but he shook her off easily. The steel gleamed in the firelight, and I saw how keen was its edge. Weaponless as I was, I stood little chance against a man armed and roused to anger. I backed away, towards the open doors.

‘A blade,’ I yelled at the onlookers, desperately searching for a friendly face among them. ‘Someone give me a blade!’

‘Lay so much as a scratch upon him and you’ll have us to answer to,’ Wace said as he appeared on my flank, and with him, brandishing his knife drunkenly in front of him, his eyes bleary as if he were still half-asleep, was Eudo.

‘Stand back,’ Guillaume said, ‘or I will cut you both down as well.’

‘No more violence!’ Robert repeated, then turned and fixed his gaze upon me. His face was red and his hand made a fist.

‘Lord, I didn’t mean—’

‘No,’ he said, cutting me off. ‘You will listen to me. You have brought dishonour upon yourself and at the same time insulted both me and my family.’

‘He attacked me! What was I supposed to do?’ Everyone here had seen it happen, and knew that Guibert’s death was an accident. Surely Robert understood that I’d only been defending myself?

‘You have spilt blood in my hall, Tancred, and at my father’s funeral feast as well!’

‘He would have killed me otherwise!’ I shot back. ‘What would you have had me do? Tell me that, lord.’

Perhaps I would have done better to keep my mouth shut, but my anger was roused, and I couldn’t stop myself.

‘By rights you ought to be on your knees before me, begging my forgiveness,’ Robert said. His eyes were hard and unfeeling. ‘Instead you merely stand there as if you’ve done nothing wrong, as if this is all some game to you. Why is it that every time there’s some quarrel taking place, I always find you in the middle of it?’

His words struck me hard, like a blow to the gut. ‘Lord—’ I protested.

‘Leave,’ he said. ‘Leave, and don’t return. You are my man no longer. Understand? Consider your oath to me absolved.’

‘What? You can’t—’

I stopped, not knowing what to say. I could barely believe my ears. What did this have to do with my oath?

‘You’re letting him go?’ Elise screeched. ‘This is no time to show mercy, Robert. He killed a man! He cannot go unpunished. He must not!’

‘Go,’ Robert told me, ignoring his mother’s protests. I’d rarely seen him roused to anger, and certainly not like this. ‘Now, before I change my mind.’

‘Lord—’

‘Now!’

I held his gaze for an instant. Guibert must have struck me harder than I’d realised, for I was still struggling to comprehend what was happening. Feeling at the same time numb and cold and sick, I turned on my heels and, without looking back, stalked from the hall.

No one tried to stop me. The doors lay open and I strode out into the yard, into the icy, stinging rain, through the mud and the puddles. No sooner had I gone than I heard chaos erupt in my wake. Shouts were raised, and I heard Elise still shrieking, and dogs barking, but I didn’t dare glance back over my shoulder as I broke into a run.

My mind was teeming with a thousand thoughts. Foremost among them was that I needed a horse. I didn’t know how long it would be before anyone came after me, if they came at all, but I wasn’t prepared to wait and find out. Fyrheard was in the stables close by the main gates, in the outer bailey. I had just passed through the inner gatehouse and was heading down the hill towards the long thatched building when I heard a shout from behind.

‘Lord!’

Recognising the sound of Godric’s voice, I turned. ‘What?’

He came running up. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he said.

After what had just taken place, I was surprised he dared so much as show his face in my presence. Were it not for him, I wouldn’t be in this situation.

‘No, you’re not. But you can help me. Get word to the others. To Pons and Serlo and Eithne. Find them and tell them we need to leave straightaway. Tell them I’ll meet them by the crossroads on the old Roman way.’

‘But—’

‘Don’t argue with me.’ My patience was all but spent. ‘Just do it.’