Knights of the Hawk (35 page)

I only hoped that Robert’s men didn’t get there first.

That worry continued to plague me over the following days, as we made the long journey from East Anglia to the Marches. Assuming that Robert didn’t go back on his decision to expel me from his service, then sooner or later he would come to take back possession of his lands. For the truth was that, for all that I’d come to think of Earnford as my own, I only held it as his tenant. My hall, my home, belonged by right to him. Without his lordship, I had nothing.

With that in mind we rode hard, or as hard as we could, given both the state of the roads, which were clogged with mud after the recent rains, and the poor directions offered by other travellers and field labourers whom we passed. From Gipeswic we sought out the old Roman way that led to Lundene, where the talk was of the king’s victory over the rebels at Elyg and the fleet he was said to be assembling for the expedition to Flanders. We stayed the night in an inn outside the walls, so as to avoid the murage and pavage that all travellers entering the city were now required to pay. Even so, I had to argue at length with the innkeeper before he would finally agree upon a sensible price. Probably he took us for bandits or outlaws, which I supposed was fair considering our unkempt, dirt-stained clothes, our unshaven chins and the weapons we carried, and that was why at first he demanded so much, but eventually I was able to secure us beds for the night. At least the place was in slightly better repair than the inn at Gipeswic, with solid timber walls that kept out the cold and a roof that didn’t leak, which meant that when we left the next morning we were a little more rested.

From Lundene we made west along the valley of the Temes as far as Oxeneford, after which we struck out along winding paths in the direction of the market town of Wirecestre, where we crossed the wide Saverna River and obtained directions to Leomynstre from a travelling monk who knew the country well. Day after day we woke at dawn and travelled until dusk, spending the nights in alehouses, in the guest houses of monasteries where they would take us, and, when there was no other shelter to be found, in abandoned cattle barns. And so it was that, on the tenth day after we had first set out from that draughty alehouse in Gipeswic, on the edge of the grey German Sea, we found ourselves, tired and cold and sodden and hungry, riding the familiar tracks that would bring us home, at last, to Earnford.

We rode through a land wrought in bronze and gold. The woodland paths were thick with leaves that rustled beneath our mounts’ hooves, while beneath us through the swaying boughs I could make out the river sparkling silver in the afternoon sun, showing us the way. The skies were clear, the day bright, and I hoped that was a happy portent, though of course I didn’t believe in such things.

Before long we were able to spy the turning wheel of the mill, which marked the eastern edge of my lands. Sheep grazed contentedly by the riverbanks, and a broad-shouldered man who could only be Nothmund the miller was busily hauling sacks of grain down from the back of a cart and in through the wide doors. So far there was no sign of anything amiss.

We kicked on down the slope and across the ford by the rickety wooden bridge that, with all the rebuilding elsewhere, no one had found the time to repair, towards the mill and towards Nothmund. At the sound of our hoofbeats he stopped in his tracks, letting the sack he was carrying fall to the ground as he regarded us warily, and it was only right that he did so, for it wasn’t often that mounted men came to Earnford.

‘Lord!’ he exclaimed when we grew closer and he saw who we were, and there was both relief and joy in his voice. He shouted into the mill-house, in his own tongue: ‘Gode, get out here, woman!’

His plump wife appeared at the doorway, the sleeves of her dress rolled up to her elbows, her round face creased in indignation, but her expression changed the moment that her gaze settled upon me.

‘Is it you, lord?’ she asked, as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. ‘Is it really you?’

‘It’s me, Gode,’ I said, and managed a smile, though it wasn’t nearly as broad as the grin upon Nothmund’s face.

‘It’s been too long, lord,’ he said as he reached up to clasp first my hand, then those of Serlo and Pons. He glanced in the direction of Godric and Eithne, who rode behind us, but if he was curious at all about them, he said nothing. Indeed he couldn’t stop smiling. ‘We thought you would be coming, but we didn’t know when exactly it would be.’

At once I tensed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, we didn’t know for certain, but we reckoned you must be on your way here when they said—’

‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Who said?’

‘They did, lord,’ he replied. ‘The ones who came a few days ago, asking for you. When Galfrid told them that you had been gone these past three months, they said to keep a lookout for you, and that they would return soon.’

It was as I’d feared. News had travelled before us. Robert’s messengers must have overtaken us on the road, or else taken a different route across the kingdom.

‘Did they say what they wanted?’ I asked, though I could readily guess.

‘If they did, lord, we never heard it,’ Gode put in. ‘Fierce men, they were, and unpleasant, too, lacking in all manners or Christian grace. Lord knows they put the fear into poor Galfrid.’

I could think of only one reason those men might have come looking for me, and that was to drag me back to Heia.

‘They didn’t say when they would be back?’ I asked.

Nothmund shook his head. ‘They asked Galfrid if they might stay here until you returned from campaign, but he refused and eventually they were forced to go away.’

That suggested they weren’t any of Robert’s men, for if they had been then they wouldn’t have needed even to ask. Perhaps he had sent word to the local shire-reeve or else to Roger de Montgommeri, the newly appointed Earl of Scrobbesburh, and he in turn had sent his own oathmen to pay me a visit. That would explain how they had been able to arrive before us. A lone messenger could make the journey across the kingdom far more quickly than a tired and bedraggled band of five, especially if he could change steeds and obtain provisions at friendly castles and manors along the way.

‘Who were they, lord?’ Gode asked. ‘Were they friends of yours, do you suppose?’

‘No,’ I answered. ‘Not friends.’

They might have been at one time, but now I wasn’t so sure. I gave my thanks to Nothmund and Gode and then we left them, continuing on our way past the thicket where the pigs foraged, until the village and the church and my hall upon the mound, overlooking the river-crossing, came into sight. The Welsh had completely done for this place, as they had for many estates this side of the great dyke, when they brought their great raiding-army into England around this time last year. In some places one could still make out the fire-blackened outlines where cottages and sheds had once stood. It had taken the full year to recover from that devastation, though the manor was still not as prosperous as once it had been. Even now as we approached I could see men bending withies into wattle for walls, thatching fresh roofs on recently erected cottages, sawing timbers for the new church that was being raised on the foundation stones of the old. But there were also folk working the fields, tilling the earth with oxen and plough, sowing seed, keeping watch over the flocks of sheep, carrying pails of water from the stream to the kitchens across the yard from the hall. For the first time in many months, life in Earnford seemed to be almost restored to what it had been before. Not quite, for I hadn’t forgotten how many families had lost their lives to the Welsh attack. Their loss was still keenly felt.

One of the younger lads, Brunic by name, saw us approaching along the rutted track and scurried away to fetch the steward, Galfrid, who was busy overseeing the construction of a new fish-weir a little way upstream. As soon as the lad pointed us out to him, though, he left the men to their work and strode over to meet us. He had never been a cheery sort; he was certainly not happy now.

‘I see you’re back, then,’ he said. ‘Not a day too soon, if you ask me. I thought you’d abandoned us altogether.’

‘It’s good to see you, too, Galfrid,’ I said.

‘Now that you’re here, perhaps you can explain why I’ve had strangers knocking at our gates, demanding to see you, and threatening our folk with violence if you don’t show yourself.’

It was hardly the greeting I’d been hoping for, given how long we’d been gone, although in the circumstances I wasn’t wholly surprised. Were I in Galfrid’s place, no doubt I’d be asking the same questions. He was responsible not just for managing my household, but also, in my absence, defending the manor against the marauders who from time to time came across the dyke from Wales. I’d first met him the previous year, after his lord had been killed and the manor where he had been steward put to the torch by Welsh raiders, which gave us more than one thing in common. He’d joined me on the campaign in the north that autumn, and afterwards I’d accepted his oath and installed him at Earnford, where I was in need of a man of his qualities, my old steward having absconded some months previously, taking with him a large portion of my silver and one of the finest stallions from my stables.

He was perhaps a little too fond of the sound of his own voice, but that was the worst that could be said about Galfrid. A more than competent swordsman, he was also a lot sharper of mind than at first people often took him for, and loyal besides, which was the most important thing.

‘They threatened the village folk?’ I asked him. Nothmund and Gode hadn’t mentioned that.

‘They reckoned you were hiding away in the hall, although why they thought that, I have no idea. I told them you were away with the king’s army, but they didn’t believe me. They demanded I let them in so that they could search the place, swearing they would run me through and leave my corpse for the crows if I didn’t. When I continued to refuse, though, they changed their minds, saying instead that they would be back in a few days’ time, with more men. They told me that if you didn’t willingly give yourself up then, they would set fire to the hall and all the cottages.’

‘When was this?’

‘Three days ago, lord.’

‘How many of them were there?’

‘Half a dozen,’ he replied. ‘All of them armed and ready for a fight. I had some of the village lads for support, but even so, it was something close to a miracle that they went away as readily as they did.’

Whoever these men were, they had clearly hoped that intimidation would be enough to get them what they wanted. Even if Earl Roger was the one who sent them, as I half suspected, he wouldn’t have wanted them to shed blood on lands that didn’t belong to him, especially if that blood happened to be French. That, rather than the miracle Galfrid suggested, was probably why they had baulked at the thought of carrying out their threats, and why they had, in the end, gone away. Nevertheless, I wanted to be sure.

‘Were any of Robert’s knights among them? Did they come bearing the black-and-gold banner?’

‘I think I’d have noticed if they had,’ he said. ‘Why would Robert’s men be wanting you, anyway? The last I heard, you were with him fighting the rebels in the Fens.’

‘I was,’ I said, and gave a weary sigh as I hesitated, trying to work out how I was to explain everything that had happened.

He eyed Eithne and Godric. ‘Who are they? You’re not bringing in waifs and orphans, are you? The harvest was barely large enough to fill our storehouses. We’ll struggle to keep ourselves fed through the winter as it is without another two hungry young mouths eating our bread and guzzling our ale.’

‘Peace, Galfrid,’ I assured him. ‘I’ll give you all my news in time, just as soon as we’ve stabled our horses and had something to eat. We’ve been on the road for ten days and we’re famished.’

‘Tancred!’

I turned to find Erchembald, the priest, hustling towards us, raising the hem of his robe so that it didn’t trail in the mud. He was stoutly built but not fat, with hair that was greying at the temples and a youthful face that belied his years, of which he reckoned he had nearly forty behind him. I slid down from the saddle and embraced him.

‘God be praised that you’re here at last, and unharmed too,’ he said. ‘We feared some ill fate might have befallen you, or was about to. Did Galfrid tell you—?’

‘He did,’ I said.

‘What does it all mean?’ he asked, his brow furrowed. ‘What business did those knights have with you, and what’s happened to you? You look like someone dragged you backwards through a briar patch. Where have you been?’

I felt the weight of their questioning gazes resting upon me, and realised that this could not wait. They deserved answers, and I was the only one who could give them.

I took a deep breath, and then slowly, starting from the very beginning, I told them everything.

Eighteen

I BEGAN WITH
the king’s siege of the Isle and our assault upon Elyg. At the same time we trudged up the slope towards the new hall, which had been built in the place of the one the Welsh had torched. Somehow it felt safer to talk about everything there than in the open, and besides my throat was parched and I felt as if I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a month. We had spent the last few days on the road eating nothing but hard bread and stale cheese, and my stomach had been paining me since dawn at the thought of the hot food that would greet our arrival. While stable-hands came to see to our mounts and Galfrid sent to the kitchens for ale and sausage and some of that day’s bread, I related how we had come to meet first Godric and then, after our victory over the rebels, Eithne as well, followed by the story of Guibert’s killing and our flight from Heia. Once in a while Serlo or Pons or Godric would add something that had slipped my mind, but their interruptions aside, everyone was content to listen while I spoke.

After I’d finished, silence lingered. Neither the priest nor the steward seemed to know quite what to say. They sat at the round table that stood in the middle of the chamber, while I paced up and down the length of the hall, from the door to the dais and back again. My legs were aching from our travels, but at the same time my mind was burning with a thousand thoughts, and I could not keep still. So much in Earnford seemed to have changed in the few months I’d been away, or perhaps it was I who had changed. I had become an outlaw, a stranger in my own hall. This place that for so long had been my home was now a place of danger.