James Aitcheson - The Splintered Kingdom

At the same time the last of the three dogs writhed upon the ground, giving a great howl of distress, so terrible as to rent the sky asunder, its lifeblood draining away before at last it was run through by Eudo’s hand. Having seen their leader and friends felled, the remaining three Danes preferred not to waste their lives in a hopeless cause and instead tried to flee. Burdened with shields and mail, they didn’t get far. One failed to spot a latrine pit in his path and tripped — Pons made short work of finishing him — while the other two threw down their arms, vainly pleading mercy before they were struck down by Eudo and the second of Wace’s two retainers, a broad and large-jowled Gascon whose name I had forgotten.

I glanced about to check upon the rest of our party. Wace had dropped his sword and was standing hunched over, clutching his side. Blood, dark and glistening, stuck to his fingers and his expression suggested he was in some pain, although at his feet lay the corpse of the man who must have struck him, so it couldn’t have been too grievous an injury.

‘Is it bad?’ I asked him.

‘I’ll live, if that’s what you mean,’ he replied breathlessly, a grimace upon his face. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he gestured towards his knight Harduin, who had not got up from where he lay, his face and neck crossed with savage bite marks where the dog had buried its teeth.

This was not the time to mourn him, however. Most of the others looked unhurt save for perhaps some scratches and bruises, although Serlo was limping and cursing violently while one of Eudo’s men was nursing a wound to his arm below the sleeve of his hauberk. But still there were eight of us standing.

Eight, when there should have been nine. Our guide, Runstan, had gone. Sheathing my sword and my knife, I glanced about in all directions, hoping to spot him amongst the corpses, but it was a futile hope. He was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where’s the Englishman?’ Pons called as he and Eudo returned from their slaughter.

‘I thought you were watching him,’ I said, unable to restrain my anger. ‘If he’s gone-’

‘I killed three Danes!’ Pons protested, interrupting me. ‘How was I supposed to fight them and watch him at the same time?’

I swore. Runstan would take word to his countrymen; they would bring men before long and we would never get out of Beferlic alive. If we’d had little time before, we had even less now.

One of the Danish corpses twitched. At least, I’d assumed it was a corpse. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed and his limbs splayed out on both sides, but then I glimpsed the faintest cloud of mist forming in front of his half-open mouth, and the rise and fall of his chest, so slight as to be almost unnoticeable. I stood over him.

‘On your feet,’ I said, and when he didn’t respond I stamped down hard upon his groin.

That broke his pretence. Howling and shouting curses in his own tongue, he rolled over, clutching his nether regions with both hands.

‘Get up,’ I said, and with the help of both Eudo and Pons stripped the Dane of his helmet and dragged him to his feet, so that I could look him in the eyes and spit upon his wart-ridden face. ‘Where are the hostages?’ I asked him in both French and English.

At first he pretended not to understand what I was saying, and began jabbering something in Danish, but the moment my hand went to my knife-hilt he discovered he could understand me after all, and suddenly he was pointing to the smallest of the three halls, on the opposite side of the yard from the church, where the kitchens usually were. I thanked him for his kind help before burying my knife in his gut and slitting his throat.

At the same time the Gascon called to me, brandishing a set of four iron keys attached to a ring that he’d found on the belt of the huscarls’ captain. Leaving Wace and Serlo to take charge and keep watch while they tended to their wounds, I took the keys and, signalling for Pons and Eudo to follow, went around the hall to the side facing the yard, where I found the doors lying open. Inside, the only light came from a lantern set upon a large round table beside several flagons of ale. Casks and crates were stacked everywhere; skinned carcasses of deer dangled from hooks fixed into the ceiling-beams; bunches of herbs hung, tied by their stems, upon one wall; logs and kindling had been piled in a corner. At one end of the hall was a wide hearth with a flue above it, though no fire had been lit. At the other, a staircase led downwards towards an ironbound door with a sturdy lock.

‘Bring me that lantern,’ I said to Pons as I descended the steps and tried each one of the keys in turn. The first and the second didn’t fit, and I was beginning to think we would have to break the door down when thankfully the third turned cleanly and the door swung open into darkness.

Pons handed the lantern to Eudo, who passed it down to me, and I shone it into the cellar, lighting the way ahead.

‘Lord,’ I said. ‘Are you there?’

Even as the words left my tongue, I saw him, blinking in the lantern-light, dazed as if half-asleep. He looked considerably thinner than when I’d last seen him. His eyes were heavy, his face was unshaven and his black tunic and trews were torn and frayed.

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, and he found his voice. ‘Tancred,’ he said. ‘I thought-’

‘That I was dead,’ I finished for him. ‘And I almost was.’

His hands were tied behind his back and I went to free them, picking at the knot. The rope was tight around his wrists and ankles, and I could see the marks where it had rubbed his skin raw.

‘How did you get here?’ he asked. ‘Has the king arrived with his army? Or have you come with the ransom?’

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we had come alone, and in any case explanations could wait until later. The sooner we escaped this place, the better.

Instead I said: ‘Are your father and sister here?’

‘My father’s over there,’ Robert replied, pointing to the far corner of the cellar and a stack of barrels from behind which I could just see a pair of feet. ‘Father!’

In reply there came a low, drawn-out groan. While Eudo saw to the elder Malet’s bonds I helped Robert to his feet. He could stand well enough, although it took him a moment to find his balance.

‘He’s been gripped by fever and sickness for days,’ he said. ‘They’ve kept us down here, in the damp and the dark, for I have no idea how long.’

‘What about Beatrice?’ I asked. ‘Where is she?’

Robert shook his head. ‘They took her somewhere else. I don’t know where.’

I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. I should have kept that wart-faced whoreson of a Dane alive so that he could lead me to her.

I rushed to the door, yanking the ring of keys from the lock. ‘Pons, show Robert and his father the way to the others. Find them food and drink and keep the vicomte warm, but be ready to leave as soon as I return.’

‘Where are you going?’ he shouted after me as I charged up the wooden steps.

‘To find Beatrice,’ I answered without so much as turning around.

And I prayed to God that she was safe.

There were no other doors leading off from the kitchen. Outside, adjoining the hall, were two small storehouses whose timbers were decaying, and I tried their locks. Both opened on the same key as the cellar; the first was empty while the second held only some mould-ridden sacks of vegetables and flour that provided food for the rats, which scurried away the moment the door creaked and I stepped inside. Which meant that Beatrice was probably being held in one of the other halls: either the large, two-storeyed one that I imagined would have been both the refectory and, on the up-floor, the abbot’s chambers; or the one forming the eastern wing opposite from it, which was probably the dormitory. Thinking that the Danes and Eadgar would probably have taken the latter with its large hearth-fire for their chambers, I made instead for the refectory. In truth it was a guess. I had no way of knowing whether she was here at all, and had not been taken to another part of the town entirely.