James Aitcheson - Sworn Sword

Spears thrust up at me from my right and I leant back in the saddle, away from them, even as a forest of steel pressed in from my left; I could not see an end to the enemy. I clung to Rollo’s neck, keeping my shield by his flank, taking each blow that came. The dark shadows of the houses rose tall to either side.

‘Go,’ Wace said, alongside my exposed flank. ‘Faster; ride harder!’ His sword flashed and the enemy fell before us, and I was riding onwards, onwards, onwards.

And then we were past them and on the main street once again, except that the way to the stronghold was blocked and the enemy were streaming through the alleys with fire and steel in their hands, hacking down those few who remained. There were corpses everywhere and the earth was stained crimson. Above us, behind the palisade which crowned the promontory, the mead-hall was burning; great flames writhed up towards the clouds above, twisting around each other, quickly breaking out across the whole of the thatch as the wind gusted down from the north.

‘We need to find Lord Robert,’ I breathed, wiping my hand across my face, as if that might somehow dispel everything I saw before me. A fresh surge of pain coursed through my leg, but I bit it back. ‘We need to find Eudo.’

‘Not now,’ Wace said, and he tore the reins from my grasp, tugging Rollo away, towards the river and the bridge. For the enemy had spotted us and they were running towards us, sensing more blood. I sat frozen in the saddle, my whole body numb as I stared at them, scarce believing what was happening. I had no sword, the rim of my shield had split, my mount was almost spent, and I knew that all was lost.

‘Ride,’ Wace said, already spurring his horse on down the slope towards the bridge.

I looked back at the town, at the hordes of Englishmen who were giving chase, at the few Normans in the distance, still fighting desperately on. I heard the cries that came from the fastness, the scrape of steel upon mail, the roars of victory from the enemy, and the battle-thunder, which was louder than ever. A plume of smoke blew in front of me, blocking my sight, and then at last I turned, following Wace as he raced down towards the river. Hooves sounded hollow against stone as we passed across the bridge, over the cold black waters.

‘On,’ I told Rollo.

The cries still filled my ears but I did not look back, watching only where my mount placed his tired feet as we climbed up amongst the trees. Rain began to spit upon us once more, and as the drops grew heavier, slowly the noises from the town started to fade.

‘On,’ I whispered, to none but myself. The water ran off my nasal-guard, seeping inside my mail and my tunic, and the darkness closed in around us as we rode deeper into the woods, into the night.

We did not stop until dawn. The woods were dense, the hills steep and the paths treacherous, but we pressed on nonetheless. The more miles we could put between ourselves and the enemy, the better. I didn’t know whether they might send riders out to chase down those who had fled, but I had no wish to find out.

The whole sky was covered in cloud; no stars or moon could be seen. Still the rain fell, the drops bouncing off my helmet. Underneath I was soaked through, my tunic, shirt and braies all clinging to my skin as water mingled with sweat. My calf felt as though it were aflame, while each gust of wind was like a lance through my back. My cloak offered no protection, hanging damp and heavy around me, stained with the blood of my foes and some that might have been my own; I could not tell, and in truth I did not care. None of it mattered, for the battle had been lost, and Oswynn was dead.

If only I hadn’t left her. I should have stayed, or else taken her with us, for then she would have been safe. As I had ridden away to join the others I had not even looked back. But then I couldn’t have known that by leaving her there, I would be leaving her to her death.

I couldn’t have known, I kept telling myself, repeating the words over and over in my head. I couldn’t have known.

I felt tears welling up inside but tried to hold them back. I should have left her in the south. Instead, by bringing her to this godforsaken place, I had failed her, just as I had failed Fulcher and Gerard. I had known those two for so many years; together we had fought through so much, away from the field of battle as well as on it.

I closed my eyes. Gerard, Fulcher, Oswynn: all of them now dead. And I was the one who, through my foolishness, had killed them.

I swallowed, wiping a hand across my eyes, brushing away the moisture that I could feel forming. I wondered what had happened to Eudo and Mauger, Ivo and Hedo and all the rest of my conroi, and prayed that they too had managed to get away: that they and Lord Robert were all safe.

Beneath me Rollo was tiring: each step seemed slower, each breath more laboured than the one before. I knew how he felt. My own eyes were growing heavy, and my limbs were tiring, but I knew we had to keep going. Several times I heard a war-horn in the distance, its blast long and deep as it cut through the night, though whether it was theirs or ours, I could not tell. All I could do was keep riding, urging Rollo on, digging my heels in every time he slowed.

Ahead, Wace picked his way through the trees. In the darkness the deer-tracks were difficult to follow, forking and then forking again, often seeming to double back upon themselves. We had left the better-trodden paths behind us, which meant that if the enemy were in pursuit, there was less chance of them overtaking us. But I was not sure whether we were even riding in the right direction; the woods looked the same no matter which way I turned. All we knew was that the wind had been blowing from the north earlier, and so we kept it at our backs as much as we could, striking out south, in the direction of Eoferwic.

For if there were any others who had managed to get out of Dunholm, that was where we would find them. The city of Eoferwic, captured from the English the previous summer and since entrusted to Guillaume Malet, one of the most powerful lords in Normandy, and held in high esteem by the king. But it was at least three days’ ride away, and probably more if we kept off the main tracks, since the country was not known to us. The old Roman way, if we could find it, would be dangerous, though certainly quicker. That was the route we had taken on our march here, an army of nearly two thousand men under Lord Robert. I wondered what remained of that army now.

Shortly we came upon a clearing where a great oak had once stood, though now it was fallen: a victim of the recent winds, perhaps. At one end its splintered branches splayed out across the ground. At the other, its roots, clogged with dirt, hung over the rough pit where they had been ripped from the earth.

From somewhere in the distance came a shout and I froze, bringing Rollo to a halt. I turned, feeling myself tense, reaching for my sword-hilt, until I realised it wasn’t there. The voice had come from off to our right, but amidst the trees I could see nothing. I looked to Wace, but he did not appear to have heard, for he was riding on ahead.

‘Wace,’ I said, keeping my voice low.

He brought his horse to a stop. There was an impatient look in his eyes, but then again Wace rarely had much patience for anyone. His jaw was clenched, his ventail unhooked and hanging from the side of his coif.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘I heard someone,’ I said, gesturing in the direction that the shout had come from.

His face turned stern as he looked out through the trees. Around us the rain carried on falling. Otherwise all was quiet.

‘You’re mistaken,’ he said, and spurred his mount onwards again.