‘It belongs to Lord Robert,’ I said in a small voice. It was useless to argue, even if it was the truth. But the truth was all I had to offer, and no other ideas came to mind.
‘Suppose that it did,’ the fishmonger said as he clutched tighter at my collar, ‘tell me this: where is he now to claim it?’
‘Closer than you think,’ came a voice from somewhere behind me, and a wave of relief broke over me, for it was a voice I knew well. A look of surprise came over Gerbod’s face, which quickly changed to a frown as he let go of me and faced the newcomer. A shiver came over me and I breathed deeply as the knife left my throat. I tried to turn but the lank-haired one still held me. Even when I twisted my neck to look over my shoulder, all I could see was a shadowy, indistinct figure, for the sun was in my eyes.
‘This isn’t your concern, friend,’ said the fishmonger.
The figure shouldered his way through the ring of men around me, his mail chinking. With every step the shadow resolved, until I could make out familiar features: his well-trimmed beard, of which he had always been proud; and his thick eyebrows, which lent him a stern appearance. He was then a little less than thirty in years, and while he was neither especially tall nor imposing in stature, he nonetheless had a manner and a way of speaking that always seemed to command respect, not just from those in his employ but from others too. Silver rings adorned both his hands; he was clad in a newly polished hauberk that glistened in the light, while hanging from his belt was a scabbard decorated with enamelled copper and gemstones of many hues.
‘I rather think it is my concern,’ he answered. ‘My name is Robert de Commines. The boy is one of my retainers.’
He did not meet my eyes as he said this. Instead he fixed his gaze upon Gerbod, who could only give a snort in reply, for the first time seemingly unable to think of anything to say.
‘Let him go,’ Lord Robert said. ‘The rest of you, sheathe your weapons. If any of you should so much as lay a scratch upon him, you will have my blade-edge to answer to.’
He rested a hand upon his silver-worked hilt as if in warning. The other men exchanged nervous glances with each other. They remained six against our two, and probably had a good chance of overwhelming us if it came to blows, the fact that one of us was armed with mail and sword notwithstanding. Yet running through their minds at the same time would have been the knowledge that to begin a fight in this place would not go unpunished. If they drew blood they would be hunted down and forced to pay the fine, and if they could not pay the price required by law, they would be outlawed at best and hanged at worst. None of them wished such a fate.
None of them, it seemed, except for Gerbod.
‘Why should I listen to you?’ he asked as he advanced upon Robert until there was barely an arm’s length between them. It was an impertinent question to ask one of such obvious wealth and status, but ale dulls a man’s wits even as it quickens his temper, and a great deal of it must have passed the fishmonger’s lips that day. He jabbed the finger of his left hand — the one holding the coin-pouch — towards the other man’s mailed chest, but Robert was too quick for him, and snatched hold of his wrist.
‘Touch me and it will be the last move you make,’ he warned, lowering his voice as he tightened his grip and met the large-bellied one’s stare. ‘Now, return the money and tell your friend to unhand the boy.’
What possessed the fishmonger that day, I will never know. Perhaps the sight of so much silver had blinded him, or else he was simply used to getting his way and did not much care for being challenged. I have come across many of his kind over the years, and always it has ended badly.
Without warning he stepped forward and in the same sharp movement brought his head down upon Robert’s brow, sending him staggering backwards. While my lord tried to regain his footing Gerbod came at him with his knife, but his slashes found only air.
‘Lord!’ I yelled as I struggled to free myself from the grip of the one who held me, though it seemed he lacked the same appetite for a fight as his friend the fishmonger, since he made little effort to stop me. Nor did the rest of those who had gathered, who were turning tail. They sensed that no good would come of this and wanted no part of any bloodshed.
‘Stay back,’ Robert shouted when he saw me running to his aid with naked steel in hand. He ducked beneath a wild swing aimed at his head, but couldn’t avoid Gerbod’s shoulder-charge, and was knocked to the ground. He lay on his back, blinking as he pressed at the spot on his forehead where he had been struck, whilst the fishmonger stood over him, eyes gleaming.
Roaring without words, I hurled myself at Gerbod. My blood was up and I was blinded by hatred and a wild feeling I’d never before known: a feeling that in the months and years to come would grow ever more familiar; a feeling to which men at different times have given different names and which I would come to know as the battle-rage.
Gerbod heard me coming. With surprising deftness for a man of his girth he stepped out of my path and that of my knife-edge. Smirking, he raised his curved steel to bring to bear upon me. I froze, not knowing what to do. My feet seemed to take root where I’d planted them, and in that moment my rage turned to fear; in the gleam of his weapon I glimpsed my death. I could not tear my eyes from it, could not move or think, and I was still watching it when from behind him came the sound of a sword being drawn, followed an instant later by a flash of steel as the flat of Robert’s blade connected with the back of the fishmonger’s head.
He gave a grunt and staggered towards me, and I had just enough wit remaining to thrust out my blade to defend myself. He tumbled forwards, collapsing on top of me like a block of marble fallen from the back of a stonemason’s cart, bringing us both down. The street was muddy and there was cattle and horse dung everywhere, but even so I met it hard, and my head must have hit a stone, since for a few moments everything went hazy and I did not know where I was. Someone was calling my name, but it seemed far away. A great weight pressed down on my lower half, pinning me to the ground so that I could not move, and the only thing running through my mind was the question of where my knife was, the one that Lord Robert had gifted to me, for it was no longer in my hand.
My hand, which was covered in something warm and sticky and glistening. That was when I came to properly and saw the fishmonger lying there, his arms splayed out, his head laid upon my chest, his mouth wide, his eyes open but unseeing. The stench of shit mixed with fresh-spilt blood filled my nose and I wanted to retch, but nothing would come. All around us people were shouting and pointing and running and screaming, but I could not speak or move or do anything at all. Then Robert was beside me, rolling the fishmonger’s corpse off me, and holding out his hand to help me up. His face was red from exertion and there was a panicked look in his eyes as he looked about.
Only when I was on my feet did I see the steel buried in Gerbod’s chest close to where his heart was. It took but a moment for me to recognise the blade’s hilt and see that it belonged to me, and to understand what had happened. The breath left my chest and a chill ran through me.
‘Run,’ Robert shouted, and then when I did not move, he laid a firm hand upon my shoulder. ‘Now!’
But I would not leave without my weapon. I scrambled to retrieve it, closing my eyes and trying to keep the sickness from rising in my throat as I jerked it from the wound, feeling the flesh tear and the edge scrape against bone. Without pausing to clean the blood from it, I returned it to its sheath, and then I was on my feet again, only to meet Joscelina’s gaze. I’d all but forgotten her. Desperately she screamed for help, though of course there was nothing that could be done. Her voice and her eyes were filled with anguish the likes of which I’d never before seen or heard, though I have known it many times since.