Eudo was the one to break the silence. ‘Still,’ he said, sighing, ‘after all that, here we are. Soon to ride together once more.’
‘Is Wace with you?’
‘He was, at least until yesterday. Fitz Osbern sent him ahead to Cestre to bear the summons to Earl Hugues there.’
‘He must be worried if he’s looking for help from the Wolf,’ I said.
‘The Wolf?’
‘Hugues Lupus,’ I explained. ‘That’s how he’s known, here on the March at least. It’s Latin.’
It was fitting, too. Hugues d’Avranches, the Earl of Ceastre, was known for his wild nature and his fierce temper, as well as for the brutality with which he dealt with anyone who crossed him: all in all a man to be feared and respected, though it was said he was only twenty in years. As with most bynames, he had first been called the Wolf in jest, but after learning of it he had grown to like it, so much so that he soon adopted the animal as his symbol, much to the anger of Fitz Osbern, whose own banner bore the same device. The two had been at odds ever since, and I took the fact that Fitz Osbern was now calling upon Hugues for aid as a clear sign of how serious he considered the threat posed by the Welsh.
‘Did you hear what happened last night?’ Eudo asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘What?’
‘Two men were murdered in the town. They were out whoring with three others of their company when they were set upon in the streets. Cut down in cold blood, they were.’
I froze. To hear the tale from someone else’s lips was strange to say the least.
‘The word is it was the doing of one man alone,’ Pons put in. ‘Or that’s what I’ve heard anyway.’
‘One against five?’ asked Turold.
‘That’s what those who survived say,’ Pons replied as he stuffed more bread into his mouth. ‘They claim their attacker was lying in wait for them; that he came on them like a shadow out of the night, slew their comrades before they could even draw their swords.’
Serlo snorted in disdain. ‘You’d choose to believe the words of cowards? They clearly abandoned their friends to save their own skin. It’s exactly the kind of yarn you would expect them to spin.’
‘It sounds unlikely, doesn’t it?’ Eudo agreed. ‘Probably they’d been drinking and managed to get into a brawl, and were just unlucky to be on the wrong side.’
My throat was dry. I realised I hadn’t yet said anything, and forced myself to speak. ‘Did they see their attacker’s face?’
‘They say not,’ Pons replied. ‘It all happened too quickly, their heads and bellies were filled with ale, and it was dark besides.’
‘Another reason to think they’re lying,’ Serlo muttered. ‘Probably they got into some fight between themselves over a girl, and ended up killing each other.’
‘There could be a hundred different explanations,’ said Turold. ‘Maybe there was money involved, or else the killings were part of some feud that none of them wish to speak about.’
At least it seemed I didn’t have to worry about those men recognising me. That thought had been plaguing me in the hours since. Not that I recalled particularly what they looked like either, apart from the one named Gisulf, with the large ears, so it wasn’t as if I could even take much care to prevent our paths crossing.
‘Whatever happened and whatever the reason behind it, Fitz Osbern is furious,’ Eudo said. ‘He’s ordered all the bawdy houses closed to stop something like this happening again.’
‘Who knows?’ Pons said, with a mischievous look in his eyes. ‘There could be a rogue killer lurking in our midst, waiting to strike again even as we speak. It might be anyone. Maybe he’s sitting with us right now.’ He glanced about mock warily, before his gaze eventually settled on Serlo, who was sitting next to him, and he grinned. ‘Maybe his name is Serlo.’
The big man scowled back at him. ‘I know who I’d stick my knife in first, if he doesn’t shut his mouth soon.’ He lifted an end of cheese from his shield and threw it at Pons, who raised a hand to defend himself, in vain as it turned out, for it hit him on the cheek.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I don’t want your mouldy food.’ He retrieved the end and hurled it back, striking Serlo in the eye before he could turn away.
‘What was that for?’ the other man said, rubbing the spot where the cheese had hit him.
‘Because you’re a humourless goat-turd who doesn’t know a joke when it hits him in the face, that’s what.’
Straightaway Serlo flung himself at Pons, sending their shields with their knives and bread and lumps of cheese clattering to the ground. Grabbing hold of the other’s shoulder, he tried to wrestle him to the ground, but Pons was too quick for him, twisting free so that even though Serlo’s hand was still on his collar, it was he who was on top and pinning the big man.
‘Do you give up yet?’ Pons asked as he pressed down on Serlo’s neck.
‘Hardly.’ Serlo gritted his teeth and rose, using all his great strength to throw Pons off him. Each holding the other’s tunic, they rolled through a puddle towards a clump of blackberry bushes. The rest of the men scrambled out of the way, cheering one or the other on, calling to their friends nearby to come and watch, and suddenly there were twenty, thirty men pushing forward, trying to get a better view of the tussle.
‘Should we do something?’ Eudo asked.
‘Let them be,’ I said as first Serlo and then Pons found themselves amongst the brambles, much to the laughter of all those who had gathered. Between the curses I heard the ripping of cloth, but still neither of them would give in.
As long as I had known him Pons had been the most restless of all my knights, and when there was no fighting to be done he often liked to provoke his sword-brothers. In particular he seemed to enjoy baiting Serlo, who, far from being the dour soul that others often took him for, had something of a playful streak to his character, and was usually all too eager for a fight if one came looking for him.
A boy of no more than thirteen pushed past me, trying to edge his way towards a better view. There were now so many men in front of me that even though I could hear Serlo and Pons I could no longer see them. Still, I had watched them brawl before, and I was fairly certain this wouldn’t be the last time either.
‘Anyway,’ Eudo went on, ‘I didn’t come here to spread rumours. There are enough of them as it is, if not about the Welsh or the?theling, then about the Danes.’
‘The Danes?’ I echoed. That was new information to me, though of course Eudo, with his hall by the wind-battered coast on the other side of the kingdom, would have better sources than I. Not only that, but he would have an interest in knowing what was happening across the sea, since his lands were among those most vulnerable should any ship-band ever come raiding.
‘We don’t know much for certain,’ Eudo said. ‘Still, the merchants who frequent those ports have been telling us that the order has gone out from King Sweyn for his fleet to assemble once again, and that he means to sail this autumn.’
After his plans to invade last year had come to nothing, I had assumed that Sweyn had given up pursuing his claim to the English crown. But perhaps the schisms within the royal household and the squabbling between the jarls — his warlords and noblemen — that together had prevented him leaving his kingdom last year were now resolved, or were less severe than many had been saying. Or else those same warlords had heard tell of what was happening elsewhere in England and were now swayed by the prospect of easy plunder: eager all of a sudden for silver, for adventure, and for the chance to win renown in foreign lands.
The men who had crowded to watch Serlo and Pons gave another cheer as the two of them emerged from the brambles, having clearly decided to make a truce at last. Their tunics were torn and covered in leaves and grime and thorny twigs, and each had taken cuts and grazes to his face and arms, but they were both grinning widely, no doubt enjoying the attention.