Shield breaker, p.9
Shield Breaker, page 9
Despite the lack of a clear threat, every knight was armoured in mail and bore a sword at his side. There was no point in taking chances. The last time they had been here to crown William as king, his men had set fire to half the city. Ronan could only hope there wouldn’t be a repeat of that.
Muted cheers came from up the road and every head turned to see the procession approaching the abbey. Knights rode at the head of the column, pennants flapping in the breeze bearing the papal cross and the leopards of Normandy. Behind them was King William on his black warhorse, Mathilde at his side on a dappled white mare.
The knights made way as the procession came to a stop outside the abbey, and the king dismounted. He raised a hand to help his wife down from her mare, though by the looks of her she needed no aid from William. Ronan had heard she was a tiny woman, barely taller than a dwarf, but it seemed those rumours were unfounded. If anything she was as robust a queen as there had ever been in these lands, and she ignored her husband’s gesture as she climbed down from her mount.
As the king and his bride made their way up the stairs to the abbey, the knights and nobles of Frankia gathered together to join them. Ronan found himself walking beside Brian as they both filtered into the vast abbey. The Earl of Cornualge, as he was now known, struck a regal figure, and Ronan almost felt inadequate as he limped along beside his old friend. His first thought was to complain to Brian about his recent obligations, and how they had scuppered his plans to learn of the coming invasion. When they entered through the vast arch, the scent of incense, along with the low buzz of the choir struck them full in the face, and now seemed far from the right time.
Brian took his place close to the front, and Ronan made sure he was at the earl’s side as he did so. There were prominent magnates and nobles in attendance, and it would do his reputation little harm to be seen with one of the most powerful men in England.
Before them, Bishop Ealdred stood at the altar, patiently waiting to preside over the coronation. He could not have looked happier to receive his new queen.
‘That wrinkled old bastard’s come to heel quickly,’ Ronan whispered, as the rest of the congregation took its place.
‘If only the rest of the country was so eager to demonstrate its fealty,’ Brian replied, keeping his eyes locked forward.
‘What makes you say that? The rebellion at Exonia has been quelled. Harold’s bitch mother has fled the country. Surely there’s little left to fear from the English on these shores.’
‘As soon as one weed is pulled another grows. There is still much for us to do before the country is secured.’
‘For us to do?’ Ronan said, feeling the dread pull of tension in his stomach.
‘Of course,’ Brian replied. ‘We all have our part to play.’
Ronan felt a swell of anger and he clenched his fists to subdue it. He had already been waylaid in his task to discover the Haroldsons’ invasion strategy. Now it seemed he might have to abandon it altogether.
‘But there are things I already have to do. I have plans afoot—’
Brian raised a hand for him to be quiet as Ealdred started his sermon. Heads bowed in prayer as they began to invest their new queen, and Ronan clasped his hands together till his knuckles were white.
He had already been away from the west for too long. If he was to find out what the sons of Godwinson were plotting he had to return with all speed. Other rebellions were not his concern, and any further distractions might ruin his ambitions. But now was not the time to enquire. First he would have to wait for his new queen to be crowned.
*
The feast was a raucous affair. King William and Queen Mathilde had shown their faces and accepted a host of sycophantic platitudes with grace, but not partaken of the revelry that followed. That much was unusual for the king. By all accounts he had become very partial to wine and game since his victory at Senlac Hill. Ronan could only guess that with his wife present he was in no mood to demonstrate his new-found love of gluttony.
For his part, Ronan had nursed a single cup of tepid ale for most of the evening. Earl Brian had been preoccupied with other men of wealth and property, and Ronan had to pick his moment carefully. When the opportunity to approach his old friend arrived, Brian was already well into his cups.
‘Can we speak?’ he asked, as the rest of the gathering were laughing at a juggler who kept dropping his balls.
Brian turned with a smile, throwing his arm around Ronan’s shoulder. ‘Of course, my friend. What ails you?’
Apart from his crippled leg and the constant need to gain wealth and fame, Ronan had little to complain of. Other than…
‘You mentioned rebellion,’ he said. ‘Are we still speaking of the threat from Godwinson’s offspring? Because I have that in—’
‘No,’ Brian replied, his expression turning grave. ‘There are other problems.’
His arm still around Ronan’s shoulders, Brian guided them away from the shouting knights, who had now taken to throwing random objects for the beleaguered juggler to catch.
‘There is trouble brewing in the north,’ Brian said. ‘To keep the English lords compliant, William had offered the hand of his daughter Adela to Earl Edwin. That offer has now been rescinded, most likely on the word of Queen Mathilde.’
‘And the fact that she is barely a year old,’ Ronan replied.
‘Indeed. It was stupid of Edwin to even consider the match. Despite that, he is said to be furious that the chance to gain power, and the favour of the king, has been snatched from his hands. Rebellion is stirring in the north once again.’
Ronan’s sense of foreboding was growing, but he knew he had to ask the question. ‘What does this have to do with me?’
Brian sighed. ‘The king is sending men north to quash any notion of an uprising before it can begin.’
‘And you are the man he’s sending?’
Brian shook his head. ‘No, I will not be going. I am to secure Cornualge in case of any uprising there. But the king has asked every one of his earls to pledge men to the northern cause. I need you to go and represent me.’
‘But I have to return to the west. The sons of King Harold are spoiling for a raid, and I am on the cusp of discovering where and when they will land.’
‘There has been no word from them for months. The king would rather concentrate on enemies he can see, rather than rumours from Éire of an invasion that might never come. You are to travel north under the command of Robert of Comines and quash this new uprising before it can begin.’
Ronan shrugged Brian’s arm from around his shoulder, staring his old friend in the face.
‘Robert of Comines? The man is little more than a mercenary. A beast, if the rumours are only half true. You expect me to obey his orders? I have important work to do back in the west. Work that will see me gain the favour of the king.’
He could feel all his plans slipping through his fingers. Every carefully placed chess piece was being swept from the board right in front of his eyes.
‘This is important work, Ronan. If Edwin and Morcar are not stopped it could spark more rebellion elsewhere in the country.’
‘And the king thinks it wise to send Robert? He is unhinged.’
‘Send a rabid dog to quell a rabid dog. That is his reasoning. And Robert must be supported in his endeavour.’
‘But why me?’
Brian clapped Ronan on the shoulder. ‘Because I trust you. More than I trust anyone else.’
Despite the compliment, Ronan shook his head. ‘No. I cannot do this. You’ll have to find someone else.’
Brian’s expression grew grave, and his gentle hand suddenly grasped Ronan tight by the shoulder.
‘My dear friend, I’m not asking.’
They stared at one another for some moments before Ronan could hold Brian’s gaze no longer. He averted his eyes and nodded.
‘Very well. If that is what you command, then I will obey.’
The smile returned to Brian’s face and he clapped Ronan on the arm. ‘Then it’s settled. Trust me, this will be good for you. A chance to improve your already stalwart reputation. Go with God, Ronan. Not that you’ll need his help.’
With that Brian turned back to the boisterous revels of the knights, and left Ronan standing alone.
He could only watch as the knights laughed like madmen. One of them was kicking the juggler as he floundered on the ground, their patience with his incompetent skills now frayed to nothing as they made their own entertainment.
Ronan could only look on as the man squealed in protest and the knights continued to kick him bloody. He could feel little pity. After all, he had just been kicked much worse.
12
Dunster, England, May 1068
By the time they sighted the coast, the rains had passed and dawn was breaking on a sunny day. Styrkar was unsure how he felt about being back on English shores. He had failed in his task for Ronan, but at least he had an idea of the numbers Godwin might be bringing with him, and that their invasion was imminent.
As he rowed towards the distant port, young Harold began to mewl. Alditha bared her breast to feed the infant, sitting silently at the prow. She had said nothing to him since they fled Dublin, not that Styrkar had expected any thanks.
At the bow, Tonbert stirred. The housecarl sat up gingerly, wincing in pain. Styrkar had done his best to strap up the man’s leg and halt the bleeding, but he would need the attention of more adept hands before long. For his part, Tonbert offered a brief nod, though he fell short of speaking his thanks.
Styrkar was about to row harder for the shore, when Alditha turned to him.
‘What will the Red Wolf do now he has lost the favour of his brothers?’
The cold reality of that struck Styrkar like a blade to the gut. ‘I will find another way to fight back against the Franks, without them by my side.’
But was that even true? Did he care any longer about his vengeance? All that mattered now was finding Ronan and seeing Gisela safe.
‘Revenge?’ she replied. ‘That is all you can think of? To punish those who overthrew your dead king? Perhaps that is admirable. It shows the depth of your loyalty. And for all your fierce reputation, Styrkar, I have never doubted you loved my husband.’
He watched Alditha as she finished feeding young Harold. The boy was the true heir to the crown of England, according to the laws of the land. Alditha had been Harold’s rightful queen under the English God, his firstborn sons disinherited of their claim due to their mother’s handfast marriage. Styrkar began to wonder what Alditha had planned for the child, but there was a more pressing question that came to his mind.
‘Did you ever love Harold?’ Styrkar asked.
Alditha’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. ‘How do I answer that? I was gifted to a Welsh king by my father. Gifted to Harold by my brothers. No, I never loved your precious king. But I love his son.’ She glanced down at the boy, who was settling into sleep after his feed. ‘And he is all I have left.’
As he watched mother and babe, Styrkar could only think how much he was reminded of Edith and Ulf. That bond between mother and child appeared unbreakable as iron, but it could so easily be struck asunder. He only hoped Alditha would have the chance to cherish her son for much longer than Edith had.
They were fast approaching land, and could now see fishermen labouring at the shoreline. Nets were being loaded on their small fishing vessels and a trail of men were making their way down to the tiny harbour.
Styrkar scanned the town above for any sign of Frankish occupation, but he could see no armoured knights patrolling. It could have been any other day in any other English port during Harold’s reign. How little things had changed in some places since their king’s death, but he could not blame these people for carrying on with their lives. Styrkar had learned some time ago that ordinary folk had little invested in who ruled their lands as long as they were left in peace.
Once he had rowed to the nearest jetty, Styrkar stepped ashore and helped Alditha and her child from the boat. Tonbert did his best to limp aground, but he too needed a strong arm to pull him up, wincing all the while at his injury.
‘What do they call this place?’ Styrkar called out to a passing fisherman.
The man regarded him with a frown, baffled by the curious question. ‘This is Dunster. At the north of Sumersete.’
Not too far from where he had set sail for Dublin. Perhaps this was a good omen and his fortunes were finally changing for the better.
Styrkar thanked the man with a nod as he, Tonbert and Alditha made their way from the jetty and up the steep incline toward the village that was perched on the headland. They drew little attention when they entered the tiny port, and as Styrkar began to wonder what her next move might be, Alditha regarded him curiously. Was there a hint of gratitude in her cold eyes? She certainly bore no disdain, which was a surprise in itself.
‘It seems we are safe for now, Red Wolf, and perhaps I should be grateful for you saving us.’
Styrkar shrugged in response to her begrudging thanks. ‘It was my duty. As you have already pointed out, I had little choice in it. But I am glad you are safe.’
‘How long I remain so, only time will tell. If the Franks find me they will surely take me and my son away. We will be King William’s hostages.’
‘When you return to your brothers they will find sanctuary for you once more.’
‘And will you be accompanying me on the journey, as you did when my first husband was defeated?’
Styrkar shook his head. ‘I have other matters of urgency to attend. But I am sure Tonbert here will keep you safe on your travels north.’
Alditha looked her housecarl up and down. He hardly looked fit to protect himself, let alone a woman and her child.
‘If you don’t find someone to treat his wound, he’ll be dead before we’ve covered ten miles.’
Tonbert did not protest and Styrkar could not argue with her assessment. ‘Perhaps you should secure horses for your journey. I will see to Tonbert.’
Alditha looked about the port. ‘I’m sure horses won’t be hard to find, and I have penigs enough to pay for them. I would ask you make sure my housecarl does not die before I do.’
With that she carried young Harold toward the smithy in the distance.
It took little enquiry before Styrkar discovered someone who might see to Tonbert’s wound. The local midwife had skills enough to treat the man’s leg, and Styrkar stood by as the old woman sewed Tonbert’s wound shut. As she did so, Tonbert regarded Styrkar with something akin to respect.
‘I suppose I should thank you as well,’ said the old housecarl. He sounded bitter at having to admit it.
‘Save it,’ Styrkar replied. ‘Had it been up to me I would have left you to die in Dublin.’
‘Still,’ Tonbert said, wincing at the none-too-gentle ministrations of the midwife. ‘I am in your debt. And no doubt you will have earned the favour of Edwin and Morcar for delivering their sister from certain death.’
‘What would I care for the favour of those two? I have no desire to make allies of Edwin and Morcar. Had those cowards fought at Senlac Hill for their king, then perhaps none of us would be here now. Alditha would still be queen and the Franks would have been pushed back into the sea.’
‘What you say may be true,’ Tonbert replied, as the midwife tied off the stitches in his leg and began to bandage the wound. ‘But they are still powerful men. While they hold lands on these shores it might serve you well to have them in your debt.’
‘I want nothing from either of them,’ said Styrkar. ‘They can rot for all I care.’
Tonbert shrugged, and let the midwife finish her work. When she was done, he managed to limp out of her tiny shack and the two of them made their way back toward the centre of the settlement. When they reached it, Alditha was already waiting atop a small wagon, drawn by a single pony. A second was hitched to the back of it.
‘This is where we part company, Red Wolf,’ she said, as Tonbert struggled to climb up beside her. ‘I have bought you a parting gift.’ She gestured to the pony lashed to the wagon.
‘My thanks,’ Styrkar said, as he untied its reins. Before he mounted up, he was struck by one last thought – Alditha was not yet safe, and would not be until they managed to find Edwin and Morcar. The English roads were more dangerous than ever, and he could no longer protect her from what might be waiting on her path north.
Styrkar took the axe from his belt, his only weapon, and handed it to Tonbert. ‘You’ll need this if you’re to protect yourselves on the road. Safe journey, my lady.’
With a last nod, Alditha pulled the hood of her cloak over her head as Tonbert offered a brief wave of his hand. Styrkar wasted no time as their wagon trundled from the village, and climbed atop the pony. Steering the beast southeast he proceeded as fast as it would carry him. If he was to find Ronan he would need to parley with the Franks. The best way was to find a fort, and see if they knew of a crippled knight. It was a slim chance, but the only one he had.
As he made his way along the quiet road, Styrkar could only wonder what he would tell Ronan when he found him. There was no lie that would see Gisela freed, but would Ronan accept the truth? That he had failed to learn where and when Godwin intended to land? No matter, first he had to find the Frankish bastard and right now he might be miles away.
Not much further, and he saw a fort in the distance. Its wooden palisade looked roughly made, as though built in haste. Nevertheless he gripped the rein tight as he prepared to treat with his enemy.
Styrkar slowed the pony to a walk as he approached, but before he even reached the open gates he could tell the place was abandoned. As he rode into the courtyard, he saw signs that the fort was being prepared for occupation. Two men were rebuilding a collapsed wall with stone and mortar, and inside one of the buildings a woman swept the stone floor.
‘Where are the Franks?’ Styrkar asked, as one of the workers turned to see him sitting expectantly atop the pony.
