Gaetan was seized with the news. “Dead?” he repeated. “God’s Bloody Bones, let us not waste time. Rally the men! We will break through this flank and see for ourselves!”
Kristoph was already working on it. De Lara had already broken through the lines and Kristoph sent a man for Denis de Winter, who was the closest by location to them. Between de Winter and Kristoph, they managed to rally several hundred men, now pushing through the weakened flank like a great and unstoppable tide.
But Gaetan had already broken through, charging through the Anglo-Saxon lines, swinging his massive sword and slicing through anything that moved. If what Kristoph told him was true and Harold was dead, then Gaetan wanted the body. He wanted the prize to present to the Duke of Normandy, the greatest prize of all, like the Holy Grail of battle. It was what they’d all been fighting for and dying for.
He began to suspect that the rumor might be true when he was suddenly attacked head-on by a swarm of infantry, men rushing him with their spears and short swords. The charge slowed Gaetan down but it didn’t stop him completely. He grabbed a particularly well-armed soldier and yanked him up onto his horse, using him as a shield against others who were trying to impale him.
“Where is your king?” Gaetan bellowed, his hand on the back of the man’s head, entwined in his hair painfully. “Take me to your king!”
The Anglo-Saxon soldier resisted but, suddenly, Normans were everywhere, like locusts, and the Anglo-Saxon line began to crumble. Men were beaten back as more knights swarmed and Gaetan could see that de Winter and Kristoph were joined by de Moray, Wellesbourne, and several other lesser knights sworn to Normandy. The Angels of War had arrived and the tide of Normans pushed onward, towards the rear of the Anglo-Saxon army, only to be confronted by the encampment beyond and scores of Anglo-Saxon wounded.
They’d reached Harold’s rear.
This was where Gaetan had limited patience. He yanked on the hair of the soldier he still held. “Tell me where your king is,” he snarled. “Your lines are broken and my men will soon be destroying your wounded. We will destroy everything if you do not tell me where your king is. Tell me now!”
Gaetan spoke in the Anglo-Saxon’s language, something his bedslave, an Anglo-Saxon woman he’d purchased several years ago, had taught him. He was rather fluent in it so he knew the soldier could understand him. But the soldier struggled against him, quite literally fighting for his life.
“I do not know!” the soldier insisted.
It was the wrong answer. Gaetan’s grip on the man tightened. “Tell me or I will slit your silly throat and find someone else who will tell me what I wish to know,” he said. “Where is your king?”
The man didn’t answer him. In fact, he was trying to hurt Gaetan’s horse by kicking the animal in the knees as his legs dangled off the ground. Using that sharp dagger again, Gaetan held true to his promise and the dead soldier slithered to the ground with a mortal knife wound in his neck. Now, Gaetan needed another victim and he quickly spied one nearby.
This victim was smaller, lining up a bow and arrow on one of Gaetan’s knights. Before the arrow could fly, however, Gaetan grabbed the archer from behind and hauled him onto his horse.
“Tell me where your king is,” Gaetan demanded. “If you do not, you will end up dead like many of your comrades. Tell me quickly!”
He had the archer by the throat but the sound that came forth from his captive wasn’t that of a man. It was a female, now gasping in fear and anger as a Norman had her by the throat. She started to swing her fists.
“Let me go!” she demanded. “Release me or I will kill you!”
Frankly, Gaetan was shocked that a woman had been in the midst of the battle. It was enough of a shock that he stopped trying to squeeze her throat. “A female?” he said, sounding somewhat incredulous. “What foolish commander allows women to fight?”
She twisted violently and he caught a glimpse of her face; dressed as an archer as she was, including a cap, at a distance she could very easily be mistaken for a boy but now that he was close to her, he could see that she was no boy. In fact, her features were quite exquisite.
“I can kill you just as easily as a man can,” she hissed. “Let me go and I will give you a fair fight, poubelle.”
She’d called him rubbish in his own language, which was definitely an insult. She wanted to anger him. The trouble was that he found her challenge rather humorous.
“It would be a two-hit fight,” he told her drolly. “I would hit you and you would hit the ground. Now, where is your king? Tell me and I shall show mercy.”
“I will tell you nothing!”
“You are brave for a skinny little mouse.”
That comment seemed to infuriate her, which amused him. She was in a frantic state between terror and rage, but Gaetan had her over his saddle so that she couldn’t move very well and couldn’t get to any weapons she might have on her body. Every time she tried to rise, he would slam her head down again. The second time, he’d hit her rather hard and stars had danced before her eyes. The third time, he’d slapped her on the arse and she’d bellowed unhappily. Then came de Lara aboard his bloodied charger.
“Gate!” he shouted. “With me!”
A command from Luc de Lara wasn’t meant to be questioned. Gaetan tossed the woman over the side of his horse, listening to her grunt as she landed in a heap.
“Not this time, little mouse,” he told her, perhaps with a bit of taunt in his tone. “This time, you are spared. Remember Norman mercy the next time you intend to do one of us harm.”
As she sat up, rubbing her shoulder where she’d hit the ground, Gaetan spun his horse around and took off after Luc. Quickly, he reached the man’s side.
“Kristoph said that Harold has been killed,” Gaetan said. “Is there truth in this?”
Luc simply motioned to Gaetan to follow and the two of them skirted part of the Anglo-Saxon encampment to where a contingent of Normans stood in a cluster, fighting off Anglo-Saxon soldiers who were trying to get through them. It was clear that they were guarding something and Gaetan followed Luc as the man pushed through the soldiers only to be confronted by a man on the ground and several others standing over him. Luc dismounted swiftly, followed by Gaetan, and they pushed through the crowd.
“There,” Luc said, pointing to the man on the ground. “This has been identified as Harold Godwinson.”
Gaetan could only see the legs at that point. “By whom?” he asked.