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.