Men were running in all directions, scrambling to reach their spears and their knives. I was shouting, letting the battle-rage fill me. My sword slid cleanly from the scabbard and I flourished it high above my head, roaring to the sky as I did so.
‘For Malet,’ I called, and I heard Eudo and Wace doing the same as they drew alongside me: ‘For Malet!’
In front of the fire stood the two knights, the one short and the other tall, just as the dean at Waltham had said. Their swords were drawn, their shields held firm before them.
And then behind them, next to the barge itself, I saw the chaplain, ?lfwold. He did not move. His eyes were fixed upon us, his feet frozen to the ground as if in shock. As well he might be, for he could not have thought he would ever see us again, and yet here we were.
‘No mercy!’ I yelled as I crashed my sword into the shield of the tall knight. It struck the boss and slid harmlessly off its face, and I was riding onwards, turning as an Englishman rushed from the barge, screaming in his own tongue. He raised his axe above his head, but I had seen him coming and my blade was the quicker, slicing across his hand before he had finished the stroke, taking three of his fingers before finding his throat. Blood gushed forth as he fell first to his knees, clutching at his neck, then collapsed face down upon the ground.
But I could not pause even for a heartbeat as the tall knight came at me, raining blows upon my shield. Below the rim of his helmet, above his eye, I saw the scar that Wulfwin had spoken of, that I remembered from all those weeks ago.
His eyes met mine and a flicker of recognition crossed his face. ‘You’re the one who was there in Lundene,’ he said between breaths. ‘Fulcher fitz Jean.’
‘My name is Tancred,’ I spat back. ‘Tancred a Dinant.’ And I heaved my sword down towards his helmet, faster than he could raise his shield, and the steel rang out as it struck his nasal-guard. His head wrenched back under the force of the strike and he staggered backwards.
‘Bastard,’ he gasped, as a stream of crimson flowed from his nostrils, dripping on to his hauberk. ‘Bastard, bastard.’
All around us the bargemen were shouting. Most had at least a knife in their hands, but only a few were daring to attack us; the rest had seen the fury of our blades and were running up the beach for the cover of the trees. I looked for ?lfwold, but amidst the confusion I could not see him.
The knight with the scar howled as he charged again, the light of the fire reflected in his eyes, but he had let his anger overtake him and there was no skill in his assault. His strokes were wild, lacking in control and grace, and I fended them off with ease.
The fire was at my flank: twisting tongues of orange and yellow writhing up towards the sky. Flames danced upon my blade, reflected in the steel, and I concentrated all my strength in my sword-arm, bringing the full weight of the weapon to bear as I slashed towards his neck.
His shield was out of position, ready for the low strike to the thigh that no doubt he had been expecting, and instead he raised his blade to try to parry. For the briefest moment our blades clashed, but he could not match the force in my blow, and suddenly with a great shriek of steel his sword shattered, shearing clean through above the crossguard, leaving him with just the hilt in his hand.
A look of surprise mixed with fear came across his face, and now at last he tried to lift his shield, but it was too late. Already I was following through the stroke, cutting through the links of his mail into the flesh beneath, driving the point through his ribs, deep into his chest. I twisted it, thrusting it deeper, and he let out a gasp, his eyes glazing over; then as I wrenched it free his legs gave way and he toppled backwards into the fire. A cloud of sparks lifted up into the night, as the flames began to consume his body.
I wheeled about, searching for my next kill, but few of the enemy remained. Those who did were either turning to flee or were soon finished on Wace and Eudo’s swords; already the second knight lay dead upon the stones. Once more I looked out towards the Temes, looking for any sign of the ship. Now that we were on the beach I could not see it; the inlet was sheltered by two ridges of higher ground which blocked my view. But as soon as the ship rounded the first of those ridges, those aboard would see the light from the campfire, and when they did, all would be lost.
‘The fire,’ I shouted to Wace and Eudo. ‘Put it out! Put it out!’
My attention was elsewhere, as I had seen ?lfwold on the barge. He stared at me, his eyes wide, his face pale in the firelight, his countenance one of desperation. No longer was this the generous, kind-hearted man I had first met in Eoferwic, nor would he ever be again. Behind those eyes, I now knew, lay a mind capable of deceit and treachery of the highest order. An enemy of my lord.