‘That boat,’ I said. ‘It was supposed to meet with you, to take Harold’s body away, wasn’t it?’
He did not answer, but I knew from his silence that I was right. He was shivering, though whether from the cold or out of fear I could not tell. His eyes were wide, and I thought I saw tears forming in their corners.
And all of a sudden I realised that I could not do it. Despite his lies, despite his treachery, I could not bring myself to kill such a wretch of a man. I was holding my breath, I realised, and I let it out, at the same time sliding my bloodied sword back into its scabbard.
‘Tancred,’ Eudo said. He was pointing out into the river, towards the vessel. A point of orange light shone across the water, like the flame from a lantern. It lasted but a few heartbeats, and then was gone. A signal, I thought.
I turned back to face ?lfwold, about to open my mouth to speak, but at that moment he sprung at me, his face red and full of anger. He crashed into my middle, pressing at me with all his weight. Almost before I knew what was happening my feet were slipping on the wet deck, my ankle twisting, and I was falling. My back slammed into the wooden planks, the breath knocked from my chest.
But ?lfwold had no intention of finishing me, for already he was jumping down from the barge, running across the stones, making for higher ground. I rose to my feet, struggling under the weight of my mail. I loosened my arm from the straps of the shield, letting it fall to the deck as I leapt down and gave chase. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes, digging through the leather, into my soles. I heard Wace and Eudo shouting, but I did not know if they were behind me; all I cared about was catching the Englishman.
Already he had a start of some thirty paces and more as he scrambled up the grassy slope, through bushes, over outcrops of rock. Branches clattered against my helmet as I followed; thorns scratched my face and my hands. For a moment I lost him amidst a clump of trees, but I kept on going, and as I came out the other side I saw his cloak whipping in the wind.
He was running along the top of the ridge, towards the Temes, waving his arms at the same time as he yelled out in English – trying to catch the attention of those on the ship, I realised. Again the orange light came, glinting off the water, and again it disappeared, the signal unanswered.
‘Onbidath,’ ?lfwold screamed. ‘Onbidath!’ But the wind was blowing more strongly now, and whatever he was saying, it was surely lost.
I was gaining on him with every stride now, despite my mail and the scabbard hanging from my sword-belt. Not much further ahead, the ridge came to a sudden end; instead of a steady slope down to the river, there was a steep drop on to the rocks where the land had fallen away. The priest was trapped, and he knew it too as he came to a halt.
‘It’s finished,’ I said again, having to shout to make myself heard above the wind. ‘There’s no sense in fighting any longer.’
For the ship, I saw, was turning against the tide, its oars heaving as it began to make its way back downstream. For a third time the orange light shone, but it was fainter than before.
‘You can’t get away,’ I said, and now at last he turned to face me. His eyes were wild, his face twisted in a mixture of despair and hatred, as though the Devil were inside him. I laid a hand upon my sword-hilt, ready.
‘England will never belong to you,’ he spat, and pointed a finger at me. ‘This is our land, our home – it is not yours!’
He was raving now, driven to madness by the realisation of his defeat. Slowly I advanced, keeping my eyes fixed upon him.
‘You will not take me,’ he said, shaking his head as he took a step back. ‘Kill me if you have to, but you will not take me.’ He was fewer than five paces from the edge now, and I wondered if he knew.
I lifted my hands away from my body, away from my sword. ‘I’m not going to kill you.’
The wind gusted again, pressing at my back, like icy hands laid upon my skin, digging into the flesh. The priest stepped backwards but the ground was muddy and he lost his footing, falling to his hands and knees. Behind him was nothing but air.
‘?lfwold!’ I cried. I started forward, holding out my hand towards him.
He clasped it, his palm cold but his grip strong. Too strong, I realised, as he wrenched me from my feet. I met the ground hard, the brink no more than an arm’s length away. My heart was pounding as I rolled on to my back and reached for my sword, but I was not quick enough. The priest flung himself at me, his face red, his cheeks streaming with tears.
He landed on top of me, his hands flying to my throat, and it was all I could do to swing my fist into the side of his head. The blow connected and he reeled back, and in that moment I saw my chance, throwing him off. I struggled to my feet, and he to his, wiping blood from his cheek.
Except that now I was the one with the cliff at my back. I pulled my blade free of its sheath, and held it before me in warning.