‘What now?’ Halfdan asked of the duke, as their horses clambered up over the grassy dunes and away from the river. Of the enemy riders on the far bank there was no sign, they having moved off south, seeking the bridge to cross the ever-deepening water. The sun was just casting a first ray of light between the trees on the horizon; there were no hills in this flat land to block its glow.
‘We have left the lands of Cotentin,’ William answered wearily, scrubbing his short hair with one hand, ‘but the vast majority of the lands between here and safety belong to Bessin, so we are far from safe. Moreover, Bayeux, the heart of Bessin territory, lies almost directly in the path to my home at Falaise. There are a few lesser lords upon whom we can rely, though, so it is my intention to make for one and enlist his aid. Without friends, we will not get far.’
‘We’ve done all right so far,’ Ketil argued, drawing a look of strained patience from the duke.
‘That is because our enemies were focused upon Valognes, with only small outposts elsewhere. Mostly, we were moving away ahead of them, keeping our foes behind us. Now, though, those same forces will continue to pursue us. With our crossing here, we have bought an hour’s grace, perhaps two, but be sure Cotentin will continue to hunt me down. Now it has begun, he cannot let me go, and you are now seen as my people. There are men I can enlist against the rebels, and the King of France continues to play a game of advantage, so I may even be able to bring him in with appropriate promises, but that all relies upon me surviving to get home. The rebels cannot afford to let me reach safety in Falaise.’
He sighed. ‘But now there are also enemies ahead of us and all around, in addition to those following us. Bessin will have taken only a small force to add to Cotentin’s at Valognes, so most of his men will still be on this side of the river in his lands, and he has a much stronger force than Neel. They will be everywhere.’
Ketil, argued down, simply glowered as the duke went on.
‘So, we make, I think, for Rigia, where Hubert will aid us. Along with my uncle Walter, Hubert spent much of my youth looking after me, playing more the role of father than did my actual father. I know beyond question where his loyalties lie. Rigia is perhaps twenty miles from here, to the north-east of Bayeux, so we will have to approach carefully. But Hubert will see us onwards safely.’
‘That’s still twenty miles through enemy territory, and with hunters chasing us down,’ Halfdan pointed out.
‘Then we had best get moving.’
With that, William moved out with Ancel, leading the way. Halfdan watched the whole group fall into step and realised with a sinking feeling that they were not going to be moving fast. They had been riding these beasts for hours, alternately cantering and trotting to save their strength as much as possible, but there had been no real break for them, and the river crossing had used much of what energy they still had. Every horse was tired, some worse than others, and they were going to move at a steady pace at best, with periodic pauses. Conversely, he surmised, the enemy ahead were perfectly well rested and the enemy following them were in friendly lands and could probably arrange to change mounts regularly. He had the distinct feeling that the worst still lay ahead.
The party trudged on, all eyes scouring the landscape for trouble.
As they rode, Halfdan found himself alongside Gunnhild, and sat silent for a moment, wondering how to frame the question that was nagging at him. In the end, he decided that straight was the only way to play it.
‘Gunnhild, the duke does not know Harðráði.’
The völva simply shrugged, and Halfdan chewed his lip for a moment, wondering how to repeat the question without simply annoying her. Gunnhild could be prickly when she was annoyed.
‘We are endangering a lot of our people for a boy we have no connection with. And if he does not know—’
‘If he does not know Harðráði, then he will.’
Halfdan sighed. That was just vague, and did little to answer his worries. He risked that prickliness a little more. Her attention was elsewhere and he reached across and tugged on her sleeve, drawing her gaze.
‘Gunnhild, there must be other ways to find Harðráði. The man is hardly subtle. If he’s been within five hundred miles, there will be wailing former virgins, missing gold and angry princes. We could drop the duke with his friend at this Rigia place, where he reckons he will be safe, and then circle wide to the south and head back to Pirou. I don’t like leaving Ulfr and the gold, and my trust in Serlo has been shaken at best.’
‘Do not tie all your hopes to one mast, jarl Halfdan,’ she said in flat tones. ‘There is more to this yet. We are the wolves walking with the lion now, but there is a dragon to come, and I see you in a ship yet. This is far from over. No matter your fears, our path lies with the duke.’
‘You’ve seen more?’
‘From time to time. I will try to commune further with Freyja when we have the leisure. But now is not the time to discuss it. We have more pressing matters.’
‘There is something else,’ he added uncomfortably. She simply arched one eyebrow, and he steadied himself. ‘You saw Loki unbound.’ She nodded. He took a breath. ‘I had a dream. I faced Heimdallr. You know what that means.’
She gave him a look that suggested he might be an idiot. ‘Do you profess to walk with gods now, Halfdan? Not content with being our jarl, you must try to be völva?’
He felt irritation touching his fears, then dulling their edges. ‘I cannot help it if the gods wish me to see something.’
She softened. ‘Halfdan, everything in the sight of gods is too great and too vague for the ken of man. This is why völva are trained so. All things we see must be interpreted, and few things are as they seem on the surface. Loki unbound could be many years from now, or I could be seeing something that needs to be interpreted a different way. Your dream may have been a warning, or a truth, but even if you met the great watchman, do you truly claim to be Loki, and if so, where have you been bound?’
He frowned. He could think of plenty of places he’d been imprisoned or bound, but for everything there would have to be a level of interpretation, which then opened up the fact that the rest of it needed interpretation, too. Suddenly, he felt a vague headache coming on. He sighed. ‘You are sure?’
‘I am. As we come closer to events, my visions always come clearer. When we stop for an hour somewhere, I will sing the song and walk the way for you.’
He nodded. He could ask no more. And while he was no more certain of anything than he had been before, he felt somehow comforted. Gunnhild’s certainty had that effect. He was so pleased that those days of her vagueness after Miklagarðr were gone, and that she was once more herself. Or perhaps even more than that. His gaze took in Anna and Cassandra following close by, listening with interest.
He returned his attention to the way ahead. William gestured to him, and he rode a little ahead to join the two Normans.
‘I am torn,’ the duke said. ‘We are in a similar position now to when we left Valognes. It is perhaps twenty miles to Rigia direct, but we pass dangerously close to Bayeux on such roads. By the coast it will be perhaps five miles further, but also further from the heartland of my enemies.’
Halfdan nodded. ‘Settlements on the coast?’
‘Fishing villages. Three of them, if memory serves.’
‘Garrisons?’
‘In fishing villages? Likely none. But there will be coastal patrols from time to time.’
‘Then it is worth the extra five miles. We are moving slow, and staying further from your enemies makes sense.’
William nodded, and he and Ancel led them on.
The light gradually increased as they rode, and clouds began to roll slowly in from the sea to the north, leaden grey and promising a downpour. On most occasions, Halfdan would pray to Thor to hold such weather back when riding in the open in armour, but today, he urged it on. Torrential rain, dark clouds and inclemency could only help hide them from their enemies, after all.
They passed through the first village perhaps an hour after the river, a sleepy little place where the only movement at this time had been fishermen out by their boats, discussing the clouds and considering whether it would be safe to put to sea this morning. Halfdan had not been the only one bemoaning their speed, for he could hear the murmurs among all present at the plodding pace they maintained by necessity. They could, perhaps, push the exhausted animals to a little more speed, but then if they ran into trouble there would be nothing left to give.
They were just out of sight of that village when the rain began. It came of a sudden, an instant blatter of heavy drops falling in a sheet along the coast in that way that soaks a man within moments. The grey clouds continued to roll south across the land, with no relief in sight out to sea. Back in the village, undoubtedly the fishermen had abandoned their day and settled in with their wives.
For a while, they rode with cliffs dropping some hundred feet to the water, and, given the rain and the wind, stayed a healthy distance from the edge. They stopped for just a few minutes in the lee of an ancient, overgrown hedgerow, and there Halfdan shuffled the riders around, taking the better rested mounts from those who applied the least pressure, such as Leif and Cassandra, and swapping them for the strained horses of larger men like Bjorn and himself. It would buy them a little extra speed and edge.
Another hour, and another village, this one clustered around a slope that led down through a ravine in the cliffs to sea level. As they passed through the place, where the only sign of life was worried pale faces peering out between shutters, watching the armoured men passing through, Halfdan caught a sign of what looked like distant movement up ahead. Where the coast climbed once more to the clifftops, just for a moment in the wall of driving rain he thought he saw figures.
He blinked and wiped away the excess water from his eyes and peered again.
Nothing.
Then the rain shifted once more with the wind, and there they were: three figures on horseback.
Halfdan looked around. The best rested and fastest horses were those bearing him, Ancel and two of the Apulians. Bjorn had a fresh horse, too, of course, but his sheer bulk was already wearing out the new one. Four would have to be enough. He couldn’t risk laming the others.
‘Riders,’ he shouted through the downpour, pointing.
They all squinted, and the figures appeared again, briefly. The Wolves and their guest had the advantage. They would be much harder to spot in this weather, within the cluster of houses, while the three riders were alone on the cliff. He glanced a question at William, and the duke nodded, the answer clear. The only men on horses here, and in these conditions, would be enemies. Halfdan pointed to the other three with the better rested mounts, and then gestured onwards.
‘With me,’ he cried, and began to ride a little faster.
They had to take the three men down, and fast. If any got away, they could carry tidings of the duke to somewhere more important, like Bayeux. The others joined the jarl, and Halfdan, content that the enemy would not be able to see them clearly in the village, kept at a steady pace until they reached the last houses, and then put heel to flank and rode hard.
With Ancel and the Apulians, he raced up the slope toward the clifftop. Such was the angle of climb that they lost sight of their prey for a while, but in a few more moments the ground began to level out, and the four riders spotted their three adversaries. The patrol had clearly not been expecting trouble, and looked miserable and bored. They were taken utterly by surprise, and it took them precious moments to realise what was happening. By the time the senior of the three was reining in and barking orders, Halfdan and his men were already closing in.
‘Odiiiiiin!’ the jarl bellowed, ripping his short sword from its sheath.
Behind him the others similarly drew their long blades, though with no cry to old gods. They fell upon the three-man unit with brutality and speed. Halfdan took the leader. The man was in a full hauberk of chain, sleeved and with divided skirt to the knees, a ventail pulled up to his nose that, with his simple conical helmet, left only his eyes visible. His shield was a bright painted teardrop. The lead man lacked sufficient time to fully prepare for Halfdan’s attack and, as he tried to bring his big sword to bear, he threw his shield out in the perfect place to stop a swing from a heavy long sword. The mistake cost him dearly. Halfdan did not wield such a sword.
There being no clear striking point for Halfdan’s short Alani blade, he instead struck the man pommel first as they met, the heavy hilt smashing into the man’s face, a foot higher than the shield that had been protecting him from a straight swing. The Norman’s head snapped back and, giving him no time to recover, as he passed by Halfdan reversed his weapon and slammed pommel first once more, this time into the man’s back, over his spine. The pain must have been intense for the rider, for it numbed the jarl’s hand.
By the time Halfdan had wheeled his horse and come round ready for a second strike, the Norman was lolling, not far from losing consciousness, both sword and shield drooping in weak grips. Aware that his blade was not going to find an easy way into the man’s chain shirt, Halfdan simply hammered at the face once more with his sword pommel. This time he hit the man’s nose guard, which further numbed his hand, bent the guard into the man’s face with agonising results, and, irritatingly, dented the pommel rather noticeably.
The Norman was done for. Blood was gushing from his face, and he was losing consciousness fast. The jarl looked up. The others had taken down the two remaining riders, three to two giving them plenty of advantage. Under his direction, they tipped the dead or wounded riders from their horses. By the time the rest of the party caught up with them on the clifftop, the four men had thrown the bodies over the edge into the wall of water, and a few minutes saw another shuffling of horses, making use of three relatively fresh mounts.
The encounter over, and with only a few bloodstains in the grass to mark it, all of which would wash away in the rain, they moved on, heading east once more. The weather had clearly set in for the day, but it no longer bothered any of them. There is only so wet a person can get, and so they resigned themselves to discomfort in return for the tactical advantages it offered them.
Another hour or so, and the duke and his men finally gestured for them to leave the coast. As they headed south, inland and on the far side of dangerous Bayeux, the weather became easier. Though the rain came at the same pace, the further they rode from the exposed clifftops, the less the wind drove it sideways. The sense of relief, as William pointed ahead and announced that he had sighted Rigia, was felt all along the column of riders.
The place was not large. Little more than a village, Rigia sat amid flat green fields, a cluster of houses close to a small stone chapel to the nailed god. It was not to this small settlement, hiding away from the weather, that the duke led them, though. Perhaps a quarter mile further south, across another two rolling fields, sat the home of William’s childhood guardian. As they closed, Halfdan nodded his approval of the place. It was not merely the grand dwelling of a jarl showing off his power, but also a working place, as was clear from the form. The house itself was of stone, as impressive as any Norman keep, if on a smaller scale, but it was connected to other structures, barns and farm buildings, all of expensive and hard-wearing stone, the whole thing forming a defensive perimeter, any gap between buildings closed with a strong wall. The only entrance was a single strong gate, which stood open, and lights blazed in windows, holding back the gloom of the storm.
Halfdan let the duke take the lead, for clear reasons, and followed close behind as William led the way through that gate and into the wide grassy court between the many buildings. The place was part farm, part smithy, part fortress, but very well made, and a similar impression of its owner struck Halfdan as the house’s door opened and Hubert de Rigia emerged with two men at his back. He was unarmoured, dressed in simple if well-made clothes, and a cloak against the weather. He was clean-shaven and his hair was shaved up the back of the head like many Normans, suggesting that he, too, had adopted the fashion for the expediency of their conical helmets and chain hoods and veils.
He was broad and tall, a strong man, made for war, but his skin also bore that ruddy, leathery look that a man only gets from hard work in the open air, year after year. Hubert de Rigia was a man of the land, and even Halfdan, who had never set eyes upon the man before, and whose trust in strangers was hard-won, found himself feeling safe in the big landowner’s company.
‘By the grace of God, if it is not young William,’ Hubert grinned, striding over toward the horses.
The duke slid from the saddle and moved forward. The pair threw themselves into an embrace, and the familiarity and love there would have been impossible to fake. Halfdan could see why William had chosen to come here, of all places.
‘Hubert, I am in dire need.’
The big man laughed. ‘You are always in dire need, William, and occasionally it is of a slap to bring you to your senses.’ He sobered suddenly. ‘I know. Bayeux. I am aware of the troop movements. I sought to get word to you, but you were way out west at Avranches. I had hoped you would stay there, safe. Where is your army? Surely this is not all that is left?’
The duke chuckled. ‘These are but my personal guard and a few friends who have proved their worth in the worst of times. My army is safe at Falaise. Sadly, I am not. I could do with following their example.’
‘It will not be easy,’ Hubert sighed. ‘This whole land is swamped with Bessin’s men now, and he has declared an open opposition to you. No longer is there any hope of the barons widely accepting your inheritance. The dissenters will need to be brought under control with steel. Bessin has approached me on numerous occasions, attempting to sound me out for his cause. I am loyal to you, of course, but I am also no fool, so I play the undecided advocate as long as I can, to save my lands.’ Hubert looked up. ‘This rain is dreadful. Step inside. Your guests are welcome, too. Arthur,’ he said to one of his men, ‘the stables are full, but the lesser barn is clear. Have their horses quartered there.’
The man nodded and went among the others, gesturing for them to follow. Halfdan left them to it and stepped forward to join William and Ancel as they followed the lord back into his house.
He felt immense relief stepping into the dry, for the warmth of the house was soothing, every fireplace burning bright, all windows shuttered and walls hung with tapestries and drapes. The place was so well appointed that even the floors were made comfortable with woven mats, something he had not seen since the imperial capital. Hubert was a man of means, clearly.
‘How may I reach home safely?’ William asked, as he shook off the worst of the wet in the doorway and slapped across the floor toward the fire.
‘The best I can offer is a distraction,’ Hubert said. ‘I do not have enough men to go to war. The way from here to Falaise is some thirty miles, but the further you get from Bayeux, the safer the journey will become. If I can draw your enemies away, it will open your path somewhat. More, I cannot do. I hope you understand.’
‘Of course I do.’
At that moment, another door opened, and three young men, not more than a few years William’s senior, entered at speed. One glance made it clear they were Hubert’s boys, for they bore his looks and build, and their smile at seeing William was genuine. Halfdan’s eyes narrowed, though, for he could sense something wrong. Indeed, the momentary grins as the three boys saw William quickly disappeared again as they turned to Hubert.
‘Father. Riders. A quarter mile out, passing the church.’
The lord frowned. ‘Colours?’
‘No idea in this rain, Father, but there are too many to be good news.’
‘Damn it all to Hell,’ Hubert snapped. ‘This is inconvenient timing.’
The duke shook his head. ‘It is more than that. We are pursued by Neel de Cotentin and Ranulf de Bessin and their men. I fear they have anticipated my movements and come in search of us. I had them marked as persistent, but never as particularly bright.’
Hubert gave a dark laugh. ‘God in Heaven, William, but how are you of such tender years? I see so much of your father in you.’ He turned to his sons. ‘Be quick. Arthur settles their mounts into the lesser barn. Make sure they are shut away and all is secure. Bring all our visitors in here, quickly, before the lords arrive.’
As the three boys went about their duties obediently, Hubert placed his hands on the duke’s shoulders. ‘I shall do everything I can to distract them and lead them away. You take all your men upstairs and stay quiet. Do not draw any attention. I put my sons at your disposal. They will help, guide and defend you, my young lord duke. Now go.’
As the visitors began to hurry inside, sodden, from the yard, a servant directed each upstairs, while another led William, Halfdan and the others to the upper floor. As they settled into various rooms, directed by the servant, Ancel gestured, telling everyone to stay away from the windows. Such orders did not apply to the commanders, of course, and so Halfdan joined William at an upstairs viewpoint, the shutters left just far enough apart to allow a restricted view of the yard.
‘If our horses are discovered,’ the young duke said, ‘even Hubert will not be able to explain them away.’
Halfdan nodded. ‘But the enemy should have no reason to search every barn, and the rain is hard enough to cover the noise of horses. Odin will provide.’
‘And if he doesn’t, I shall ask Christ.’ William grinned.
Somewhere in another room, Halfdan heard Bjorn cursing, and quickly changed rooms to jab a warning finger at the big man and then put it to his lips. He returned to the window in time to see the enemy enter the courtyard. He recognised Neel de Cotentin, though there was no sign of Bessin. Likely the man had diverted to Bayeux to rouse his garrison. The lord had six heavy cavalry with him in the courtyard, but Halfdan could see scores more outside the gates. Enough to make any engagement more or less a foregone conclusion.
Hubert de Rigia appeared in view, striding through the rain toward them. Two of his men were at his back. The rebel lord looked around the courtyard, and once again Halfdan was immensely grateful for the weather. The rain hammering down deadened most sound, and this being a farm, the churned turf under their feet could easily be recent land work, the pooling water making it impossible to tell how old the hoof prints were.
Cotentin pointed at the stables and said something. Hubert shrugged, and one of his attendants went to open up and show the rebel’s men. They seemed to be satisfied with what they had seen, and after a lengthy exchange, Arthur hurried over and came out with a saddled horse, which Hubert swiftly mounted, accepting a cloak from his man. Over the following tense minutes, a dozen of Hubert’s men emerged from the house, all armoured, and each retrieved a horse from the stables. Then, in a moment of immense relief to the observers, the entire group – Hubert, Neel and every rider – cantered out through the arched gate and into the open countryside.
The two men in the upstairs room remained silent, almost breathless, until one of the lord’s sons came bounding up the stairs and into the room.
‘Father has led them away, laying a false trail. He claims you visited, and then continued east, bound for Hunefleth. He takes them along that road in pursuit, while we must escort you south for Falaise.’
William smiled. ‘Hunefleth. A loyal vassal. Quite believable. Excellent.’ He turned to Halfdan. ‘One last push, and we shall be at my home.’
The jarl nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose. One last push, and he’d be ready to sleep for a week.