James Aitcheson
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They had not; that much at least was true. Word of our advance had clearly gone before us, for everywhere we had marched north of Eoferwic we had seen villages and farms deserted, people fleeing with their livestock, driving them up into the hills and the woods. And when finally we reached Dunholm and passed through its gates just before sunset, we had found the town all but empty. Only the bishop of the town and his staff remained; the burgesses, they said, had fled into the woods.
Yet there was something about the ease of this particular victory which had made Lord Robert uncertain, and that was why he had sent the five of us, as he had sent others, to search for any sign of the enemy nearby.
“We keep looking,” I said firmly. “Whether or not our balls freeze.”
In truth I did not think that we would find anyone tonight. These were people who would never before have seen a Norman army. Naturally they would have heard of how we had crushed the usurper at Hæstinges, but they could not have witnessed it themselves; they could not have felt the might of the mounted charge which had won us that victory and so many others since. But now at last we had come in force – a host of two thousand men here to claim what was the king’s by right. They would have seen our banners, our horses, our mail glinting in the low winter sun, and they would have known there was no hope of standing against us. And so they had fled, leaving us the town.
So it seemed to me, at least. But what I thought did not matter, for the decision was not mine to make. Rather it belonged to our lord, Robert de Commines, by the king’s edict the new earl of Northumbria, and the man charged with subduing this quarrelsome province. Of course Eudo and the others knew this, but they were tired and all they wanted was to rest. We had been on the road so long; it was nearly two weeks since we had first left Lundenburh. Two weeks which we had spent riding and marching through rain and sleet and snow, across marshes and hills that seemed to go on without end.
We carried on up the slope until we came to its brow and could look down upon the land in every direction: upon the wooded hills to the north and the open fields to the south. The moon was partly hidden behind a cloud and I could see little but the rise and fall of the earth. Certainly there was no hint of firelight or spearpoints, or anything else which would have betrayed the enemy. The wind buffeted at my cheeks and the rain continued to fall, though far to the north and east, near to where the land met the German Sea, I saw clear skies glittering with stars and I hoped that the weather would soon ease.
I checked Rollo, my horse, and swung down from the saddle, patting him on the flank as I signalled for the others to do the same.
“We’ll rest here a while,” I said. I thrust the end of my lance into the sodden ground, leaving the head to point towards the sky, while beneath it the damp pennon limply displayed the hawk that was Lord Robert’s device. I lifted my shield from where it hung by its long strap across my back, and rested it against the trunk of a tree. It bore the same emblem: a black symbol upon a white field; the bird in flight with talons extended, as if descending for the kill.
The others said nothing as they dismounted and began to pace about, feeling the use of their legs again. I dug out a small loaf from the single saddlebag I had brought, and sank my teeth into it.
To the east the clouds were beginning to break, and I could spy the silver-flecked ribbon of the river Wiire as it wove about the town of Dunholm. A narrow promontory jutted out to the south, atop which stood the fastness: a palisade surrounding a small huddle of buildings; shadows against the half-lit clouds. The promontory was sided by steep bluffs and the river coiled about them, enclosing the fastness on three sides. Thin spires of smoke rose gently from the thatch of the