Ironhand Read online

  The girl moved behind him and he felt her slide the dagger from its sheath. The Norman's eyes were flickering from him to her and then to the tent entrance and Ranulph knew that he was waiting for the slightest sign of his attention wavering.

  'For the love of God, man, make yourself decent!' he exclaimed.

  The Norman stooped cautiously and pulled up his braies, his eyes never leaving Ranulph's. Ranulph could hear Rosa sawing through the ropes binding Hildred and his groan of mingled pain and relief as he moved his cramped limbs.

  'Rosa, bring the ropes and tie this man's hands behind his back.' He was improvising wildly. Somehow the Norman had to be kept silent and immobile until they could make their escape. Rosa came to stand behind the Norman's back, the severed ropes in her hands.

  'Put your hands behind your back,' Ranulph ordered.

  A contemptuous smile curled the Norman's lips. 'You haven't got the guts to finish me off, have you boy? Why should I take orders from you?'

  'Because I have a sword at your throat and if you don't obey it will be your guts spread over this tent,' Ranulph said grimly.

  At that moment there was a sound of voices immediately outside the tent and for a second Ranulph turned his head to meet a new threat. It was all the Norman needed. Quick as a striking snake he reached behind him and grabbed Rosa's wrist, twisting it so that she let go of the dagger. In the same movement he pulled her in front of him, pinioning her with his left arm across her chest, his right hand holding the dagger to her throat.

  'Drop your sword, or the girl dies!' He raised his voice. 'Ho! Help here! I am being attacked!'

  For an instant Ranulph hesitated.

  'Do it! I'm not as lily livered as you.' To lend force to his words the Norman pressed the dagger to Rosa's throat, so that a drop of blood trickled down to her breast and she cried out in pain. Slowly Ranulph bent to lay his sword on the ground, but as he did so Hildred lurched out of the shadows and threw himself at the Norman. Taken by surprise the man lost his balance and he and Rosa and Hildred went to the ground in a tangle of threshing limbs.

  The Norman's shout had been heard and the tent flap was thrown back. Ranulph whirled round and found himself facing three men with drawn swords. For a few breathless moments he held them all off, his weapon whirling so fast it was a blur in the faint lamp light. He kicked one man in the belly and sent him reeling to one side. Two to one, the odds were better, but both these opponents were experienced swordsmen. It could only be a matter or time before one of them got through his guard. Then Hildred was beside him. Two against two. Normally that would be easy. But Hildred was unsteady on his feet, unable to move quickly, and Ranulph felt rather than saw him go down. Two more men had rushed into the tent to join the fray and the man he had kicked was coming back at him. He stepped astride Hildred's prone body and fought them off with every ounce of skill he possessed. It did not last long. A sword caught his own, hilt to hilt, and twisted, forcing the weapon out of his grip. He stood defenceless, waiting for the blow that would end his life.

  'Hold!'

  The command rang out from a tall man who stood in the entrance to the tent. It was the voice of authority and Ranulph's assailants stopped and lowered their swords.

  'What has happened here?'

  'We're not sure,' one said. 'Bertrand shouted for help. When we got here he was on the floor with the girl and this man ...' he indicated Hildred with his foot 'was attacking him. This other one ...' with a nod at Ranulph, 'was standing over them with his weapon out.'

  'Who are you?' the newcomer demanded.

  'My name is Ranulph. They call me Ironhand.'

  'Whose man are you? I don't recognise you.'

  'I'm not with your army. I come from the Emperor's camp.'

  'From the Emperor's camp? But you are a Norman, are you not?'

  'No. I am English.'

  'English? Well, that explains good deal. What are you doing here?'

  'This knight abducted my woman from our camp. It was a cowardly act, to attack the defenceless. I was ... on the field of battle at the time but my friend here...' He glanced down. Hildred was not moving.'My friend saw what had happened and came after them. He was wounded and taken prisoner.'

  'And you followed - alone?'

  'Yes. When I got here this knight was attempting to rape my woman.'

  'How does Sir Bertrand? The commander asked.

  One of the men moved past Ranulph and bent over the prone figures.

  'Dead, sire.'

  'And the woman?'

  'Dead, too.'

  'What of this man?' indicating Hildred.

  Ranulph was pushed aside. 'He is dead, too.'

  Ranulph looked down at the body of his friend and choked back a sob. He turned his eyes to the tall man. He was red-headed and his armour indicated a high rank. Ranulph realised suddenly that he was facing Robert d'Hauteville, the Guiscard himself.

  'Sire, I beg of you. Let me take the body of this man back to his friends, so that he can be buried honourably. He sacrificed his life for my sake. I owe him this at least.'

  The Guiscard looked at him for a long moment. Then he turned to the Norman knights who had attacked him.

  'He came alone to rescue the woman and his friend, and he has fought nobly over the friend's body. Such courage deserves respect.' He returned his gaze to Ranulph. 'Do you have a horse nearby?'

  'In the valley where we stopped your cavalry charge this morning.'

  The Guiscard grinned. 'So you were one of those,were you. Well, it was a good fight.' He looked round the group. 'Two of you, help this man to carry his friend's body, and the girl's, to his horse.'

  'You are letting him go, sire?' one bolder than the rest asked. 'He killed Bertrand.'

  'I fancy it was his friend who did that - and in my estimation it was well deserved. As this man says, to attack the camp when the fighters were in the field was a cowardly act. Now do as I ordered.'

  Ranulph had fought a hard battle, had suffered the shock of discovering Alessandro's intentions and then the hostility of his former friends. He had eaten very little and had made the long and difficult journey from his own camp and then found himself fighting for his life. He was at the end of his strength. In a daze he helped the two Norman's to lift Hildred's body. Another picked up Rosa and together they plodded through the camp to the valley where he had left Silver. Miraculously, the mare was still where he had left her, patiently waiting. The two bodies were laid across her saddle and, with brief farewells, Ranulph took the reins and stumbled back towards his own camp.

  Dawn was breaking when he reached it and men were crawling out of their tents, yawning and scratching. They came to their feet at the sight of Ranulph and the burden his horse carried, but no one spoke and no one came forward to help as he dragged the bodies from the saddle and laid them, as gently as his failing strength would allow, on the ground.

  He said hoarsely, 'I brought them back, so they can be honourably buried.'

  Some one said, 'Fetch Leofric,' but the mercenary captain was already approaching. He walked into the centre of the circle that had formed around the bodies and looked from them to Ranulph.

  'So. They died, but you survived. How did that happen?'

  'They almost killed me too. I fought them off as long as I could, but there were too many of them. I would be dead if the Guiscard had not stopped them.'

  'The Guiscard? He stopped them from killing you? Why?'

  'He heard the fighting and came to see what was happening. He wanted an explanation.'

  'And you told him …?'

  'The knight who kidnapped Rosa was trying to rape her. I heard her screaming.' He shook his head wearily. 'I had the man at the point of my sword. I should have killed him there and then. But others came and I had to defend myself …' He trailed off into silence. The effort of retelling his story was too great.

  'And Hildred?' Leofric demanded.

  'The knight had him bound hand and foot, but we freed him. He fought be
side me as long as he was able, but he was wounded. He did not have the strength. I stood over his body until they disarmed me.'

  'And Rosa? How did she die?'

  'I … I'm not sure. The knight had a dagger at her throat. Hildred went for him, while I was occupied with the others. I didn't see what happened, but when I was able to look they were both dead.'

  'Both?'

  'Rosa and the man who was attacking her. I suppose he cut her throat and then Hildred stabbed him. I think that must be what happened.'

  'So, one of the Guiscard's men was killed – and he let you go free. What did you do? Offer him your arse in payment?'

  The injustice of the remark struck Ranulph like a blow to the stomach, but he was beyond anger. From a throat that felt as if it was full of grit he ground out, 'He said it was an act of courage to come alone, and that I had fought nobly. He said courage like that should be rewarded. He ordered two of his men to help me carry the bodies to where I had left my horse.'

  It was Everwon who spoke up for him. 'It's true, Leofric. It took guts to do what Ranulph did. We must credit the Norman with some sense of honour. And it seems that neither Hildred's nor Rosa's death can be laid at Ranulph's door. Do not be too hard on the lad.'

  Leofric shrugged and made to turn away. Ranulph looked down at the two bodies. They lay side by side, one of Hildred's arms outflung across the girl's chest, her sightless eyes turned towards him. The sight prompted a sudden thought. 'Were they lovers? I asked Hildred to look after Rosa while I was away. Did he fall for her?'

  Leofric's eyes narrowed. 'Do you think he would have betrayed your trust in that manner?'

  'Then I don 't understand. Why did he risk his life to go after her?'

  Leofric stepped forward so that they faced each other with only the two bodies between them.

  'Are you that stupid? Hildred didn't go after the girl for love of her. You blind young idiot! He went for love of you!'

  16.

  Amalfi 1085.

  'That's the man, over there – feather in his cap, fur collar on his cloak. See him?'

  A brief pause, then, 'Yeah! I see him. Clothes like that don't come cheap.'

  'Too right! And look at the fat purse on his belt. He's been buying drinks for all and sundry all evening and there's still plenty left.'

  'That's our mark, then? When do we take him?'

  'Keep your voice down! You never know who's listening.'

  'You worried about that sot over there? He's well out of it. He's been dead to the world since I got here.'

  The words penetrated the fog in Ranulph's head, but initially he thought they were part of a dream. He dreamt a lot lately. But the term 'sot' annoyed him. As a matter of fact, he was not drunk – not this evening. He had run out of money after the first couple of glasses, so he had decided to have a sleep instead, and he was not pleased at being woken. Sleep, whether alcohol induced or not, was the only escape he knew from the images that haunted him. He half raised his head and peered over the arm he had been using as a pillow. The two speakers were hunched together at a table in the opposite corner of the room. One was tall and gaunt, with a straggling ginger beard; the other was a little weasel of a man, whose whole face seemed to come to a point at the tip of his nose. Both were roughly dressed and extremely dirty. Ranulph took an instant dislike to them.

  Out of curiosity, he followed the direction of their gaze. On the far side of the room a group of men were gathered round a larger table. They presented a very different picture. All were well dressed, but none more so than the man at the centre, and it was obvious that he was the one the other two were talking about. He was a big man, broad shoulders under the fur-collared cloak, muscular forearms protruding from the sleeves of his tunic, a weathered face half hidden by a thick dark beard. A bear of a man, Ranulph thought to himself. But there was something about the face that struck a chord. It was not that he knew the man, but he had seen faces like that before somewhere. He trawled groggily through his memory. It was the complexion, worn by sun and wind, and the light-coloured creases at the corners of the eyes … He knew it now. It was a seaman's face. Not an ordinary seaman. He had seen men like that in Bordeaux, when he went to trade for wine … how long ago? A long, long time … His mind was drifting. He dragged himself back to the present. A wealthy merchant captain. That was what the bear/man was. He knew it as well as if they had been introduced.

  'So when do we take him? When he goes out for a piss?'

  'No. We'll follow him home. Chances are it'll be worth our while to pay him a return visit in a day or two.'

  'Suppose he spots us?'

  'No chance! The way he's been knocking back the booze it'll be all he can do to find his way home.'

  Ranulph rubbed his face on his sleeve and told himself to mind his own business. The last thing he needed was to get into a fight. But for some obscure reason he felt an affinity with the man they proposed to rob; there was an association at the back of his mind that he could not quite grasp. Then another face flashed into his memory – Piet's face. They could not be more different, one lean and fair, the other dark and bulky, but they were both seamen, both merchants. Nostalgia swept him, bringing the tears that came all too readily these days. He brushed them away. He had betrayed Piet. He was damned if he was going to let these two unsavoury characters rob and possibly kill this other man. He felt for the bag he had placed under his feet for safe keeping, the bag that held all his worldly possessions. It was very light. He remembered that he had disposed of his hauberk and his helmet days ago, in exchange for food and wine and a night's lodging. It had seemed a reasonable deal at the time. After all, he was done with war. He wondered where he had left Silver, and then recalled that he had sold her to pay for drink– yesterday, was it, or the day before – longer than that perhaps. He no longer had any idea how much time had passed since he rode away from Leofric's camp. In a moment of panic he dropped his hand to his side. Yes! Thank God, he had had the sense to hold on to his sword.

  On the far side of the room the group was breaking up. The big man reached into his purse and paid the reckoning for all of them. Then they headed for the door, and the two robbers rose quietly and followed. Ranulph pulled himself to his feet. He waited until the door closed behind the two men, then went after them. Out in the street the Bear was taking leave of his companions. The robbers leaned casually against a wall a short way off. Ranulph turned away and pissed into the gutter. Let them think he was still drunk. After a few moments the Bear moved away up the street, together with two others. At the next junction they went their own way and he walked on alone. The robbers followed, making no attempt to hide themselves, relying obviously on the notion that their mark was too far gone to notice. Certainly, it was clear from his wavering steps that his whole attention was focused on keeping his feet. Ranulph slunk after the three of them, keeping back in the shadows.

  As he walked, he wondered where he was. When he left the camp his only thought had been to head south, away from Rome, away from the fighting, away from Leofric and Alessandro. After that, it had simply been a matter of looking for the next inn, the next place that offered enough wine to sink him into blessed oblivion. He had no idea how far he had travelled. He sniffed the air. It was salty. He was in a sea port, then, which was logical, given the presence of a seaman like the Bear. The road he was following led steeply upwards, so they were heading away from the sea. It was late. The houses were closed and shuttered, but there was enough moonlight for him to keep his quarry in view. They came to a crossroads and the Bear turned right, into a broader thoroughfare, where the houses were larger and set in their own gardens. This, then, was where the rich citizens lived. Ranulph loosened the sword in its scabbard and wrapped his cloak round his left arm as a shield.

  Ahead, he saw the taller of the two robbers grip the other's arm and gesture. The small man nodded and turned aside and swung himself, with athleticism that surprised Ranulph, over a low wall. With what objective, he wondered. The
merchant had reached his own house and was fumbling in his purse for a key. The tall robber ran forward and the moonlight gleamed blue on the blade of a dagger. Ranulph launched himself after him with a yell that stopped him in his tracks and made him swing round to face the new danger. At the same instant, the merchant turned, his own dagger drawn, all traces of inebriation banished, and the robber found himself caught between two adversaries.

  'Yours, I think,' the Bear said, gesturing politely towards Ranulph.

  'No, no. Please, be my guest,' Ranulph returned with equal courtesy.

  The robber looked from one to the other, then he gave a shrill whistle. The door behind the merchant burst open and the little man flung himself at the merchant's back. The Bear swung round just in time to deflect a blow that would have skewered his liver and the little man dodged back, his blade weaving in search of an opening. The Bear closed with him and they wrestled hand to hand. The tall man, taking advantage of the surprise, threw his dagger at Ranulph with lethal accuracy and only instinct born of long training made him throw up his cloaked arm to deflect it. He lunged at the man, who staggered back clutching his shoulder, but at that moment three more shadowy figures appeared in the street and launched themselves into the fight. The Bear, having disposed of the little robber, took his place at Ranulph's side and there was a brief, vicious encounter which left one of the new assailants staggering with a severed hamstring. The others came to the conclusion that they had taken on more than they bargained for and ran, dragging their wounded comrade with them.

  Ranulph leant on his sword, breathing heavily. Jesu! He was out of condition! The Bear kicked the small man, who was crouched on the ground nursing what appeared to be a broken wrist.

  'Get out, and take your mate with you, before I call the watch. If I see either of you again it'll be the gallows for both of you.'

  The man scrambled to his feet and grabbed his companion by his unwounded arm and the two of them scuttled away into the shadows.

  The merchant turned and held out his hand. 'I don't know who you are, friend, or what brought you to my side at such a moment, but I am forever grateful. My name in Benvenuto, but my friends call me Beppo.'