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the enemy down, losing myself to the will of my sword, arcing it down, slicing it across their throats.
    ‘For Lord Robert!’ I cried. ‘For Lord Robert!’
    I looked about for my next kill, but the enemy were running back to their ranks, where hundreds more, it seemed, were slowly advancing, shouting as they came: ‘ Ut! Ut! Ut! ’
    Wace stood, breathing hard, while the three men that remained of his group rallied around him. The shaft of his spear had cracked, lodged in the chest of one of several Northumbrian bodies littering the earth in front of him. The pennon, soaked with blood, was torn to shreds. He looked, half squinting, up at me. The same blow that had given him his scar at Hæstinges had also crippled his eye, and though he could still see almost as well as before, he had never been able to open it fully since.
    ‘You took your time,’ he said, which was exactly the kind of remark I would have expected from him. He had a voice like gravel: rough and sharp.
    ‘We have to get back,’ I told him, ignoring his lack of gratitude. ‘We must get back to the fastness.’
    I glanced about at the rest of my conroi, who were staring at the massed ranks of English spears bearing down on them. Some of them were already turning, breaking off, riding back the way we had come.
    Sheathing my sword, I waved towards the promontory and the palisade wall ringing its crest. ‘Retreat!’
    Several horses had lost their riders and had bolted away from the fighting, down towards the river’s edge. Already Wace and his men were making for them, though some seemed reluctant to take another rider and were taking flight again, a few lashing out with their hind legs at any who approached.
    A horn blew again, and it seemed to me that the sound was coming from close to the church, the tower of which I could see even now, rising above the roofs of the houses. Embers blew on the wind, some of them landing on the thatch and starting to set it alight; from further to the north came a long cloud of black smoke which billowed in my face, obscuring the way ahead andcausing me to choke, but I could hear the cries of the enemy behind me and I knew I had to keep riding. The furrows ran the length of the field, and I followed them until the path between the houses came into sight. Rollo was slowing, and I knew he must be tiring, but I could not let him rest yet.
    As we came up the steep slope towards the fastness I heard the clash of swords ahead in the main street; we came out just as two Englishmen were finished on the spears of a group of knights. And among those knights I recognised the square face of Mauger: one of the two I had left to protect Oswynn, who was not with him—
    ‘Mauger!’ I called, trying to make myself heard above the clash of steel, the cries which were coming from the marketplace, the drumming of hooves.
    He looked up, tugging on the reins so as to face me. ‘Tancred—’ he began.
    ‘Where is she?’ I cut him off, glancing about to make sure that I hadn’t missed her. But my eyes had not deceived me. She wasn’t there. ‘Where is she?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and I saw the lump in his throat as he swallowed.
    ‘What?’ I stared at him, urging him to go on, my gut already wrenching as he opened his mouth and I sensed what he was about to say, though I did not want to believe it. ‘Where is she?’
    He looked down towards the ground. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘The enemy – they came upon us without warning while we were riding back to the stronghold …’
    ‘No,’ I said. I felt suddenly cold, as if my very soul had flown from my body. Words stuck in my throat, the breath torn from my chest. ‘It can’t be.’ I saw her face before me, her black hair running wild as she glared at me with her dark eyes, cursing in her English tongue.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Mauger said.
    ‘No,’ I repeated. ‘She’s not dead. She’s not.’ I stared into his eyes, willing him to deny it, but I saw only