Sworn Sword by James Aitcheson

Author:James Aitcheson [Aitcheson, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical
ISBN: 9781402280764
Publisher: Windsor
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty

I BURST INTO the hall, sending the door crashing against the inside of the wall. The snow billowed around me as, shaking violently, I stumbled in. My breath caught in my chest. I hadn’t realised how far it was back from the wharves.

I closed the door fast against the outside and lifted the thick timber plank that rested against the wall. My arms protested, drained of all their strength, as I set the bar in place across the door. A large brass key rested in the lock and I tried to turn it, but there was little feeling in my fingers and it slipped from my grasp, falling with a dull clang on to the flagstone paving. I cursed out loud but did not stoop to pick it up, instead making my way straight to the hearth. There was a stack of firewood beside it; I picked up several of the smallest pieces, casting them liberally on to the embers, and huddled down on the stool in front of them. I needed fire. I needed warmth.

‘What’s going on?’

I looked over my shoulder as Eudo sat up, rubbing his eyes. I wondered what I must look like, wet and trembling by the fire, but only briefly, for the cold was seeping into my bones.

‘Fetch me a dry tunic,’ I said, my jaw quivering. ‘Braies and a cloak too.’

He saw me properly then and got quickly to his feet. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘First get me some dry clothes,’ I said, as I stripped off my tunic and undershirt and cast them on to the floor. A few tiny flames began to lick at the dry wood I had added; I blew on them to encourage them, trying to will them larger as I tossed more pieces on. I gathered up some of the rushes from the floor in my arms and added them to the smouldering pile. They were dry and ought, I hoped, to burn easily.

Stepping over the sleeping forms of the other knights, Eudo went to where my pack lay beside the round table, and fumbled inside. Wace sat up, dazed and blinking, while the three younger men began to stir. Light appeared, bobbing down the stairs. It was the steward, a candle in his hand.

‘I heard noise,’ he said, frowning. His bald pate gleamed in the firelight. ‘Is everything all right?’

I rose from the stool as Eudo brought me my spare clothes, and his own cloak. ‘I was set upon,’ I said. ‘In the streets by St Eadmund’s church.’

The steward stopped where he was, clearly confused by my appearance, as he looked me up and down. ‘You were—?’

I pulled the dry tunic over my head. ‘I was attacked. By another knight.’ I belted up the cloak while I waited for the impact of that to settle. ‘A Frenchman,’ I added.

‘A Frenchman?’ Wace asked, through the middle of a yawn.

‘You must have been mistaken,’ Eudo said.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I saw him. I heard him speak.’

Eudo shook his head. ‘Why would a fellow Frenchman attack you? Especially in the king’s own city.

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