unpacked their surcoats, new and bright, woven, sown and dyed especially for this day, bearing the same blue and white chequer as their painted shields. Each knight attended upon another, making sure that belts and straps on waist, knee and forehead were tight, that the girths on the horses were not frayed or loose, that the stirrups were of the right length to bear easily the weight of a standing rider.
If Tancred de Hauteville was fussier than most, intent on ensuring that his whole convoy was in perfect condition, that was part habit, but more that he was leading his sons into battle for the first time. It never occurred to him that they would disgracehim, or fail to fight as hard as any man in the duke’s army, but over and over again he repeated the mantras that they had heard from his lips all their lives about how to handle their mounts, how to pay attention to commands, which way to hold and use their lance while ensuring that their shields protected them from the counter-thrusts of those they would be attacking. If he noticed that the murmured agreement from the lips of his sons and their like-age companions sounded bored, it did nothing to dent his insistence.
William was doing much the same as an elder brother, acting as if he had battle experience when he had only participated in local skirmishes, and annoying his siblings mightily. But they no more rejected advice from him than they did from their father, for in truth they knew the elder brother to be using his concern to allay his own nervous anticipation. And all were prey to the same thought: they had sought this day since they were children contesting with wooden swords, dreamt of it when as youths they first rode and sought to control, with nothing but their knees, a fighting horse. Now it was upon them, it did not seem so splendid as it had in anticipation.
The anxious tics evaporated when the horns blew to assemble. It was like a signal, for the mist lifted as the rising sun began to burn it off, and the men ofthe Norman cavalry were greeted with the first sight of the Franks they would fight alongside, a footborne host marching in its own cloud of dust, heading in straggling columns towards the nearby field of combat, men whose heads seemed to be bowed already with weariness. The sound of a beating drum drifted on the air, the steady beat in time with those hundreds of silent feet.
‘They look sapped already,’ said William.
‘Beaten,’ Drogo added, ‘though they’re not yet running.’
‘Then be glad you have a horse to carry you,’ growled Tancred. ‘Now get your helmets on and mount up.’
The move to do so was carried out with a degree of inflexibility, for even young and strong as his boys were they were hampered in their movement by the weight of their mail hauberks, indeed Geoffrey de Montbray, a small cross of the crucified Christ swinging on his chest, had to have a leg-up to mount, which earned him a few remarks about the diminishing power of the deity he represented.
‘As long as I feel his power in my sword arm, cousins, that will suffice, though I will pray for the souls of those I smite.’
They were horsed by the time the duke rode round the camp to take a salute from his troops. Mounted on a magnificent grey animal and wearing mail finer than those of his vassals, he exuded confidence andWilliam de Hauteville, for one, wondered if he felt as he did: that whatever rank they held, whatever other matters impinged on their lives, this was the high point of their existence. Nothing mattered more to a Norman of noble birth than the ability and willingness to engage in battle; nothing had greater importance in their society than the ability to wield a sword and win a fight. Let others till the soil and harvest the crops, let others tend the sheep, the cattle, the chickens and the goats. A knight had but one true purpose.
Behind Robert rode the Constable of the host and the Master Marshall, as well as that high-ranking prelate
If Tancred de Hauteville was fussier than most, intent on ensuring that his whole convoy was in perfect condition, that was part habit, but more that he was leading his sons into battle for the first time. It never occurred to him that they would disgracehim, or fail to fight as hard as any man in the duke’s army, but over and over again he repeated the mantras that they had heard from his lips all their lives about how to handle their mounts, how to pay attention to commands, which way to hold and use their lance while ensuring that their shields protected them from the counter-thrusts of those they would be attacking. If he noticed that the murmured agreement from the lips of his sons and their like-age companions sounded bored, it did nothing to dent his insistence.
William was doing much the same as an elder brother, acting as if he had battle experience when he had only participated in local skirmishes, and annoying his siblings mightily. But they no more rejected advice from him than they did from their father, for in truth they knew the elder brother to be using his concern to allay his own nervous anticipation. And all were prey to the same thought: they had sought this day since they were children contesting with wooden swords, dreamt of it when as youths they first rode and sought to control, with nothing but their knees, a fighting horse. Now it was upon them, it did not seem so splendid as it had in anticipation.
The anxious tics evaporated when the horns blew to assemble. It was like a signal, for the mist lifted as the rising sun began to burn it off, and the men ofthe Norman cavalry were greeted with the first sight of the Franks they would fight alongside, a footborne host marching in its own cloud of dust, heading in straggling columns towards the nearby field of combat, men whose heads seemed to be bowed already with weariness. The sound of a beating drum drifted on the air, the steady beat in time with those hundreds of silent feet.
‘They look sapped already,’ said William.
‘Beaten,’ Drogo added, ‘though they’re not yet running.’
‘Then be glad you have a horse to carry you,’ growled Tancred. ‘Now get your helmets on and mount up.’
The move to do so was carried out with a degree of inflexibility, for even young and strong as his boys were they were hampered in their movement by the weight of their mail hauberks, indeed Geoffrey de Montbray, a small cross of the crucified Christ swinging on his chest, had to have a leg-up to mount, which earned him a few remarks about the diminishing power of the deity he represented.
‘As long as I feel his power in my sword arm, cousins, that will suffice, though I will pray for the souls of those I smite.’
They were horsed by the time the duke rode round the camp to take a salute from his troops. Mounted on a magnificent grey animal and wearing mail finer than those of his vassals, he exuded confidence andWilliam de Hauteville, for one, wondered if he felt as he did: that whatever rank they held, whatever other matters impinged on their lives, this was the high point of their existence. Nothing mattered more to a Norman of noble birth than the ability and willingness to engage in battle; nothing had greater importance in their society than the ability to wield a sword and win a fight. Let others till the soil and harvest the crops, let others tend the sheep, the cattle, the chickens and the goats. A knight had but one true purpose.
Behind Robert rode the Constable of the host and the Master Marshall, as well as that high-ranking prelate
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