Knights of the Hawk by James Aitcheson

with an absent flick of his hand. But I was not about to be summoned and sent away so readily, like some trained dog performing tricks upon command.
    ‘You don’t believe me,’ I said.
    He dipped the end of the goose feather into a pot of ink, and then resumed scratching his spindly letters upon the vellum, as if he hadn’t heard.
    I brought my fist down upon the top of the monk’s desk. It shuddered under the impact. ‘It was Hereward. We saw him.’
    Atselin did not so much as blink. ‘Did you cross swords with him?’ he asked. ‘Did you fight him in single combat? Perhaps you even managed to wound him, as they say you wounded Eadgar Ætheling.’
    At that I recoiled slightly. I hadn’t thought a mere monk would be so well informed about who I was or about my reputation, such as it was in those days. Eadgar was the man I had sworn to kill, the leader of the Northumbrians who had twice risen against us and twice been routed. The man responsible for the murder of my former lord and of many of my closest comrades on that bitter winter’s night. In return I’d laid a scar upon his cheek that he still bore to this day, though it was scant vengeance.
    ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, frowning.
    Atselin shrugged. From my dealings with him I knew he was a man of little humour, who rarely showed even the hint of a smile, but even so I sensed he was enjoying this sparring, and enjoying my discomfort too.
    ‘If you had captured Hereward and brought him here in chains, then as I see it you would have accomplished something of value. But since I don’t see him here, I assume he managed to escape. Just as the ætheling managed to escape at Eoferwic, and again at Beferlic last autumn.’
    Few people were aware that I had been in the battle at Beferlic. Again his knowledge surprised me, although when I came to reflect upon it, perhaps it shouldn’t have. Working within the royal household, he would have many opportunities to overhear scraps of knowledge and glean important details to keep for later use, just as all the records he made at this writing-desk were stored away in the chancery.
    ‘It isn’t my fault that Eadgar still lives,’ I said. ‘Neither of those battles would have been won were it not for me.’
    ‘Is that so?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps a better warrior would have seen that he finished his task.’
    Anger swelled inside me and I had to clench my teeth to hold my tongue.
    ‘Besides,’ Atselin went on, ‘what proof do I have that you did these things that you claim, and which others say of you? Why should I believe that it was you who fought Eadgar upon the bridge at Eoferwic, that you were the one who turned the tide of battle against the enemy? For that matter, how can I believe that you faced Hereward this day?’
    ‘You can believe it because it is the truth,’ I said, unable to hold my temper any longer. ‘I was there.’
    ‘So says every man with such a yarn to spin.’
    I leant over his desk and lowered my voice. ‘Don’t try my patience, monk. I could run my sword through your belly and gut you in an instant if I so wished.’
    ‘You would kill a man of God and choose eternal damnation?’
    ‘He would thank me for ridding the world of such a worthless rodent.’
    Atselin sighed, and it was a deep, weary sigh, as though he had heard many such threats in his time and was no longer troubled by them. He pointed at me with the feathered end of his quill. ‘I have met men like you before, Tancred of Earnford. I know your kind. Hot-tempered and wedded to your swords, you brag of your feats and wish others to praise you, to shower you in gold and write down songs of your brutish deeds so that they may pass into legend. It may surprise you to learn, then, that I have no interest in your boasts. I do not write songs. I am interested only in keeping the records for our lord king. So unless you have something truly important to tell me, trouble me no more with your wild tales.’
    My