The Bloodstained Throne (3 page)

‘Take me to the shore first,’ the man snarled.

Angrily, Geoffrey prised his hands away, but when he looked to where Simon had been, there was only water.

For the second time that afternoon, Geoffrey was forced to strip off his clothes so Bale could wring them out. It was not pleasant to replace them, chilled as he was, but even sodden garments were better than none in the biting wind. He jumped up and down in an attempt to warm himself, at the same time listening to Juhel regale the Saxon with details of how the current had dragged him miles along the beach before he could break free of it. The Saxon remained haughtily aloof, although he did not object when Juhel helped him remove his clothes for wringing – now the hapless Simon was dead he seemed unsure how to make himself more comfortable.

‘You cannot go to the Holy Land, Sir Geoffrey,’ said Bale, resuming their earlier conversation as though it had never been interrupted. ‘God wants you to stay here, see.’

Roger agreed. ‘He wants us in England, and I dare not risk His wrath again. I am staying and I urge you to do the same.’

Geoffrey was relieved. Since he had no money, taking companions was out of the question anyway. He would miss Roger’s ready sword and cheerful friendship, but it could not be helped.

‘We are lucky,’ said Bale. ‘Not only are we still alive, but we are still in England. We might have ended up in Normandy.’ He crossed himself vigorously, shooting the others meaningful looks.

Ulfrith nodded sagely. ‘And with Robert de Bellême rampaging there we would have been killed within a week.’

‘Do not be ridiculous!’ said Roger. ‘How would he have known we had arrived? Bellême does not rule
all
Normandy, and he does not know
everything
that happens.’

Bale and Ulfrith exchanged a glance that said they thought differently. Geoffrey was wary of the wicked Earl of Shrewsbury’s network of informants, too. Bellême had been banished from England the previous year and was currently venting his spleen on his Norman domains, leaving behind death and destruction. Geoffrey’s decision to travel to the Holy Land the longer way through Denmark and Franconia said a good deal about his reluctance to venture into the hellish maelstrom of Bellême’s sphere of influence.

The light was fading, but with the end of the day came a respite from the storm. The wind lessened and the stinging slash of rain gave way to drizzle. The waves still crashed on to the shore, however, thrusting pieces of wreckage before them. As the locals resumed their relentless advance, Geoffrey suggested that he and his companions find somewhere safe to spend the night.

‘Which way?’ asked Roger, gathering up his possessions. Besides his armour and weapons, he had somehow contrived to save all his better clothes and a heavy pouch stuffed with coins and jewellery. Geoffrey might be penniless, but Roger remained wealthy.

Geoffrey considered. ‘Just before we left the ship I saw a tower. It was probably a church, but it looked to be made of stone, so it must belong to a settlement of some substance – not like the hamlets of these fishermen.’

‘Then why did no one come to help us?’ demanded Roger. ‘It is unchristian to sit in warm houses while we shiver out here.’

‘
All
the villages around here consider wrecks their personal property,’ stated Ulfrith.

Geoffrey grimaced. Ulfrith spoke with conviction, but he was miles from where he grew up, so could not know what ‘all the villages around here’ believed. Still, Geoffrey was sure about one thing: the sullen fishermen who fingered their knives and cudgels were Saxon and would certainly be happy to strike a blow against two Norman knights. The conquest thirty-seven years before was still raw in the minds of many, and Normans had done little to make themselves popular with the nation they had so ruthlessly subjugated.

‘We had better make a move before it is too dark,’ he said.

‘I think that headland we passed – the one with the beacon – lies a few miles from Pevenesel,’ said Ulfrith tentatively. ‘We cannot be very far from the castle there.’

‘Good,’ said Roger fervently. ‘I would rather lie in a cramped hall full of snoring Norman soldiers than on a Saxon feather mattress.’

‘Look!’ cried Bale suddenly. ‘Someone else is coming our way!’

Ulfrith gave a grin of unadulterated delight. ‘It is Lady Philippa and Lady Edith! They must have been washed farther down the coast, like Juhel.’

With a happy whoop, he raced away to greet them.

Two

Philippa and Edith were elegant ladies, but chalk and cheese. Edith was a tall, golden-haired beauty with a long neck, large blue eyes and haughty Norman manners; Philippa was small, dark, lively and full of opinions. Edith was older and the more dominant of the pair.

Geoffrey had spent little time in their company on
Patrick
due to their husband’s vehement accusations. However, what he
had
seen of them convinced him there was not an intelligent thought in the head of either.

‘Vitalis is dead!’ wept Philippa as Ulfrith ushered them forward. ‘He was alive when we reached the shore, but water must have swelled inside his lungs and choked him, even as he gave thanks for his deliverance. What shall I do now? He was all I had!’

‘There, there, sister,’ crooned Edith. ‘We shall look after each other.
I
will never leave you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Philippa, forcing a wan smile. ‘And I suppose we have two knights to protect us now. Thank God! I thought we might have to throw ourselves on the mercy of a rabble.’

She gazed distastefully at the pirates and then at Ulfrith and Bale, who, as mere squires, were too lowly to be considered genteel company. Ulfrith did not notice and continued to beam. His happy grin faded at the next comment, however.

‘Have you seen dear Brother Lucian?’ asked Edith. ‘We looked for him on the beach but saw only two drowned sailors. And Lucian’s manservant. He was dead, too.’

‘Poor man,’ said Juhel with gentle compassion.

Philippa barely glanced at him, clearly considering a mere parchmenter beneath her. Then she started to cry. ‘Actually, it is poor Vitalis! And poor Lucian!’

‘Vitalis was a good man,’ Edith agreed, also tearful. ‘We shall have masses said for his soul when we reach a place of safety.’ After a moment, she inclined her head towards the villagers. ‘Do they mean to attack us? They seem very menacing.’

‘They frighten me,’ added Philippa. ‘I do not want to stay here.’

Edith agreed. ‘No one else will come ashore alive now, and we should consider our own safety. It distresses me to leave without knowing poor Brother Lucian’s fate, but he would have understood our need to protect ourselves.’

‘He certainly would,’ muttered Ulfrith. ‘He was a selfish brute, who put himself above everyone. He was the first overboard when Fingar gave the order to abandon ship.’

‘We must stay together,’ said Juhel to Geoffrey and Roger, apparently deciding that two knights represented his best chance of staying alive. ‘At least until we reach civilization.’

‘Do you have money?’ asked Roger bluntly. ‘Or just that chicken?’

Juhel smiled and raised the cage so everyone could see the disconsolate bundle within. Geoffrey saw his dog lick its lips and leaned down to grab it before it did anything irreversible.

‘My bird is worth more than all the treasure in Jerusalem,’ Juhel declared. ‘But I have enough gold to pay my way. I saved my dagger, too, so I am not completely helpless. But the ladies are right: we should not linger here with daylight fading.’

‘A knight with a sword is better than a merchant with a dagger,’ said Philippa, simpering at Geoffrey. ‘We are fortunate to have found
you
.’

‘I agree,’ said Edith. She rested a hand on Roger’s arm and beamed. ‘I know you will find us somewhere warm tonight.’

‘Aye, lass,’ said Roger with a leer that suggested he might supply some of the heat personally.

‘Then we should go,’ said Geoffrey promptly. ‘We will walk towards that tower I saw.’

‘And tomorrow?’ asked the Saxon haughtily. ‘What happens tomorrow?’

Geoffrey shrugged. ‘If we do not find shelter, there may not be a tomorrow for us.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Roger. ‘The fellow with the green hat is still watching us. The others are concentrating on Fingar’s salvage, but not him. Look! There he is among those trees.’

‘So he is,’ muttered Geoffrey, following Roger’s gaze. ‘And his large friend is with him. Is he interested in us because he thinks we will be easier to rob? Or is there another reason?’

Unsettled by the peculiar interest of the green-hatted man and his hulking friend, Geoffrey began to walk towards the tower. Roger marched behind him, Edith clinging to his arm, followed by the other passengers, with Bale bringing up the rear. Philippa ran to catch up with Geoffrey, but so did Ulfrith, taking her hand in a powerful grip to support her over the uneven surface. She grimaced, loath to settle for a squire when her friend had a knight, but she made the best of it and began to chatter gaily about herself – the subject she seemed to like best.

She had some serious competition, though, because Juhel was also determined to hear his own voice. He rattled on about some perfumed oil he had sold to Bellême. Geoffrey was dubious: he could not imagine that ruthless tyrant being interested in fripperies. As they babbled, Geoffrey glanced behind him to ensure Bale was carrying out his duties as vanguard.

He need not have worried. Bale took seriously any order issued by his master and was assiduously looking backwards every two or three steps to ensure no one was in pursuit. He had Geoffrey’s dog on a piece of rope, knowing the animal would growl if any villager came too close. Geoffrey had a feeling the would-be looters would be disappointed if they did intend to attack after dark: about thirty sailors had survived, and such a large group would present a formidable challenge.

‘Have you noticed that Saxon has attached himself to us?’ asked Ulfrith of Geoffrey, rather indignantly. ‘He has been very unfriendly, so I do not know how he dares!’

‘Because we are a better proposition than Fingar and his rabble,’ said Juhel, overhearing. ‘
We
will not slit his throat in the night and make off with his belongings.’

‘Life will be difficult for me now,’ said Philippa, bringing the discussion back to herself. ‘I am a young widow, whose husband has been ripped away in untimely fashion.’

‘Vitalis was rather old,’ remarked Ulfrith tactlessly. ‘But now you can choose a younger man.’ He glanced hopefully at her out of the corner of his eye.

‘I
should
like a younger man,’ said Philippa, smiling at Geoffrey.

But Geoffrey was not paying attention to her; he was concentrating on the curious movements of the green-hatted man and his friend, who had started to follow the party. Besides, Hilde had aroused in him an odd sense of affection and loyalty he had rarely felt towards women. If he did break his marriage vows, it would not be with a simpering girl.

‘Sir Geoffrey is married,’ said Ulfrith with a hint of triumph. ‘However,
I
am unattached. And I have fair prospects, being a fighting man – loot, you understand.’

‘But you are only a squire,’ said Philippa in distaste. ‘I am used to being wed to a knight.’

‘I understand Edith was wed to him, too,’ said Ulfrith sanctimoniously. ‘Such situations are frowned upon in England. It is called bigamy, and we Saxons disapprove. Of course, Denmark is different.’

‘Not
that
different,’ said Juhel, laughing. ‘The only countries that countenance multiple wives are those that follow the teachings of Mohammed – and then only if they can be afforded.’

‘Well, Sir Vitalis could afford me
and
Edith,’ said Philippa sulkily. ‘I cannot imagine what I will do now he is dead. Edith has wealthy kin, but I am friendless and alone. Who will care for me?’

‘
I
will,’ called Edith from where she walked with Roger. ‘As I keep telling you. You need have no fears for your future, Philippa.’

Philippa smiled back at her, then tripped over a stone. Ulfrith’s clumsy attempt to catch her resulted in the inadvertent grabbing of a breast, and her squeals of outrage were loud enough to draw the attention of several villagers. Growing exasperated, Geoffrey took her hand and set a cracking pace that had the others running to keep up. After a while, the villagers lost interest and turned back towards Fingar’s salvage. When he next glanced around, the green-hatted man was also moving in the opposite direction.

‘The Church dictates that a man may not have more than one wife,’ said Edith, when Geoffrey slowed a little, allowing breath for conversation again. ‘But the Church is full of celibates, who are hardly in a position to appreciate the needs of normal men. A knight should be allowed to take more than one wife if he feels like it. And a woman should be allowed more than one husband, too.’

‘
I
have been happier than I ever thought possible with Vitalis and Edith,’ said Philippa wistfully. ‘Damn those wretched pirates! They have lost me more than they could ever imagine.’ When she saw Geoffrey glance behind again, she misunderstood the object of his wary attention and lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘You do not approve of that nasty man coming with us. Neither do I. He is a killer!’

‘I know,’ said Geoffrey, recalling how the Saxon had sacrificed his servant to save himself.

‘And he talks
all
the time,’ said Philippa.

‘You refer to Juhel?’ asked Geoffrey in surprise. ‘I thought you meant the Saxon.’

‘No,’ said Philippa in disdain. ‘I would not waste my breath talking about an arrogant stick of a man who would not even tell my husband his name. I meant that garrulous Juhel. He might be witty and clever, but he is a
murderer
!’

‘Is he now?’ said Geoffrey, paying her scant attention.

‘I saw him kill his friend,’ Philippa chatted on. ‘Do you remember how distressed he was, rushing all over the ship the morning Paisnel disappeared?’