‘You seem very sure of that. How?’
Ulfrith shrugged. ‘I saw Paisnel reading documents with important-looking seals one night, and I saw Juhel glancing through similar ones after Paisnel went missing. Red ribbon kept them in a neat bundle. It is obvious what happened: Juhel used Paisnel’s ribbon to strangle Vitalis.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Even if Juhel did take Paisnel’s documents, we do not know if he salvaged them when the ship sank. And you cannot prove this particular piece of ribbon belonged to Juhel. The stuff is not exactly rare – I have some myself.’
‘You did not kill Vitalis, though,’ said Bale loyally.
‘Then who else could it have been?’ asked Ulfrith. ‘The pirates?’
‘Possibly,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But they were not with Vitalis when he died. Nor did they try to bury his corpse.’
‘Philippa and Edith dug the grave,’ said Ulfrith. ‘And they were with him when he died. Philippa told us herself that Vitalis’s last words were that he had spoken the truth when he accused you of . . .’ He trailed off when the implications of what he was saying dawned on him.
‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey soberly. ‘It very much looks as though Philippa and Edith are the prime candidates for their husband’s murder.’
‘This is monstrous!’ yelled Ulfrith, tears of rage and distress rolling down his flushed cheeks as he followed Geoffrey and Bale along the beach. ‘You have no right to make such accusations.’
‘I accused no one,’ said Geoffrey calmly. ‘I merely outlined the evidence.’
‘You will see Philippa hanged,’ shouted Ulfrith. ‘How could you? I thought you liked her.’
‘I do like her.’ Geoffrey saw that was the wrong thing to say, because Ulfrith’s eyes narrowed.
‘You intend to hold it over her,’ he said, white-faced. ‘To force her to lie with you.’
If it had not been for the promise Geoffrey had made to his sister, Ulfrith would have been flat on his back with a blade at his throat. Seeing his master’s hand twitch towards his dagger, Bale turned quickly and rested a warning hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Ulfrith shrugged it off.
‘I am going back to her,’ he said. ‘I want to be at her side if she is accused of terrible crimes.’
‘No one will accuse her,’ said Geoffrey, struggling to be patient. ‘The only people who know Vitalis did not drown are us and his killer – who may or may not be Philippa.’
‘Or Edith,’ added Bale helpfully.
‘And we will say nothing, so they have nothing to worry about,’ Geoffrey went on. ‘But you cannot ignore the facts. We all saw Vitalis alive as we abandoned ship, and Bale has just proved he did not drown. Ergo, he was strangled on the shore.’
‘But not by Philippa,’ persisted Ulfrith.
Geoffrey continued with his analysis. ‘Philippa said Vitalis reiterated his accusations about my family before he died. She also said there was water in his lungs and that he gurgled as he spoke. We know that was not true, because we just saw for ourselves that his lungs were dry. She lied.’
‘She was mistaken!’ cried Ulfrith. ‘She must have heard the gurgle of waves in the pebbles and assumed it was her husband.’
That was highly unlikely, even with Philippa’s dim intellect. ‘You explain what happened, then,’ suggested Geoffrey.
‘Juhel was late in joining the rest of us,’ began Bale when Ulfrith could not rise to the challenge. ‘And some of the pirates wandered off to look for their contraband. Any of them could have killed Vitalis.’
‘How?’ demanded Geoffrey. ‘Philippa stated quite clearly that she was with him when he died – which means she was with him when he was strangled. As I imagine she would have noticed someone else choking the life out of him, the only logical explanation is that she and Edith did it.’
‘Perhaps they thought he was dead when they buried him, but someone else came along, dug him up and strangled him later,’ suggested Bale, doing his best for Ulfrith.
Geoffrey shook his head. ‘The truth is that Philippa and Edith either killed him or were complicit in his death. The facts simply do not allow any other conclusion.’
Unwilling to debate the matter further, he turned away and began to walk again. But he had underestimated the intensity of Ulfrith’s feelings, and, with no warning, the squire attacked. Geoffrey had never been assaulted by a servant before and was taken off guard by Ulfrith’s ferocity. Ulfrith was a powerful lad, and the weight of his body knocked Geoffrey from his feet. He began to pummel the knight with his fists, the dog racing around them, barking frantically. The battering did not even stop when Geoffrey pressed his dagger against Ulfrith’s throat: the lad was in such a rage that he was oblivious to everything.
‘No!’ Geoffrey yelled as Bale jumped forward with one of his knives. Bale might be Ulfrith’s friend, but protecting Geoffrey came first.
Bale hesitated, giving Geoffrey just enough time to drop his dagger and scrabble for a rock, which he brought up sharply against the side of Ulfrith’s head. Ulfrith slumped, dazed, and Geoffrey struggled out from underneath him.
‘God’s teeth!’ he muttered, not sure which had unnerved him more: Ulfrith’s blind fury or Bale’s readiness to kill a comrade. He ran his hand over his face and found Ulfrith had scored a scratch on his cheek, which would soon probably be joined by bruises. He grimaced in annoyance, thinking he would hardly be hired by a pilgrim if he looked like a man who brawled. He prodded the squire with the toe of his boot, watching impassively as he regained his senses.
‘Get up,’ he ordered coldly. ‘I did not hit you that hard.’ And certainly not as hard as I wanted to, he added inwardly.
‘Oh, God!’ groaned Ulfrith. He looked up at Geoffrey, his face ashen. ‘Will you tell Sir Roger what I . . . He will dismiss me. Or worse.’
‘It is no more than you deserve,’ said Geoffrey, regarding him dispassionately. ‘You should be thankful you did not attack him, or you would be dead now.’
‘That is true,’ agreed Bale. ‘His knife would have been through your throat in an instant.’
‘That is enough, Bale,’ said Geoffrey, wondering what he had done to be saddled with such a pair. ‘Rinse your face in the sea, Ulfrith. You look as though you have been crying, and that will not impress Roger.’
‘I will fetch you some water,’ said Bale when Ulfrith was slow to obey. He glanced at Geoffrey. ‘I will get some for you too, sir. For the blood.’
‘You are a fool,’ said Geoffrey when Bale had gone. ‘All this for a woman who has not even noticed you. And a lying one at that, who may have murdered her husband.’
Ulfrith shot him a bleak look, but his fury was spent. When Bale returned, he rinsed the cut on Ulfrith’s head, then did the same for Geoffrey, humming all the while. He was never so content as when he was up to his elbows in gore.
‘There,’ he said, standing back to inspect his handiwork. ‘That is better. You are lucky he did not knock out one of your teeth, sir.’
‘No, he is lucky he did not knock out one of my teeth. And now we had better catch up with Roger; he will be wondering what we have been doing.’
‘He will not be pleased when he hears what happened,’ said Bale in a wicked understatement. ‘So could we say Sir Vitalis’s corpse jumped out of its grave and set about us – and you were obliged to strangle it? That would explain why Vitalis was throttled, why you two are battered – and it would exonerate Philippa and Edith. Everyone will be happy.’
Geoffrey regarded him uncertainly. ‘Everyone except me. I would earn a reputation as a corpse throttler.’
‘Do you intend to look into it, sir?’ asked Bale. ‘The murder, I mean? You have investigated similar crimes, and there is nothing to stop you from exploring this one.’
‘Other than the fact that I have no authority to start poking about in such affairs. But this is the second murder to occur among Patrick’s passengers, if Philippa is to be believed. They are far too dangerous company for me, and all
I want is to be away from them all.’ And from Bale and Ulfrith, too, Geoffrey thought acidly.
Four
Roger, Juhel and Magnus had not gone far. They had reached the place where Patrick had foundered the previous day and were watching the sailors gather the remaining flotsam and set it alight. Roger had found a low bush on a rise above the beach and was spying on them. Magnus sat with him, fretting about the passing time, while Juhel lay on his back next to them, fast asleep.
‘Get down!’ hissed Magnus when Geoffrey approached. ‘They will see you.’
‘They must have been here all night,’ said Roger, not taking his eyes off the beach. ‘Burning everything, lest taxors come to investigate.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Geoffrey, resisting Magnus’s attempts to pull him down. ‘But we have no need to hide from them.’
‘I disagree,’ said Roger, reaching out a powerful hand to haul on Geoffrey’s surcoat. Puzzled, Geoffrey crouched next to him. ‘They look dangerous to me – and desperate. They have already killed some of the scavengers, and, much as I like a fight, I do not think we should risk an encounter with thirty smugglers and murderers.’
Geoffrey looked to where he pointed and saw several bodies – villagers, judging by their clothes. Then he glanced at the marshy vegetation behind the beach and saw that although most of the locals had gone, two shadows still loitered. The distinctive green hat identified one; the other was the heavyset man. Eventually, Roger climbed to his feet, taking care to stay out of sight.
‘God’s blood!’ he swore when he noticed Geoffrey’s face. ‘What happened to you?’
‘We found Vitalis,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But he was strangled, not drowned.’
He showed Roger the ribbon. Meanwhile, Juhel’s rest had been disturbed by their voices, and he was waking up. Geoffrey watched his reaction to the news intently, but Juhel revealed nothing other than the astonished dismay that any innocent man would have expressed.
‘It looks like something a woman might own,’ said Roger, handing it back. Then his jaw dropped. ‘Do not tell me that Philippa and Edith did it?’
‘They were very distressed by his death,’ said Ulfrith stiffly. ‘You saw how bitterly they wept.’
Geoffrey thought, but did not say, that if Edith and Philippa had dispatched Vitalis, they would hardly celebrate the deed with smiles and laughter. He held up the ribbon for Magnus and Juhel to see, watching for any flicker of recognition. He was not surprised when there was nothing.
‘It is the kind of cord used for binding documents,’ remarked Magnus. ‘Paisnel owned some, because he dabbled in sinister clerkly activities.’
‘He could write, yes,’ acknowledged Geoffrey. ‘But so can I.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Magnus acidly. ‘And that is why I trust Sir Roger over you. Literate types cannot help but dissemble and lie.’
‘You speak like a peasant,’ said Juhel in distaste, the twinkle fading from his eyes. ‘There was no dishonesty in Paisnel, and there is none in Sir Geoffrey. You should watch your tongue, man, or you will find yourself abandoned – you do not win protectors with insults.’
Magnus glowered. ‘I was speaking my mind, and if honesty offends you, then you have no place in my kingdom. I was pointing out that this kind of ribbon is favoured by men who possess documents: if Vitalis was strangled with some, then it means his killer can write.’
‘No, it means he owned some ribbon,’ corrected Geoffrey. ‘Or that there was some to hand when he – or she – decided that Vitalis should die.’
‘This debate will get us nowhere,’ said Roger impatiently. ‘That sort of cord is common – Geoff owns some, I saw a bit in Juhel’s bag, and Magnus used a piece on the ship to tie his hair.’
Juhel regarded him uneasily. ‘You looked in my bag? Why?’
Roger shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Because you left it unguarded. It was an open invitation to any man with any enquiring mind, such as my own.’
‘Vitalis’s death is very sad,’ said Magnus, cutting across Juhel’s spluttering indignation. ‘But we have been here far too long. Your battered faces show you have already endured one encounter with those damned pirates, and even ruffians like you must want to avoid another.’
‘Is it true?’ asked Roger. ‘You met a stray sailor? They have been wandering everywhere, hunting for wreckage, so it does not surprise me. I take it the scoundrel will be no further trouble?’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey evenly. ‘The scoundrel most certainly will not.’
‘Good,’ said Roger, slinging his blanket of possessions over his shoulder. ‘Then I suggest we leave before we are obliged to dispatch any more. So who killed Vitalis? Tell me as we walk.’
Geoffrey followed him to the path that ran behind the beach, where everyone ducked and weaved in an effort to stay out of sight. He glanced at Juhel, who was walking behind him.
‘I have no idea who would want Vitalis dead,’ he said. ‘Do you?’
‘Me?’ Juhel seemed startled by the question. ‘Why ask me?’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘You spent more time with him than the rest of us. Why should I not ask your opinion?’
‘I did spend time with him, but I found him very bitter, and he said horrible things about your family. If I had to choose a suspect, I am afraid you would be top of my list.’
‘I have been with Roger, Ulfrith and Bale ever since we abandoned ship – when we all saw Vitalis alive. Besides, I would not be telling people he was murdered if I were the culprit, would I?’
‘True,’ acknowledged Juhel. ‘But I thought we were speaking hypothetically. And you did argue with him.’
‘It was hardly an argument,’ said Geoffrey wryly. ‘It was more a case of him railing at me.’
‘You have no alibi, though,’ said Ulfrith, looking hard at Juhel. ‘Sir Geoffrey has one, but you were gone a long time before you joined us.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Juhel with a shudder. ‘Because I was in the sea, fighting for my life. I came to you the moment I could stand – but I certainly had no spare strength for murder. You must look for another culprit. Magnus – what do you have to say for yourself?’
‘Vitalis was a Norman,’ said Magnus in disdain. ‘One who fought at the battle that saw my father slain. It is beneath my dignity to soil my hands with his blood.’
‘Down!’ hissed Roger sharply, dropping to his belly on the damp, sandy path. Geoffrey was beside him almost before he had finished speaking; long years of campaigning had taught him that instant obedience could mean the difference between life and death. The squires were not far behind, although Magnus and Juhel stood stupidly before they were dragged from their feet.
‘How dare you!’ snarled Magnus, trying to free himself.
‘Hush!’ snapped Roger. ‘The sailors are coming! Do you want to be killed?’
The crew were indeed making their way to the path, carrying all they deemed portable. It would be only a matter of moments before they stumbled across their hiding passengers.
‘They will see us!’ squeaked Magnus in terror, indignation forgotten. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Perhaps they will leave us alone when they see we will fight,’ said Roger, drawing his sword.
‘We cannot win against so many.’ Geoffrey glanced around urgently. ‘We should hide.’
‘Too late!’ whispered Juhel. ‘They are here!’
Just as the first sailors reached the path, there was a yell from their captain, and they turned and trotted obediently back to him. They gathered in a circle, where Fingar was announcing something in a furious howl. Whatever news he imparted seemed to incense them, too, because there was a good deal of yelling. Although Geoffrey could hear them quite clearly, they spoke a language he did not understand.
‘It looks as though they have lost something,’ said Juhel. ‘My God!’
This last exclamation was in response to an action of Fingar’s. One of his crew had been edging towards the path again. The captain’s weapon flashed and the man fell.
‘He is right,’ said Magnus, addressing Roger. ‘We should slip away now, while they are busy with each other. Hurry! You must not dally when your king has commanded you.’
‘If I am to be in your service, I should be paid,’ said Roger, following him along the path at a rapid lick. The others were not far behind. ‘Did you save any gold or jewellery from the ship?’
‘I might have a little gold,’ hedged Magnus evasively.
‘How little?’ demanded Roger. He was not easily deceived where money was concerned. ‘Jerosolimitani do not come cheap.’
‘Well, I do not have a lot with me,’ admitted Magnus. ‘But it will not be long before I can give you whatever you like – treasure, land, even a see.’
‘A see?’ asked Roger, intrigued. ‘You mean to make me a bishop? Like my father?’
‘Yes. Then you will have tithes to enjoy, and manors and woodlands in which to hunt – although you will have to give sermons on Sundays. All you have to do is see me safely on my throne. And help me depose Henry the Usurper.’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey sharply. ‘He is not going to become involved in treason.’
‘It is treason to back the Usurper against England’s rightful king,’ flashed Magnus.
‘I might help you,’ said Roger slyly. ‘But only if you can pay me appropriately. Ulfrith, too. He is a good Saxon lad.’
‘And me,’ said Bale. ‘But I do not want gold. I want a wife – one who likes me.’
‘I will see what I can do,’ said Magnus, looking as though he thought finding a loving wife for Bale might be considerably more difficult than providing a bishopric for Roger.
Geoffrey did not waste his breath pointing out that assisting rebels against a powerful king like Henry was suicide – especially a rebel like Magnus, who was either an impostor or a madman with illusions of grandeur. He only walked faster, wanting as much distance between him and the sailors as possible. They had not gone far before they reached a junction.
‘Here is the path to the abbey,’ said Magnus, pointing to the track that wound inland. ‘It becomes a causeway that runs across the marshes, before rising to higher ground. We can be there by this afternoon.’
The Bloodstained Throne Page 6
