‘Then we should hurry,’ said Juhel. He nodded to where the thunderheads were now a good deal closer. ‘I am not keen on meeting Fingar’s crew; nor do I want to sit out here while the heavens open.’
Geoffrey would have preferred to continue along the coast, but suspected that was the route the sailors would take – no mariner liked to be too far from the sea, and they would be looking for another ship. Reluctantly, he conceded that wasting a day or two at the abbey was preferable to taking the coastal path with Fingar on his heels. Without a word, he took the abbey track, ignoring Roger’s victorious smirk as he assumed Geoffrey had yielded to the conditions of his loan.
‘The sailors are coming this way, too,’ blurted Ulfrith after a while. ‘They are following us!’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Perhaps they just want to be a little distance inland when the storm breaks.’
‘Damn this path,’ muttered Roger, glancing around uneasily. ‘We can be seen for miles! There are few trees and the bushes are low. And the mud! You can tell it is dangerous – if we leave the path, we will be sucked under.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Magnus. ‘But I know these marshes like the back of my hand. If the sailors gain on us, we shall hide in a channel. Of course, that might be a mistake if the tide comes in . . .’
‘Then we should stay well ahead,’ said Geoffrey, breaking into the steady trot that he could maintain for hours, even in full armour. ‘Although they have no reason to attack us.’
The others seemed to think differently, but they were struggling to keep up and made no reply. Roger was breathing hard under the weight of his possessions, while Juhel’s chicken cackled her displeasure at the way she was being jostled. Bale began to lag behind, and Ulfrith was obliged to mutter encouragement to keep him going. Magnus was the only one who seemed happy running, and Geoffrey wondered how much of it the Saxon pretender had done in his life.
‘So,’ said Magnus, using the opportunity to talk, ‘you do not believe I have a right to my throne?’
‘I do not believe you can take it from Henry,’ corrected Geoffrey. ‘Bellême tried it last summer and failed – and he had troops and castles.’
‘I do not intend to fight him in open warfare,’ said Magnus contemptuously. ‘There are other ways to topple a tyrant. I shall—’
‘No,’ interrupted Geoffrey. ‘I do not want to know. And you can leave Roger out of it, too. I will not allow him to become embroiled in something so dangerous. We will travel with you to the abbey, but after that you are on your own.’
Magnus smiled under his silver moustache. ‘We shall see. But let us talk of other matters, since we are the only ones with the breath to do so. You have not said who you think killed Vitalis.’
‘That is because I do not know.’
‘Well, he was an aggressive Norman fool, and you should not waste your time. He had the temerity to say that I look nothing like my father.’
‘Did he?’ asked Geoffrey, uninterested.
‘He said he fought at Hastinges. So did I – well, perhaps I did not fight exactly, but I was there, at my mother’s side. However, I know what my father looked like, and I am his very image.’
‘My father said he was sturdy and strong,’ said Geoffrey pointedly.
‘Quite,’ said Magnus, preening. ‘And he had thick yellow hair, just like me.’
‘Yours is grey.’
Magnus sighed impatiently. ‘Yes, but it was yellow once. It is the sign of a true Saxon.’
He glanced behind and increased his pace when he saw one of the sailors had gained ground. Then he ducked down a smaller path, muttering something about a shortcut. Bale blundered after him, too winded to care what he was doing, and Ulfrith followed Bale. Juhel slogged along behind them, short legs pumping furiously. Geoffrey waited for Roger.
‘Magnus seems very eager to avoid meeting Fingar,’ he said. ‘Should we be suspicious?’
Roger shrugged, one hand to his side to ease a stitch. ‘God knows. But I do not want to be out here when the storm comes. He seems to know this area, so I am willing to stay with him for now.’
‘I am not sure it is wise to keep company with a man who claims to be England’s rightful heir. Henry has spies everywhere, and it will not be long before Magnus’s presence is discovered. Anyone who has consorted with him may be considered a traitor.’
‘Even Henry cannot blame us for taking the same road away from a shipwreck,’ said Roger. He shot a furtive glance behind. ‘I do not like those pirates being behind us. They may blame us for their ship sinking, and I am not in the mood for a brawl.’
‘Why would they think that? And why are you not in the mood for a brawl? Are you ill?’
‘I do not want my good looks marred by cuts and bruises,’ retorted Roger curtly. ‘It does not go down well with the ladies.’
‘What ladies? We left Philippa and Edith behind.’
‘Philippa,’ growled Roger in distaste, changing the subject. ‘Is she the reason Ulfrith hit you? Because you accused her of murder?’
‘You know?’ Geoffrey was astonished. Roger was not normally astute.
‘I can tell by his sheepish manner. He has gone for me in the past, too, although I did not come off as badly as you seem to have done.’
‘And I thought I was the one with the dangerous squire!’
Roger grinned. ‘I do not mind him displaying the odd flare of temper. Indeed, I encourage it, because otherwise he is too gentle for his own good. But he should not have tried it on you.’
‘No, and he only got away with it because of my promise to Joan.’
Roger began running to catch up with the others. Before he followed, Geoffrey glanced back to see the seamen streaming along in their wake. Then he saw Fingar point directly at him. Several whoops sounded as the crew put on a spurt of speed.
Magnus’s shortcut led in an almost straight line across the marshes, but it was sodden from recent storms. In places it had sunk below the surrounding land and was virtually indistinguishable from the matted, boggy vegetation that lay in all directions. Progress was agonizingly slow, and the only consolation was that it was slow for their pursuers, too.
‘This is near where the Conqueror’s first troops landed,’ Ulfrith announced brightly. He either did not see or did not understand Magnus’s malevolent glare – he was trying to inveigle his way back into the knights’ good graces and was oblivious to the reactions of everyone except them.
‘Is it?’ asked Roger keenly. ‘I would like to see the place where the battle was fought.’
‘You will,’ said Ulfrith, transparently obsequious. ‘Because the abbey we are heading for is La Batailge – Battle Abbey. The Conqueror built it on the exact spot to atone for all the slaughter.’
‘I hope the buildings have not obscured the site, then,’ said Roger disapprovingly. ‘Or we shall never understand and appreciate the Conqueror’s tactics.’
Ulfrith shrugged. ‘Apparently, he thought founding an abbey would save him doing penance for starting a war – he was not thinking about preserving the field in its original condition.’
‘I do not need to do penance for starting fights or for my sins,’ declared Roger grandly. ‘I am a Jerosolimitanus, which means all that sort of thing is taken care of.’
‘All the abbeys in the world will not atone for what happened that day,’ said Magnus in a cold voice. ‘Saxon blood still screams out for vengeance. And I shall see it done.’
‘How?’ asked Roger curiously. ‘By raising an army? By shooting Henry when he is off guard? By urging Bellême or the Duke of Normandy to invade and help you?’
‘I have not decided yet,’ said Magnus.
Roger laughed, then began a lively debate with Ulfrith about the best way to topple a king. Bale and Juhel were lagging behind, gasping like old nags, although Bale was not so breathless that he could not speak: he was regaling Juhel with a bloody account of the battle that he had heard from Geoffrey’s father. Godric Mappestone had o
ften entertained his villagers with tales of his military prowess, and Bale had been one of the few who had actually listened.
‘I thought King Harold’s sons were named Harold and Ulf,’ Geoffrey said to Magnus, noting that the sailors, unused to travelling long distances on foot, were falling behind.
At his side, the dog growled, so he slipped his belt around its neck. He knew from the wild look in its eyes that it did not like Magnus, and it would only be a matter of time before blood was spilled. As the dog was cowardly and never attacked unless it was sure of success, the spillage was unlikely to be canine.
‘They were the offspring of his union with Queen Ealdgyth,’ explained Magnus. ‘Twins, born after he died. But my mother was his handfast wife, Edith Swannehals.’
‘You are illegitimate?’ asked Geoffrey, realizing as he spoke that it was not a question to pose to such a proud man. He was right. Magnus stopped abruptly to glare at him.
‘You impertinent dog! Still, I expect no better from Norman scum. They are incapable of decency, and having been on the Crusade makes you even more of a villain.’
Geoffrey blinked, unused to men insulting him quite so brazenly. Most took one look at his surcoat and weapons and opted for politeness. He could only suppose that Magnus was more of a lunatic than he had imagined.
‘I met a man in Flanders who went on the Crusade,’ Magnus went on icily. ‘He was a brute before he went, but he returned a monster. He told me the venture took three years because the Normans fought among themselves, rather than uniting against the infidel.’
‘Different factions did bicker,’ acknowledged Geoffrey. ‘But it was not confined to Normans.’
‘But Normans were the worst – they always are. However, I was talking about my mother, Edith Swannehals – “Swan Neck” to you. She bore Harold five children, and I am the eldest surviving son.’
‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, even more convinced the man was insane. ‘But reclaiming your throne from Henry will not be easy. I can tell you from personal experience that he is very attached to it.’
‘You know him?’ asked Magnus in astonishment. He looked the knight up and down. ‘You do not seem the kind of man with whom a king would consort.’
‘I have met him several times,’ said Geoffrey, amazed by the steady flow of insults. He considered challenging him, but there would be small satisfaction in besting a scrawny wretch.
‘You have sworn loyalty to him?’ asked Magnus keenly.
‘I hold my manor at Goodrich from him,’ Geoffrey replied, wondering where the discussion was going. ‘So of course he has my loyalty.’
‘But you do not like him,’ stated Magnus. ‘He does not have your respect. You are unwilling to serve such a serpent, and that is why you were fleeing England in an unseaworthy vessel.’
‘My liege lord is Tancred, Prince of Galilee,’ said Geoffrey, seeing Magnus was more astute than he had appreciated. ‘He—’
‘He is not,’ interrupted Roger, overhearing. ‘Tancred dismissed him, because he spent too long here, helping King Henry. But Geoffrey wants to hear it from Tancred’s own lips. Of course, it is a journey God does not want him to make.’
‘I do not believe Tancred would release me without explanation,’ said Geoffrey doggedly.
‘He did explain,’ said Roger wearily. ‘He said you are insolent and disloyal, and that he will have you executed if he ever sees you again. Still, I do not blame you for hoping there was a mistake. Tancred is ten times finer than Henry.’
‘Amen to that,’ agreed Magnus as Geoffrey winced, still unable to accept that a man he had loved like a brother would have written such things. ‘There is only one man who should be sitting on that throne: me. I tried to overthrow the Bastard in the years following Hastinges – I invaded with my brothers, but something always went wrong. I even begged help from my Norwegian kin, but they declined, and time passed. Now I am ready to try again.’
‘So, you have invaded England alone?’ asked Geoffrey caustically. ‘That was brave.’
Magnus scowled. ‘I have a plan. It begins at the abbey, at the high altar. It stands on the spot where my father was foully slain, you see, so Henry will never touch me there.’
‘Right,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether they had been wise to take a shortcut across treacherous bogs recommended by a man who was so patently out of his wits. ‘And how will you take Henry’s crown from there?’
‘It is not his; it is mine,’ snapped Magnus. He glared at the knight. ‘You said earlier that you did not want to know my intentions, but now you are full of questions. Why?’
‘Curiosity, I suppose,’ said Geoffrey, wishing he had remained in blissful ignorance.
Magnus pulled himself up to his considerable full height. ‘All I will say is that La Batailge will go down in history as the place where Saxon honour was restored. And you are the lucky men who will be remembered for helping to bring it about.’
Geoffrey saw the fierce blue light of the fanatic burning in Magnus’s eyes and knew he believed he would succeed. That made him dangerous. Geoffrey stopped walking abruptly.
‘I want no part of this,’ he said. ‘I have seen how the King treats traitors, and I have a wife to consider. You can go to the abbey, but we are going the other direction.’
‘I would not do that, if I were you,’ said Magnus, a crafty look stealing across his thin face. ‘Those sailors are catching up fast and they do not look friendly. Even two Jerosolimitani cannot fight thirty seamen, so we shall have to run again – all of us.’
Geoffrey had not fled from many confrontations during his life as a soldier, and it went against the grain. Besides, he saw no reason why the sailors should mean them harm – if anyone should bear a grudge, it was the passengers against Fingar, for losing the ship – and he was keen to talk to them. Roger was unwilling to let him try.
‘You put too much faith in your negotiating skills,’ he said. ‘Pirates are not reasonable beings, anyway. I am not staying here to be cut down, and Magnus knows somewhere we can hide.’
Just then there was a furious yell from behind, and Geoffrey saw the mariners coming closer, rage etched into every movement. He stared in puzzlement. They had been on the beach together the previous day, and there had been no trouble then. So what had changed?
‘I do not like this,’ gasped Juhel, bending double to catch his breath. ‘They are so determined to get us that they have abandoned their salvage. Why do that, with those scavengers still at large?’
‘Where is this refuge?’ Roger demanded of Magnus, his face red from exertion. ‘If we do not reach it soon, it will be too late.’
Magnus began flailing furiously with a stick at the side of the causeway. He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes in intense concentration, then began prodding a little farther on. He gave a triumphant yell. ‘Here!’
Geoffrey regarded the narrow track he had exposed. It looked like something made by birds, cutting raggedly between two treacherous-looking bogs. ‘I still do not understand why—’
‘Come,’ ordered Magnus urgently. ‘They will never follow us down there. Hurry!’
Geoffrey glanced behind and saw the seamen drawing steadily closer. He frowned. There was definitely something odd about their determination to catch their former passengers. Magnus seemed keen to evade them, and so did Roger. Had one of them done something to antagonize them?
‘Run!’ urged Magnus, plucking at his sleeve. ‘Stealing is a hanging crime among pirates.’
Geoffrey was puzzled. ‘We have not stolen anything.’
Roger looked defiant. ‘No, we have not. We took only what is rightfully ours.’
Geoffrey regarded him in horror. ‘What have you done?’
Roger scowled, then unclenched one of his big fists to reveal three gold coins. ‘They paid for the loss of our horses.’
‘That does not explain why they are chasing us,’ said Geoffrey. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Or did you take it without their permission?’
&nbs
p; ‘These were lying on the beach,’ said Roger defiantly. He sighed when Geoffrey looked sceptical. ‘All right – they were in that chest. But when they left it unattended, it seemed a good opportunity to claim what was our due.’
Geoffrey was disgusted. ‘No wonder they are angry! Give the money to me. I will return—’
‘No,’ said Roger shortly. ‘Those damned villains owe me a horse, so the only way they are getting this back from me is if they take it from my corpse.’
‘They will not be content with its return now anyway,’ Magnus pointed out. ‘They will kill us regardless. I have been forced to associate with Fingar for years, and he is deadly when crossed – even his own men are terrified of him.’
Geoffrey stole a glance over his shoulder and saw the captain was leading the chase. Even from a distance, Fingar’s face was slashed with a savage fury, and he suspected Magnus was right: Roger’s actions had crossed some irreversible line.
‘Your only hope for avoiding death is to come with me, but I will not wait,’ said Magnus, moving away. ‘Come now or die.’
Reluctantly, Geoffrey followed him along a narrow path that soon had them out of sight from the main track. Then he was stumbling along a barely visible trail that snaked past quicksands, through alder thickets and across muddy channels. It jigged and twisted, and Geoffrey quickly lost all sense of direction. They had not gone far when Roger, bringing up the rear, released a yell that brought Geoffrey to an abrupt standstill. Then came the sound of clashing weapons.
Ignoring Magnus, who declared that thieves should be left to their fate, Geoffrey raced back along the path. But when he reached Roger, it was to find his friend wiping the blade of his sword on the grass, two bodies lying nearby.
‘They will not be hoodwinking hapless travellers into sailing with them again,’ he said grimly. ‘I have saved countless lives by dispatching such wicked fellows.’
‘Come on,’ said Geoffrey urgently. It was no time for Roger’s contorted logic and twisted morals – the slapping of feet on mud indicated more sailors were catching up. He turned and ran, Roger’s lumbering footsteps behind him.
The Bloodstained Throne Page 7
