‘But God punished him for his lack of charity,’ Lucian concluded, ‘because He caused a tree to fall on the hut and crush it.’
He pointed towards a venerable old beech that was lying on its side, remnants of a thatch and timber structure all but invisible among the mess of branches.
‘Was the shepherd in it at the time?’ asked Bale, regarding it with round eyes.
Lucian nodded. ‘I am afraid so.’
‘We do not want to see,’ said Geoffrey, grabbing Bale, who most certainly did. ‘Have you seen the sailors since you left the beach?’
Lucian nodded. ‘Several times, but I do not know where they are now. What are your plans? I asked some locals for help, but their only response was to pelt me with stones. If you intend to rely on their assistance, you will be disappointed.’
‘They were probably afraid of you,’ explained Magnus. ‘The Bastard’s invasion forty years ago has rendered folk in these parts wary of strangers. He destroyed any number of villages.’
‘But not Werlinges,’ said Harold, nodding to farther along the path. ‘He spared Werlinges, although he destroyed several settlements that lay in a circle around it.’
‘Why?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Did Werlinges offer him help? Provide information or swear fealty?’
‘Not that I know,’ said Harold. ‘But it stands on a hill, so perhaps the Normans could not be bothered to climb up it in their armour.’
Lucian nodded at the cut on Geoffrey’s face. ‘It looks as though you have had trouble, too. Of course, you are a soldier, whereas I am a monk, and people are usually generous to those.’
‘Not around here,’ said Harold. ‘Because of La Batailge. The Conqueror gifted the abbey a lot of Saxon land, and tithes and rents are ruthlessly gathered. It means Benedictines are unpopular. If you had been from another order, you probably would have had a warmer reception.’
‘Oh,’ said Lucian, swallowing hard. ‘That is unfortunate.’
‘Very,’ agreed Magnus. ‘I shall take all these lands away from La Batailge when I am king.’
‘I meant it is unfortunate that I happened to land here,’ said Lucian. Then his eyes narrowed and he regarded Magnus askance. ‘You plan to be king? Of England?’
‘I am your rightful monarch,’ declared Magnus. He gestured to Harold. ‘So is he.’
‘I see,’ said Lucian, bemused. ‘Does Henry know?’
‘He will, soon enough,’ replied Magnus. ‘We are the sons of King Harold, who was viciously murdered near here by Norman invaders.’
‘Are you?’ asked Lucian, startled. ‘Lord!’
‘Yes, you may address me as lord,’ said Magnus. ‘It is a fitting title until I claim my throne. Then you can call me Your Majesty. But we should not linger. We must make our way to the abbey without further delay.’
‘Do you know what happened to Philippa and Edith?’ asked Lucian of Geoffrey and Roger. He turned his back on the Saxons, and it was clear he did not believe their claims. ‘And their husband?’
‘The ladies are alive and well at Pevenesel,’ replied Geoffrey, aware of Ulfrith’s immediate jealousy at the question. ‘But Vitalis is dead.’
‘At Pevenesel?’ asked Lucian uneasily. ‘But Richer de Laigle the younger lives there! Their virtue will not be safe with him.’
‘I said they would be better off with us!’ cried Ulfrith, regarding Geoffrey accusingly.
‘Not with that terrible storm and vicious pirates on the loose,’ said Lucian. ‘But the situation is easily remedied: we shall ask the abbey to send for them. De Laigle is a slothful, indolent sort of man and has probably not got around to seducing them yet anyway.’
‘You told me on the ship that you had never visited this part of the coast before,’ said Geoffrey suspiciously. ‘So how do you know de Laigle?’
‘I do not know him,’ replied Lucian shortly. ‘I have heard of him. His father is a different man altogether — conscientious and loyal. So are his older brothers. However, I shall arrange for Philippa and Edith to be removed from young Richer’s pawing hands as soon as we reach La Batailge. They will be better off with me.’
‘You are a monk,’ said Ulfrith coldly. ‘You took oaths to practise chastity and have nothing to do with women.’
Lucian smirked. ‘I never vowed to have “nothing to do with women”. They comprise half the population, and it would be wicked to ignore so many of God’s creatures. That sort of thing is for bigots, which I am not. I am just a simple man, who takes pleasure in simple things.’
Ulfrith knew there were hidden meanings in the monk’s words, but he was not clever enough to understand them. He opened his mouth to press his point, but Geoffrey, suddenly aware that his squire had slipped away and was prodding about in the remains of the shepherd’s hut, spoke before he could think of a suitable remark.
‘Fetch Bale back, Ulfrith,’ he ordered. ‘I do not want him over there.’
‘Damn the man! It is not right to be doing that,’ cried Lucian in dismay.
Geoffrey regarded him curiously, puzzled by the vehement objection. Meanwhile, Magnus had had enough of talking and began to walk. The dog, which had been ill-tempered and nervous since the storm, took the opportunity to make a flying snap at the Saxon’s ankles. Magnus yelped in pain and anger, dropping the bag he had been carrying, and began hopping around on one leg. Guiltily, Geoffrey went to his assistance.
‘Leave that sack — it belongs to me,’ yelled Magnus, trying unsuccessfully to shove Geoffrey away with his scrawny arms. ‘Keep your greedy Norman paws off my possessions!’
‘He was trying to help you,’ said Roger coldly. ‘And if you want us to escort you to the abbey, you had better learn some manners. You are not king yet, you know.’
‘How dare you berate me!’ cried Magnus, quivering with anger. ‘You overstep the mark!’
‘And so do you,’ retorted Roger angrily. ‘Now shut up. I do not want an arrow in me because we cannot hear archers in the trees for all your noise.’
Magnus went quiet, although he was still seething. Geoffrey led the way along the track before he could begin another diatribe, glancing behind to make sure the others were following. He saw Ulfrith was obliged to apply considerable force to extricate Bale from the hut, but the squire came eventually and they brought up the rear. Bale shoved something in his purse as they went, and Geoffrey grimaced: his lectures on corpse-robbing had clearly fallen on deaf ears.
‘Magnus will never be king,’ said Roger to Geoffrey, when they were some distance ahead. ‘He is an oaf compared to Henry.’
‘Right,’ said Geoffrey shortly.
Roger glanced at him askance. ‘Is that all you have to say on the matter?’
Geoffrey lowered his voice. ‘My dog took a dislike to Magnus from the first, and I should have paid heed. He is nearly always right: he had the same reaction to Belleme, and he does not like Henry, either. I should learn to trust his instincts.’
‘Magnus is a silly man, although Harold is charming — like a fat whore, all smiles and cuddles. But Magnus is nothing. He did not even think to bring a sword to aid him in his invasion!’
‘He is not nothing. He wrecked Patrick to ensure we landed here, and he does not care that men died because of it. He is ruthless and fanatical, and his lack of a weapon only means that he practises his viciousness in slyer ways. I wish we had never met him. Or the others, for that matter.’
Roger was watching the surrounding trees, alert for signs that something was amiss. ‘Is it because we have no horses and are vulnerable on foot? Is that what makes you uneasy?’
‘I am uneasy because something is wrong. Magnus let Simon drown, and Paisnel and Vitalis are dead in odd circumstances. The rebellion has not yet started, but it is already claiming victims.’
‘This is not a rebellion, lad,’ laughed Roger. ‘It is Magnus and Harold deluding themselves.’
‘That is what I thought,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Until just now, when I saw what Magnus has in his bag. It fell open
when my dog bit him.’
‘I went through it at Pevenesel,’ said Roger, still scanning the trees. They could hear birds now, and Geoffrey supposed it had been Lucian’s lurking presence that had silenced them earlier. ‘And Juhel had a rummage during the storm — he thought we were all asleep, but I watched him. He did not take anything, though, and neither did I. There was nothing worth having.’
‘There was a list,’ said Geoffrey.
As Roger could not read, he was unlikely to have appreciated its significance. And Juhel? Had he declined to take it because he could read and knew it might be dangerous, or because he could not read and did not understand its value? Or had he simply been looking for money? But Geoffrey had glimpsed the gleam of gold in Juhel’s bag when it had fallen in the water the previous night — the parchmenter was already rich, despite his claim that business was poor and he could only afford the cheaper berths supplied by pirates.
‘A list of what?’ asked Roger, bemused.
‘Of Saxon names, with figures next to them. I imagine they indicate the number of men each will provide for this revolt. Harold and Magnus give the impression that they are disorganized and unsupported, but I cannot help but wonder whether they have deliberately misled us and their preparations are actually further along than they would have us believe.’
Roger glanced at him. ‘Any such list will be wishful thinking. It will not be promises, but the men they hope will come. They have been in exile for four decades and probably had nothing else to do but make plans. Do not read too much into it.’
‘There was a letter against each name, representing “yes” or “no”. Most were “yes”.’
‘Are you saying their rebellion might succeed?’ Roger was astonished.
‘No. But we should not keep company with them, regardless. When we reach La Batailge, I shall ask the abbot for a horse and ride to warn Henry of what is afoot. This uprising must be quashed before more men die. Besides, Henry will learn we were shipwrecked with Magnus, and I do not want my family to suffer because I failed to mention it to him.’
Roger sighed. ‘If you are sure that is the right thing to do, then I will come with you. We have no idea where Henry is, and it might take a while to find him.’
‘There was something else in Magnus’s bag,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Red ribbon.’
Seven
Geoffrey was thoughtful as he followed the track deeper into the woods. Could a vain, shallow man like Magnus really initiate a rebellion? It was no secret that many Saxons still itched to take their country back, although Geoffrey was certain they would never succeed. And were the names on Magnus’s list truly men who had agreed to provide troops and supplies? Even a glimpse had shown it ran to several pages.
Did Magnus’s supercilious airs conceal a mind that could set a country afire? Or did that honour go to Harold? Surely Harold was exactly what he seemed: foolish, genial and gentle? In that case, should Geoffrey warn the King? If he did, and Henry sent soldiers only to discover the ‘revolt’ comprised Magnus, Harold and a handful of Saxons with hoes and pitchforks, Geoffrey would look like an idiot.
And what of Vitalis’s murder? Magnus used red ribbon to tie back his hair, and Geoffrey had seen a roll of it when his bag had fallen open. Was he the culprit? Or had someone chosen the stuff deliberately so Magnus would be blamed? Of course, the sailors made far more likely suspects, especially as Geoffrey reasoned that Magnus had not had the opportunity to kill Vitalis on the beach. And the women? Philippa certainly knew something about her husband’s death, because she had lied about it.
Geoffrey’s glance strayed towards Lucian. He had had plenty of opportunity, too, although Geoffrey could not imagine why a monk would want to dispatch a feeble old man. And what about Juhel? He searched other people’s bags as they slept, and he may have stabbed a friend and thrown him overboard. Did he have a store of red ribbon? Or had he borrowed some from Magnus? If he had searched Magnus’s bag in the cave when he thought no one was looking, there was no reason to suppose he had not done it on other occasions, too.
‘I detest that man,’ growled Roger suddenly. ‘I do not want him with us.’
‘Juhel?’ asked Geoffrey, startled out of his thoughts. ‘We will be rid of him soon.’
‘No. Lucian. Ulfrith does not like him, either. And Lucian is no more a monk than I am — he is brazenly irreligious, and I doubt he knows one end of a psalter from another.’
Geoffrey laughed. ‘A damning indictment indeed, when it comes from the Bishop Elect of Salisbury! Ulfrith does not like me, either, because Philippa prefers us to him. It is jealousy.’
‘I should have looked at that shepherd’s corpse,’ said Roger sullenly. ‘I should have checked he was crushed and not strangled. You may have seen red ribbon in Magnus’s bag, but I wager Lucian owns a supply, too.’
‘But a tree had fallen on the hut,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘Lucian could not possibly have engineered that. What is odd is that a shepherd refused a monk shelter.’
‘It is strange, but so is this revolt, and the sooner we report it to Henry, the better.’
‘I am having second thoughts about that,’ said Geoffrey. ‘We have so few hard facts that it might be better to report it to the nearest baron and let him investigate.’
‘That is de Laigle. And as the father is away, you will have to speak to the son. Is that wise?’
‘He must have some merit, or his father would not have left him in charge. So we shall make our report to him, and if he fails to act, that is his prerogative — and his responsibility.’
‘I feel quite bereft without my purse,’ announced Lucian suddenly, speaking to Harold, Juhel and Magnus. His voice was loud, and Roger scowled at him to lower it. The monk complied, but he was still audible. ‘We will not be able to go anywhere without gold, and Donan took all mine. Did you salvage any, Magnus? You had a lovely gold pendant on the ship.’
‘I did not,’ said Magnus curtly. ‘But even if I had, I would not sell it to finance your travels.’
‘That is unchristian,’ admonished Lucian. ‘We have all been washed ashore together, and it is churlish to refuse each other help.’
‘Lucian thinks we should pool our possessions because he has none himself,’ murmured Roger. ‘Of course, Magnus is a liar. I, too, saw him with a gold medallion on the ship. He may have lost it in the wreck, but to say he never owned one is downright dishonest.’
‘Save your morality for your own brethren,’ Magnus sneered. ‘If you have any.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ demanded Lucian, his voice rising again.
‘I do not believe you are a monk,’ snapped Magnus. ‘You are too worldly and know too little about your devotions.’
‘I am bursar at Bath Abbey,’ said Lucian indignantly. ‘And, being from a good family, I have been appointed Bishop de Villula’s envoy, carrying important missives to the Diocese of Ribe.’
‘Then where are they?’ interrupted Juhel curiously. ‘I managed to salvage my important missives — or, rather, Paisnel’s. But you are empty-handed.’
‘I lost them,’ replied Lucian shortly. ‘I shall have to go home for copies, then start the journey all over again. Perhaps next time I should travel most of the way by road instead.’
‘You can take him with you when you go to Goodrich,’ whispered Roger wickedly. ‘Bath will not be far out of your way — assuming he is not making it all up, of course. We have met John de Villula, and he is not the sort of man to employ the likes of Lucian as his envoy.’
‘If Lucian really is from a prominent family,’ Geoffrey replied, ‘then perhaps his appointment came with a large benefaction. De Villula may have had no choice.’
‘Speaking of Paisnel, are you sure it was wise to salvage his documents?’ Lucian was asking Juhel. ‘I would not want those on my person.’
‘Why not?’ asked Juhel. He sounded startled. ‘They are only property deeds and reports from the Bishop of Ribe’s distant outposts.’
�
��So Paisnel said,’ retorted Lucian. ‘But have you inspected them?’
‘I have no reason to,’ said Juhel, puzzled. ‘They all bear a seal depicting a legged fish, which is the Bishop’s personal symbol.’
‘All except the couple that are addressed to him,’ whispered Geoffrey to Roger. ‘I wonder if he can read. If not, he may have no idea that “Paisnel’s” bundle contains some of his own property. If he can, then he is lying.’
‘I told you there was something odd about Paisnel,’ said Magnus spitefully. ‘The man was a damned spy!’
‘They are property deeds,’ insisted Juhel, becoming annoyed. ‘He was not a spy. And it is none of your concern anyway.’
A loud crunch punctuated the end of the sentence as Harold bit into one of his cloves. ‘Garlic, anyone? It is very good for cooling hot tempers.’
The track twisted through several copses, then reached land that had been cleared for fields. Directly ahead were more trees with a hamlet nestling among them, comprising four or five pretty houses and an attractive church. A short distance away was an unusual building, which looked as though it had just been hit by a snowstorm. Geoffrey regarded it curiously.
‘Ah! Werlinges,’ said Harold in satisfaction. He pointed at the building that had caught Geoffrey’s attention. ‘And that is one of its salt-houses.’
Geoffrey frowned. The village was strangely deserted at a time when men should have been tending fields or livestock. And someone certainly should have been in the salt-house. Salt was an expensive commodity and usually well guarded. Meanwhile, the door to the chapel was ajar, moving slightly in the breeze. The dog sniffed, then growled, a deep and long rumble that made up Geoffrey’s mind.
‘Stop,’ he said softly. ‘There is something wrong.’
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