The Bloodstained Throne sgm-7

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘I am no fighter. I would have been in the way.’

  ‘Not so. Bale witnessed your talent with knives, and you fought off Fingar’s men single-handed. You also demonstrated a soldier’s reactions in the stable at Pevenesel, and there is your skill at picking locks — an odd talent for a merchant. And you know virtually nothing about parchment. I saw you fold letters when they were damp — they will rot — and Breme overcharged you. If you were a real parchmenter, you would know a fair price.’

  ‘This is arrant nonsense-’

  ‘Breme said you wrote him a letter of introduction to a Winchester clerk, but I imagine it was actually a report to the King. So Henry will have two: one from you and one from me, both delivered by Breme.’

  ‘Yes, you told me you had sent one.’

  ‘You were pleased,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Now I know why: we are on the same side.’

  Juhel sighed. ‘Damn you, Geoffrey! I thought I had been careful. I even let you accuse me of murdering Paisnel and poisoning you in order to conceal my true work.’

  ‘For which I owe you an apology. You did not kill Paisnel — Magnus did.’

  Juhel stared at him. ‘Yes — but how did you guess?’

  ‘Chicken scratches. They appeared on Magnus’s face the day after Paisnel disappeared. Delilah liked Paisnel — perhaps she tried to defend him. Poor Paisnel probably gave himself away, and Magnus dealt with him ruthlessly — just as he dealt ruthlessly with his own servant, Simon. You threw Paisnel’s body overboard to make sure your own identity was not exposed.’

  Juhel sighed unhappily. ‘Magnus caught Paisnel going through his bag. He died in my arms — or I thought he did. I dropped his body into the sea because I could not have Magnus accused of the crime. And any fool would have been able to link a fatal wound in Paisnel to the fact that Magnus was suddenly minus a knife — he lobbed it overboard after the murder, in a panic.’

  Geoffrey was puzzled. ‘Why did you want him to evade justice?’

  ‘Because my orders were to learn who was helping him and how far the sedition had spread. I could not have done that if Fingar had ordered him hanged.’

  ‘Are you surprised by the scale of the preparations?’

  Juhel shook his head. ‘Fortunately, these would-be rebels are supremely incompetent. Gyrth bungled stealing Roger’s gold and let himself be dispatched by a squire, and the troops and supplies they gather at night are hardly discreet.’

  ‘But what happened at Werlinges? I know Gyrth and other Saxons killed the villagers.’

  ‘That was another mistake on their part. They remembered that Werlinges had collaborated with the Normans after Hastinges. Gyrth offered the village a chance to make amends by giving him everything they owned. But some of the booty went missing, so Gyrth and his men killed the entire settlement, to show what happens to traitors. He was a fool — the incident will attract attention that will threaten his cause.’

  ‘It was stolen by that “shepherd”, I suppose?’

  ‘Almost certainly — a greedy Saxon betraying his own people. And despite the evidence you found that suggested Ulf was innocent of the actual killing, he would certainly have been involved, perhaps by giving orders. It is good that Bale killed him, because he was irredeemably wicked. It is hard to believe he was Harold’s twin.’

  ‘Did Magnus fight him? Is that how he came by the cut on his arm?’

  ‘Yes — in the church. I was on the brink of dashing in to rescue him, but he managed to escape on his own.’

  ‘Later, I saw Magnus throw a bundle down the well. Did it contain evidence of the rebellion? And was it those documents you were drying when I burst in on you?’

  ‘Some words are still legible. It is a list of men and troops promised. He has the original, but I do not blame him for not wanting duplicate copies floating around.’

  ‘And your “Danish” letters were cipher — coded messages to the King. Paisnel wrote some, and you composed others. You took them before you. . after he died.’

  ‘Before I condemned him to drown, you mean,’ said Juhel bitterly. ‘I took a medallion, too — the one that belonged to Magnus, which Paisnel ripped from him as he was murdered.’

  ‘Why take the medallion?’

  ‘Because it was evidence that he murdered Paisnel — to be kept safe and produced later, when he will pay for what he did. Of course, he knows it will incriminate him, which is why he never made a fuss about losing it.’

  ‘And the ring Bale took from Vitalis’s corpse? It seems that was Magnus’s, too.’

  ‘Yes. Ring and medallion were on the same cord around Magnus’s neck, which snapped during the struggle. I could not find the ring in the dark, and Vitalis must have happened across it the following morning. Magnus must have been appalled when he saw it on Vitalis’s finger, but he could hardly demand it back, lest subsequent questions led to accusations of murder.’

  Geoffrey was thoughtful. ‘Was the letter you wrote for Edith’s father an account of all this?’

  ‘Yes, and it would have been intercepted as soon as she had entrusted it to a messenger,’ said Juhel, nodding. ‘But since it was not sent, I sincerely hope Breme does not fail. Magnus is ready to act, and you and I cannot stop him alone.’

  ‘I plan to leave La Batailge tonight, to take word to the King.’

  Juhel smiled. ‘It is refreshing to meet a loyal man. You repeatedly refuse Magnus’s offers, and I know what you did with the treasure last night.’

  ‘You do?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily.

  ‘It solved several problems — the most immediate of which is getting rid of the distraction Fingar represented. And it has deprived the Saxons of funds in a way that is permanent.’ Juhel rubbed his chin. ‘Of course, the King will not be pleased. He would have wanted it for himself.’

  Geoffrey was sure he was right and suspected it would see him in trouble. To take his mind off it, he thought about what Galfridus had said when they had discussed the dangers of harbouring rebels in the abbey.

  ‘You are the “important man” to whom Galfridus referred? You decided the rebels should remain, rather than being ousted?’

  Juhel inclined his head. ‘Better here, where I can see what they are doing, than scattered over half of Sussex. But we shall have to trust Breme for deliverance, because you cannot leave me here alone. I shall need your help if we do not want the country in bloody turmoil.’

  Geoffrey was troubled when he left Juhel, so he went to the church, seeking the peace of its silent stones. There he found Roger, yawning in the nave, obviously having just prised himself from bed.

  ‘How was your vigil?’ he asked archly.

  ‘Kneeling all night is no task for a knight,’ Roger replied grimly. ‘I managed a few psalms, but then I grew sleepy. But do not fret, lad. We shall leave as soon as I have collected my gold.’

  ‘Leave it hidden: we are going nowhere.’ Geoffrey explained what he had done the previous night and outlined his discussion with Juhel. Roger listened without interruption, but his face was indignant when it finished.

  ‘You gave those pirates the Saxons’ treasure? Why did you not give it to me and let the pirates have their own back? I could have been fabulously rich!’

  ‘I did not know what the Saxons had. It was a gamble. You might have ended up poorer.’

  Roger was about to argue, but was distracted by a commotion at the gatehouse. They went outside to see that a party of wealthy men had arrived, resplendent in fine clothes and awash with baggage. Lay-brothers hurried to welcome them, and Geoffrey could tell that they were more of those who intended to stand with Magnus.

  ‘The short fellow in the blue cloak is Osbjorn, one of Magnus’s Danish kinsmen,’ said Juhel, materializing suddenly. ‘The man with him is Eadric; his father was a deacon who fought at King Harold’s side. And there is Brother Aelfwig, greeting them like old friends.’

  ‘Well, he is a Saxon,’ said Roger disgustedly.

  ‘And no herbalist, as Geoffrey discovered
to his cost. His father was King Harold’s uncle and Bishop of Winchester, which makes Aelfwig Magnus’s cousin. Aelfwig the Elder brought twelve monks and a score of soldiers to the battle. The traitors are coming home to roost.’

  A good deal of the newcomers’ luggage was spirited away, and Geoffrey guessed it contained weapons or more treasure. Harold hurried forward and almost dragged Osbjorn from his horse with the ferocity of his greeting, muttering something in his ear that made him turn white. Geoffrey supposed Osbjorn had just been told the news about the missing treasure. Meanwhile, Magnus merely regarded his kinsman with cool hauteur.

  Supplies were not all the party had brought. There was also a body. The lay-brothers cut the ropes that held it to the back of a horse, then laid it on the ground, where Aelfwig covered it with a piece of sacking.

  ‘About half an hour’s ride from here,’ Osbjorn was saying. ‘We thought he might be one of our own, so we brought him here.’

  ‘He was not one of us,’ said Aelfwig in a meaningful way. ‘He was just a peddler.’

  Once the new arrivals had been escorted to the guest hall, Geoffrey went to inspect the body. He crouched down and removed the sack.

  ‘God’s blood!’ swore Roger. ‘It is Breme.’

  ‘Damn!’ said Juhel softly. ‘Are our letters in his pouch?’

  Geoffrey searched the corpse quickly, then shook his head. ‘His pack is gone, too. I imagine we are supposed to assume he was attacked by robbers. But he is still wearing the ring we gave him, and thieves would have taken that.’

  ‘I said the rebels are incompetent,’ said Juhel in disgust. ‘They cannot even stage a fake robbery.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but they have ensured Breme never reached Winchester,’ said Geoffrey grimly. ‘We are on our own.’

  Fourteen

  The arrival of Osbjorn and Eadric caused considerable delight among the Saxons. At the guest hall, they were plied with the dishes that had been prepared for the Duke of Normandy. The Norman monks were astonished at this, but Galfridus raised a hand to silence their indignation. Lay-brothers and ‘pilgrims’ continued to crowd in, and it quickly became clear what they really were. A kitchen scullion named Thurkill hefted a sword in a way that indicated he had wielded more than filleting knives in the past, and two ‘grooms’ clapped Osbjorn on the back in a manner that would have been inappropriate had they really been servants.

  ‘I sincerely hope help is on its way,’ said Galfridus when Geoffrey approached. ‘You have sent for some, have you not? The situation is rapidly becoming untenable.’

  ‘I did, but it will not materialize,’ replied Geoffrey.

  Galfridus stared at him. ‘But I can see at least three disinherited earls from here, plus several fanatics who have made careers of insurrection!’

  ‘How many of your monks will stand against them?’

  Galfridus regarded him askance. ‘None.’

  It was Geoffrey’s turn to stare. ‘There is not a single man here who is loyal to the King?’

  ‘That is not what I meant. All the Normans will be loyal — about thirty men out of fifty-five — but they have forsworn arms. None will raise so much as a stick.’

  ‘I will,’ came Wardard’s quiet voice from behind them. ‘I will fight, as I did before, although I would prefer peace. Perhaps we can persuade them to disband.’

  ‘This is too far advanced to be stopped by speeches,’ said Galfridus. ‘If help is not coming, then all we can do is lock ourselves in the church and hope they do not set it alight.’

  There was a colossal cheer from the Saxons. Osbjorn had just announced that others would soon arrive at La Batailge — good, honest Saxons armed with hoes and pitchforks.

  Galfridus closed his eyes in defeat, but Wardard rested a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Do not pay heed to defiant words. The nobles will fight, but the peasantry will not be blinded by impossible dreams. Most will slink away at the first clash of steel.’

  Geoffrey hoped he was right. Nevertheless, he estimated that the abbey already contained at least three hundred would-be warriors. He turned at the sound of running feet. A number of people were converging on the kitchens, where a fight was in progress between Ralph the sacristan and Thurkill the scullion. Ralph was brandishing a ladle, but Thurkill had his sword.

  ‘Norman pig!’ Thurkill howled. ‘You have no right to order me around.’

  ‘I have every right,’ screeched Ralph, lunging with his spoon. ‘You are a scullion and I am sacristan. Of course you take orders from me, Saxon scum.’

  Thurkill moved in for the kill, and Ralph suddenly realized he had bitten off more than he could chew. Panic-stricken, he darted behind a table and began to lob pieces of food. One hit a cook, who, trying to dodge it, inadvertently jostled a scribe. There followed an unseemly melee, as old scores were settled on both sides.

  ‘Stop them, Sir Geoffrey!’ shouted Galfridus in horror.

  Geoffrey used the flat of his sword to beat a path through the mass of bodies. He caught the sacristan’s arm and yanked him away from a wicked stab by Thurkill. The scullion turned his murderous attention to Geoffrey, but the knight quickly had him in retreat. When Thurkill tripped and disappeared under milling feet, Geoffrey dragged Ralph outside.

  ‘God and all His saints!’ cried Galfridus, as Wardard casually repelled a dogged attack by a stable boy. ‘They will slaughter us! I thought they would leave me alone — my mother was Saxon, and I assumed they would honour my ancestry.’

  ‘If they are willing to attack you, they will have no compunction about assaulting other Norman monks,’ said Wardard urgently. ‘We must warn them. I will ring the bell — they will assume it is a call to terce and come to the church.’

  ‘Good,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It has strong doors and thick shutters. We will be able to defend it.’

  ‘I was thinking of saying prayers, actually,’ said Wardard.

  ‘We will fight the bastards!’ snarled Ralph. ‘Smash their skulls and tear out their innards! Our abbey should not be tainted with Saxons clamouring for my King to be overthrown.’

  Geoffrey did not wait to hear more. He ran to the hospital, where Roger had already donned full armour and was inspecting the edge of his sword. Bale and Ulfrith wore their tough leather jerkins and hurried to help Geoffrey with his mail.

  ‘What do you intend to do?’ asked Roger. ‘There are about three hundred Saxons, most more proficient with hoes than with weapons. But even so, there is little we can do against such odds.’

  ‘We will join Galfridus in the church. I hope Magnus will not murder unarmed monks on holy ground, but if he does, we can try to defend them.’

  ‘Try?’ asked Ulfrith in alarm. ‘You think we might fail? We might die?’

  ‘Very likely,’ said Roger without emotion. ‘If they do not recognize the sanctity of a church, we stand no chance. We will take plenty with us, but with such numbers, defeat is inevitable.’

  ‘I am glad you are looking on the bright side,’ said Geoffrey dryly. ‘Steal a couple of horses, Ulfrith, and bring them to the church. No one will harm you — you are Saxon and you look it — and if anyone asks, say you are acting under Earl Osbjorn’s orders. Bale, come with me.’

  Bale was armed to the teeth, and Geoffrey knew it was only a matter of time before he was at someone’s throat. He hoped he would not precipitate a fight that might yet be avoided.

  Ulfrith hesitated. ‘Are you saying I should bring these nags inside the church?’

  Geoffrey nodded as he set his helmet on his head. ‘And if you see any Normans, tell them to go there, too.’

  Ulfrith sped away. Geoffrey, Roger and Bale left the hospital, alert and ready to fight if attacked. They turned at the sound of running feet, but it was only Juhel, chicken at his heels.

  ‘Those documents,’ Juhel gasped, fighting to catch his breath. ‘The ones Magnus threw in the well and that I have been attempting to salvage.’

  ‘Not now.’ Geoffrey was aware that men were pou
ring out of the guest hall. Some were armed and all were shouting. Osbjorn and Eadric had fired them up, and he felt vulnerable and exposed.

  ‘Two were stuck together and were only dry enough for me to separate a few moments ago,’ said Juhel, thrusting them at him. ‘They are smeared, but still legible. I have been wrong! Magnus is not the driving force behind this rebellion — Ulf is.’

  Geoffrey paused just long enough to glance at the pact signed by Ulf and Gyrth. It detailed how they would divide England after the Usurper’s execution, and stated that the moment the kingdom was in Saxon hands, Gyrth was to dispatch Magnus. There was even an assassin picked for the task: Aelfwig. Geoffrey supposed the plotters were fortunate that Magnus could not read and had thus remained in ignorance of what his ‘loyal’ supporters had in mind for him.

  ‘What of it?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘Ulf is dead and so is Gyrth.’

  Juhel grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. ‘Think, man! You have heard the tales about Ulf’s temper and love of violence. He is a formidable warrior, and there is no way your squire could have overpowered him. I am disgusted with myself for not seeing this sooner. It was not Ulf who was killed in Werlinges: it was Harold.’

  Geoffrey was about to take issue with Juhel when he saw a group of lay-brothers coming from the fishponds with furious looks on their faces. It was no time to be chatting, so he grabbed Juhel’s arm and hauled him towards the church. The door was already locked, and Geoffrey pounded on it with his fist. At that moment, a gaggle of Saxons headed towards them, and there was no mistaking their intentions. All carried knives and cudgels. Geoffrey hammered again, and Roger yelled for the door to be opened.

  ‘No!’ shouted Ralph. ‘If we do, those Saxons will come in with you.’

  Geoffrey turned to face the mob, sword in hand, as the man in the lead lowered his pike and braced it under his arm. He was going to use it like a couched lance, and Geoffrey was not sure there was enough space to avoid being spitted. His shield was the one piece of armour he had not managed to salvage from the ship.

  But there was a clank and the door opened. Juhel was through it in a trice, with Bale and Roger on his heels, but there was no time for Geoffrey to follow. He leapt in the opposite direction, and the pike whistled past him and struck the door with wicked force. The shaft shattered. Its owner was so intent on driving it home that he had overlooked the need to stop, and the collision knocked him senseless. Geoffrey jumped over him and aimed for the door, alarmed when Ralph tried to close it before he was through. With a furious roar, Roger shoved the sacristan away, and Geoffrey shot inside just as cudgels began to fly.