The Bloodstained Throne (11 page)

‘All this is immaterial,’ said Roger to the newcomer. ‘The point is that you
cannot
be King Harold, because he is dead. Unless you are his ghost?’

He smirked, but, at that moment, a marsh bird released an eerie, whooping call, and the grin faded. He took a step away and crossed himself. Ulfrith and Bale did the same.

Harold did not seem affected by their superstitious unease and addressed Roger slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton. ‘I am his son – his
legitimate
son. He had twins from his marriage to Queen Ealdgyth, and I am one of them.’

‘You mean there is another, just like you?’ asked Roger rather stupidly.

Harold nodded. ‘Poor Ulf was kept prisoner after our father’s murder, but the Bastard released him on his deathbed. I suppose he thought it would lessen his time in Purgatory. But it will take a good deal more than the release of a few hostages to open the gates of Heaven to
him
. He is destined for the Other Place, because his soul is so deeply stained with Saxon blood.’

‘Too right,’ agreed Magnus fervently. ‘When I am king, I shall invade France, snatch the Bastard’s bones from his tomb and toss them in the nearest river.’

Harold regarded him admonishingly, his chubby face grave. ‘We agreed that we would not discuss this yet, that we would consult our Saxon vassals about—’

‘They will want
me
,’ stated Magnus confidently. ‘I am King Harold’s eldest surviving son and, according to Saxon law, his rightful heir. Your claim is based on the fact that he married Queen Ealdgyth in a church, which I deem irrelevant.’

Harold sighed in a long-suffering manner. ‘We are
both
irrelevant until we overthrow the Usurper. Then we shall ask our vassals to decide whom they want as king.’

‘A democracy to elect a king?’ asked Geoffrey, amused. ‘What an odd notion!’

‘Not at all,’ said Harold, smiling at him. ‘Once our subjects have made their choice, I shall revert to the autocracy that works so well.’

‘They will not choose you,’ said Magnus disdainfully. ‘You are too short.’

‘You mentioned a twin brother,’ said Juhel, as Harold looked hurt. ‘Is he to participate in this election, too? Or perhaps there are yet more siblings who would like a chance to win a crown?’

‘My two older brothers are dead, and the younger ones are happy in Norway,’ replied Magnus. ‘Ulf intends to put himself forward, but no one will choose
him
– he is violent and would be a tyrant. Indeed, I forbade him to come anywhere near my uprising – he will put people off.’

‘Not so,’ cried Harold, stung. ‘My brother is just misunderstood and has no patience with fools. He spent the best years of his life as the Bastard’s prisoner, so it is not surprising he is bitter.’

‘Whichever of you it is will have to dispatch England’s current king first,’ said Juhel. He was struggling to conceal his amusement at the notion that the likes of Harold and Magnus could best Henry.

‘We have a nation full of bold Saxon warriors,’ declared Magnus haughtily. ‘And when they see I have returned, they will rally to my call.’

Harold crunched loudly on a clove of garlic. Geoffrey wondered whether he had strayed into a community of madmen, because he had never heard a more ridiculous collection of claims and aspirations.

‘And when will this grand summoning take place?’ asked Juhel, smothering a smile.

‘In a while,’ said Harold, waving an airy hand. ‘Now Magnus is here we can get on with it. That is why I was waiting here for him, as we had agreed. We have signed a formal contract to be brothers-in-arms and to make no moves against each other until the Usurper is deposed.’

Juhel finally lost his self-control and roared with laughter, until Ulfrith pointed out that the sailors might hear. Geoffrey peered out of the door and detected angry voices in the distance. He frowned as something Harold had said jarred in his mind, and he turned to face him.

‘You said you were waiting here for Magnus, but
Patrick
was bound for Ribe. So how—’

Magnus was unrepentant. ‘I paid Fingar ten pounds to drop me off, but the storm blew up, and he said he would be unable to fulfil our arrangement. I was lucky we happened to founder here.’

‘I have been waiting here for the best part of a week,’ said Harold, looking at his surroundings in distaste. ‘A mud-hole is scarcely a suitable haunt for a future king!’

‘It was not chance that we sank here, was it?’ said Geoffrey, looking hard at Magnus. ‘
That
is why the sailors were inspecting the wreckage – they suspect foul play. It also explains why you were so keen to escape. It is not just the theft of their gold that drives them after us, but the sabotage of their ship.’

Magnus shrugged. ‘What choice did I have? England awaits, and I have a destiny to fulfil. Simon took an axe to some vital timber, so we would put ashore as near to Hastinges as possible.’

Geoffrey was disgusted. ‘Is that why you let him drown? You hoped his death would appease the crew, and they would not blame you for the disaster?’

‘It did not work,’ said Magnus ruefully. ‘But I am here now, and my work can begin.’

The storm that had been approaching all day hit with breathtaking ferocity. Even from their mud refuge, Geoffrey could hear the surf pounding the beach, while the wind that screamed across the marshes ripped branches from trees and uprooted bushes. Travel was impossible, so Roger, who hated long periods of enforced inactivity, probed the Saxons relentlessly about their plans. It was not long before the whole tale emerged.

Magnus had been a child and Harold unborn when their father had been defeated near Hastinges. There had followed a few sporadic rebellions, but the Normans were efficient and ruthless and soon stamped out revolts. The Bastard was succeeded by two of his sons – first William Rufus and then Henry. The latter had been obliged to quell an uprising by his barons, led by Bellême, but had put it down with comparative ease.

Harold’s offspring had watched from afar, and when Bellême was routed, they decided to act, on the grounds that Henry’s troops would be battle-weary and the royal coffers drained. Geoffrey thought they were wrong on both counts: Henry’s soldiers were professionals who did not tire of fighting, and Henry had seized the property of the exiled barons, so was actually rather well off. He had the resources to finance a war on a scale unimagined by the dreamers in the mud cave.

‘So,’ concluded Roger, ‘you agreed to meet in this hole a week ago . . .’

‘I am a little late,’ acknowledged Magnus. ‘But how was I to know the journey from Ireland would take so long?’

‘And you bribed Fingar to drop you off,’ Roger continued, ‘because you decided it was better not to disembark at a proper port, lest King Henry got wind of it.’

Magnus nodded. ‘But I sense you are not fond of the Usurper, either; my instinct is never wrong about these things. Did you fight for Bellême last summer?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Roger, offended. ‘I would never demean myself by fighting for a tyrant – well, I might, if he paid well enough. Geoff and I were engaged on important business for the King, and Henry was so grateful that he offered us posts in his household.’

‘But you did not accept?’ asked Harold. ‘That was wise. The Usurper often forgets to pay and has a nasty habit of sending his retainers on very dangerous missions.’

Geoffrey gazed at him in surprise, wondering how an exile would know. Magnus saw the look and gave a self-satisfied smile.

‘We have our spies. You think we are unprepared, but we have been watching and waiting for more than thirty years.’

‘Do you prefer Tancred to Henry, Geoffrey?’ asked Juhel, sitting on the bed next to Bale and opening the chicken’s cage.

‘I prefer the Holy Land to England,’ he replied evasively. ‘It rains too much here.’

Juhel laughed. ‘So the weather determines your allegiances? Well, why not? It is as good a reason as any.’

The chicken emerged from its cage and fixed Magnus with sharp eyes. He edged away, sitting with his long legs folded in front of him and his bony arms ready to fend off an airborne attack.

‘Keep that thing away from me, Juhel,’ he ordered. ‘I do not like it.’

‘She is not overly enamoured of you, either,’ said Juhel, laughing again. ‘What strange company I find myself in today! Two princelings who intend to start a civil war, and two knights and their squires who prefer the Holy Land to the country where they were born.’

‘Not true,’ said Roger. ‘I do not care where I am, as long as I am well paid. And I am not going to the Holy Land. I shall head north as soon as I see him safely on a ship.’

‘You will serve
us
, then?’ asked Harold eagerly. ‘A knight would be a good start to our army.’

‘I might,’ replied Roger. ‘But I will wait and see what happens.’

Geoffrey was relieved, thinking that if Roger was their first recruit, then the rest of their force would take a long time to assemble – by which time Roger would have grown bored and deserted.

‘Come, my love,’ said Juhel, pursing his lips and blowing a smacking kiss at his hen. ‘Show these hot rebels and tepid loyalists your beautiful feathers.’

The chicken, having satisfied herself that the cave was safe, began to preen. Unable to resist the sight of a plump hen ready for the taking, Geoffrey’s dog wrenched itself from his grasp and hurtled towards her, leaving the horrified knight holding a few stray hairs. The chicken did not issue the terrified squawks that invariably preceded a kill, but fixed the dog with a pale eye. For a short moment, neither animal moved: they stood facing each other, slathering muzzle within inches of an avian dinner. Then the hen clucked. The dog released an abrupt yelp, turned tail and shot towards the door. When it found it could not squeeze through, it cowered behind Geoffrey. Proudly, Juhel stroked the hen’s soft brown feathers.

‘I do not think much of your hound,’ said Harold in disbelief. ‘Afraid of a chicken! If this is the quality of Norman courage, then our victory is going to come sooner that we anticipated!’

‘Like master, like dog,’ said Magnus contemptuously. ‘Thank God Roger has Saxon courage in his veins, or I might never reach the abbey! Perhaps Vitalis’s accusations were valid after all.’

‘Delilah
is
remarkable,’ said Juhel, ruffling her feathers with doting affection as Geoffrey stifled an irritable sigh at the reminder of the old man’s claims. ‘No mere dog will get the better of
her
. They try, of course, but she has no trouble in seeing them off.’

‘Delilah?’ asked Roger warily.

‘After the lady in the Bible who had the upper hand over manly suitors.’

Delilah flapped off his lap and began to strut around, pecking and scratching. When she approached the dog, she clucked challengingly, and it released a low whine. She fluffed herself up and moved away, and, had he believed in such things, Geoffrey would have sworn she was laughing.

Outside, the storm increased in intensity. The walls of the cave were thick and afforded good protection, but even they were beginning to be overwhelmed by the onslaught, and water was running freely down the walls.

‘This is no ordinary tempest,’ whispered Bale. ‘It is another omen. The moment we started talking about Sir Geoffrey travelling to the Holy Land, it became more violent.’

‘The day he told his wife of his plans, blood bubbled from a spring near the castle,’ Ulfrith told the Saxons. ‘And the night before we left, two moons were seen in the sky. Sir Roger said these were messages from God, advising us all to stay in England.’

‘And I am the son of a bishop,’ announced Roger. ‘So there is nothing you can tell
me
about such matters. And Bale is right: here is another warning. Since I have already decided to obey Him, this particular storm must be aimed at Geoff alone.
He
is the reason we are stuck here.’

While the others discussed omens, rebellion and the superiority of chickens, Geoffrey stared at the sodden marshes through the crack in the door. He touched the scratch on his cheek, which made his mind turn to Ulfrith. He had been astonished to learn that the lad had attacked Roger –
and
had lived to tell the tale. Ulfrith was normally gentle and amiable, and Geoffrey did not like the notion that Roger was corroding his decent nature. He supposed encouraging Ulfrith’s dormant temper might serve him well in battle, but, equally, blind rage might drive him into situations where he could be killed – as he might have been earlier that day, had Geoffrey been less tolerant.

And why had they fought? Because Ulfrith did not like the evidence that suggested Philippa had killed her husband. Geoffrey supposed Edith might be the murderer, acting without Philippa’s knowledge, but that did not fit well with Philippa claiming she had been with their husband when he had died and that his lungs had been full of water. Even if Edith had been responsible for the throttling, Philippa’s lie meant she was complicit in the crime. Or had the women found Vitalis already strangled, then fabricated the ‘death scene’ to arouse sympathy, so they could claim protection? But if that were the case, then who
had
throttled the old man?

Magnus? He was so determined to succeed in his ridiculous rebellion that he had allowed his servant to drown. That was murder in Geoffrey’s book. But had Magnus had the opportunity to dispatch Vitalis? Geoffrey had deduced that the murder had occurred on the beach, and he himself was Magnus’s alibi for that time. Or was his assumption wrong, given that he had based his conclusions on Philippa’s dubious testimony? But why would Magnus kill a half-senile old warrior? Because Vitalis had guessed his plans and threatened to expose him?

Or was Juhel the culprit? He had had plenty of opportunity, having been missing for several hours. Philippa claimed to have seen him murder Paisnel and had told her husband. Had Juhel strangled Vitalis to prevent him from blabbing? Did that mean Philippa was in danger, too? Geoffrey had not noticed any hostility towards the women the previous day, but Juhel was a complex man, and Geoffrey still did not have his measure.