The Bloodstained Throne (15 page)

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.’

‘Wrong?’ demanded Magnus. His voice was loud and rang off the nearest houses, and they seemed even emptier. ‘What do you mean? Are you afraid? Like father, like son?’

The scorn in his voice was more galling than his words, and Roger bristled on his friend’s behalf. But Geoffrey was more concerned with the village. Bale gripped a long hunting knife and started to move forward, but Geoffrey stopped him. He had not survived three gruelling years on the Crusade by being reckless, and all his senses clamoured that something was badly amiss.

‘I do not want to go through this place,’ he said. ‘We will walk around it.’

‘But what about the horses Harold arranged?’ demanded Magnus angrily. ‘You cannot expect kings to arrive at La Batailge on foot, like common serfs.’

‘Then we will wait here,’ said Roger. ‘Go and collect your beasts.’

‘Alone?’ asked Magnus, immediately uneasy. ‘When you think it is dangerous?’

‘It is all right,’ said Harold in relief. ‘I can see the horses in the field over there. I asked Wennec the priest to hire me good ones, and he has! I confess I was concerned he might renege.’

‘Why?’ asked Geoffrey, scanning the trees. There was no birdsong again, and the entire area was eerily silent. ‘Is he dishonest? Or just loath to have anything to do with a rebellion?’

‘Werlinges has always expressed a preference for Normans,’ admitted Harold. ‘I imagine that was what prompted the Bastard to spare it.’

‘So why ask its priest to find your horses?’ asked Geoffrey suspiciously. ‘Why not go elsewhere for help?’

‘Harold has just told you why,’ said Magnus impatiently. ‘All the other settlements were laid to waste. Werlinges is the only village available, so he had no choice but to approach Wennec.’

‘Then that is even more reason to leave,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Surely you can sense something oddly awry here? There are no people, but there are the horses, flaunted in an open field. It is a trap.’

‘Nonsense,’ declared Magnus. ‘Everyone left because of the storm. But enough of this blathering – go and fetch the nags at once.’

Neither knights nor squires moved. Then, casually, Roger drew his sword, testing the keenness of its blade by running the ball of his thumb along it. Geoffrey stood next to him, his senses on full alert.

‘If you want the horses, get them,’ said Roger to the Saxons. ‘If not, we shall be on our way.’

‘All right,’ said Harold, moving forward. ‘We shall show you Saxon courage.’

‘I will come with you,’ said Lucian. ‘I do not fancy walking all the way to La Batailge, so I will borrow a pony if there is one to be had.’

‘Do not make your selection before your monarch,’ ordered Magnus, hurrying after him.

He broke into a trot. So did Lucian, until they both made an unseemly dash towards the field, like children afraid of losing out on treats. Juhel chortled at the spectacle, although Geoffrey was too uneasy to think there was anything remotely humorous in it.

‘Perhaps I had better ensure our noble king does not lose out to a “Benedictine”,’ said the parchmenter. ‘Because I suspect he is incapable of selecting a good horse.’

Geoffrey regarded him sharply. ‘You are sceptical of Lucian’s vocation, too?’ he asked.

Juhel gave one of his unreadable smiles. ‘Well, I have never seen him pray. Of course, it may just be youthful exuberance that makes him forget his vows.’

‘He is certainly not bound to chastity,’ said Roger. ‘I am sure he and Edith lay together on the ship. And that gold pectoral cross he wore speaks volumes about his adherence to poverty, too. If he is a monk, then he is not a very obedient one.’

‘His worldliness makes him an inappropriate choice for such a long, lonely mission,’ said Juhel. ‘So either Bishop de Villula
had
to choose him for reasons we will probably never know, or Lucian is using a religious habit to disguise his true identity.’

‘And why might that be?’ asked Geoffrey, regarding Juhel warily, aware that these were probably observations that had been fermenting for some time. But why was the man so interested in his fellow passengers? Geoffrey thought about Paisnel, who Magnus believed was a spy. Was it true, and had Juhel been sent to dispatch him? But who would order such a thing?

‘Lord knows,’ said Juhel. ‘An escape from an unhappy marriage, perhaps? He was the first to abandon ship, and, although he claims he took nothing, I saw him towing a small bundle. And I am sure it did not contain a psalter!’

He ambled away, leaving Geoffrey confused and uncertain. Was Juhel casting aspersions on Lucian to deflect suspicion from himself? Or was he just a man who liked to watch the foibles of others?

‘This village has a smell,’ said Bale, his whisper hot on Geoffrey’s ear. The knight eased away, not liking the hulking figure quite so close. ‘A metallic smell, and one I know well.’

‘Something to do with the salt-house?’

‘Blood,’ drooled Bale. ‘I smell blood.’

‘You do not,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘But we are leaving as soon as Harold has his horses, so go and make sure the road north is clear. Take Ulfrith with you. And be careful.’

‘You were right: there
is
something wrong about this place,’ said Roger as Bale slipped away. ‘And Bale might be right: I think I can smell blood, too. The sooner we are gone, the better.’

Geoffrey’s reply was drowned out by a monstrous shriek, and he saw men running from the woods wielding weapons. At their head was Donan, his face a savage grimace of hatred. In the distance, Geoffrey was aware of the Saxons, Juhel and Lucian swivelling around in alarm. They scattered immediately. Magnus ran awkwardly, all knees and flailing arms, while Juhel tipped himself forward and trotted like an overweight bull. Harold and Lucian were less ungainly, and Geoffrey did not think he had ever seen a faster sprinter than the monk.

‘Death to thieves and saboteurs,’ Donan howled, sword whirling. ‘Now you will pay!’

Geoffrey’s weapon was drawn long before Donan’s cry had faded, and he stood calmly next to Roger, waiting for the onslaught. Not all the pirates were there, but Donan’s contingent numbered about a dozen, all carrying swords, daggers or cudgels.

If Geoffrey and Roger had been mounted, twelve sailors would not have caused them much trouble. The additional height, and the length of their swords, meant they could have hacked at their attackers without much risk to themselves. It was more difficult for a knight to fight on foot, but, even so, Geoffrey was not unduly worried by a dozen undisciplined mariners. He and Roger fought back to back, making it difficult for more than a few opponents to attack at a time. Roger’s long reach was especially devastating – he killed one and injured another in the first few moments.

‘That contains something of ours,’ yelled Donan when the first savage encounter was over and the surviving crew had fallen back to regroup. He pointed at the bundle near Roger’s feet. ‘Give it to me, and I shall kill you quickly. Refuse, and you will regret it.’

‘You drowned my horse,’ said Roger through clenched teeth. ‘And I took compensation. If you have any sense, you will leave while you are still in one piece.’

Geoffrey stole a quick look beyond their attackers. Ulfrith was tackling a single opponent, the two slashing at each other in a highly predictable pattern, and Bale was chasing a cabin boy around one of the houses, doggedly determined to make a kill. Their fellow passengers were nowhere to be seen.