The Bloodstained Throne

Twelve

The following day, the abbey was full of chaos as monks and laymen hurried to make everything perfect for the Duke of Normandy. The other guests were considered a nuisance: they were of no help with the preparations, but still needed to be fed. Magnus was particularly bothersome, complaining vociferously that no such preparations had been made for him.

Bale went to where a scanty breakfast of bread and unripe apples had been left, and swept the lot into a basket, which he then bore away. Realizing they would not eat unless they followed him, Magnus, Harold, Lucian and Juhel trailed him to where Geoffrey and Roger were sitting in the sun on a day as clear and blue as high summer.

Ulfrith was not far behind, carrying a bucket of ale. Geoffrey regarded it with a distinct lack of interest, and since his own water-skin was inside, he deftly unhooked Ulfrith’s and took several gulps before he was discovered. He had spent an unsettled night with uncomfortable griping in his innards, and the bitter taste did little to put him in a better mood. With a scowl, Ulfrith stamped inside the building and pointedly retrieved Geoffrey’s own, thrusting it into his hands.

Geoffrey declined the bread Bale offered, then rested his elbows on his knees and listened to the argument that broke out when Bale refused to share the food. Roger ordered the squire to accommodate the others, but only after he had taken the best for himself.

‘What was in that water, Ulfrith?’ asked Geoffrey after a while.

Ulfrith regarded him in alarm. ‘Nothing! Why?’

‘It tasted bitter. Did you add anything that will make me sick again?’

‘Look!’ Ulfrith seized his flask and took several large gulps, although he winced as they went down. ‘See? The leather is old, so perhaps you can taste the tanning.’

Geoffrey was not convinced but supposed Ulfrith’s concoction could not be too deadly if he was prepared to drink it himself. He turned his attention back to Roger and Lucian.

‘I did not kill Edith!’ Lucian was shouting. ‘Galfridus believes me or he would have locked me away. He accepts that I was praying all night, so why do you not?’

‘You did not recite a single office aboard ship, so why would you start now?’ snapped Roger. ‘Or were you doing it as penance for Edith’s murder?’

‘Go to Hell,’ muttered Lucian through clenched teeth.

At that moment, Philippa arrived. Still scowling furiously at Roger, Lucian offered her his arm and invited her to stroll to the fishponds with him; good manners would not permit him to leave her in the company of rough knights, stupid squires and loutish Saxons.

‘Do not go down there,’ Harold called after them, cheeks bulging with the best part of a bulb of garlic. ‘There have been reports of pirates in the area, and that part of the abbey is a bit remote.’

‘Pirates?’ asked Philippa in alarm. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes — ask Ulfrith,’ replied Harold. ‘One of them shot at Sir Geoffrey, who is only alive now due to Ulfrith’s remarkable courage and foresight.’

Geoffrey laughed, earning himself a black glare from Ulfrith. The scowl intensified when Philippa declined to ask for details and flounced away at Lucian’s side. Appetite gone, Ulfrith tossed his bread back into the basket, where it was seized by Magnus, moving fractionally faster than Harold. Magnus grinned, gratified by the victory over his rival.

‘Are you saying these pirates came inside the abbey?’ Juhel asked uneasily.

‘Fingar told me he has been wandering around as he pleases,’ replied Geoffrey.

‘He had better not wander near me,’ growled Roger, ‘or he will find a sword in his gizzard.’

‘Do you still intend to leave today?’ asked Juhel. ‘To tell King Henry what is happening here? If so, you will have to watch yourselves, or Fingar and his crew will be after you in a trice.’

‘He is still not right,’ said Roger, jerking his thumb at Geoffrey. ‘And I refuse to let him go until he is. Besides, I do not want to leave without meeting the Duke. What is in that bag around your neck, Bale? It seems to get bigger every time I see it.’

‘This?’ asked Bale, shooting a nervous glance in Geoffrey’s direction. ‘Just bits and pieces.’

‘Not from Werlinges, I hope,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I thought the cross and habit were all you took.’

‘They were,’ said Ulfrith, standing up for his comrade. ‘He had the ring from Vitalis on the beach, and he stole money from the dead shepherd in the wood. None of that is from Werlinges.’

Furious, Bale came to his feet fast, a dangerous look in his eyes. Ulfrith was startled, not understanding what he had done wrong. Geoffrey stood, too, and glared at Bale until he subsided.

‘What did you tell him that for?’ Bale demanded furiously.

‘I was defending you,’ snapped Ulfrith, angry in his turn. ‘I told him what you already had, so he does not assume it was from Werlinges. I was being a good friend to you.’

Geoffrey sat again, grateful Ulfrith’s brand of friendship did not extend to him.

Bale pulled a face at him, then turned to Geoffrey. ‘I was going to tell you, sir, but then you gave me that lecture at Werlinges, so I thought I had better keep quiet. I borrowed this from the shepherd, because I thought it was odd — a shepherd having this much gold.’

Geoffrey took Bale’s purse and emptied it into his hand. He was astonished — Bale had found a fortune.

‘There are coins here from Flanders and Ireland,’ he said, puzzled. ‘What was a shepherd doing with them? And how did you take Vitalis’s ring when I was watching you?’

‘I did it when I wrapped his body in the cloak,’ replied Bale, with the grace to look shamefaced. ‘Sir Roger taught me a sleight of hand, see.’

Geoffrey sighed, annoyed with Roger as well as Bale. ‘My back was turned for a moment, and you flouted my orders?’

‘I tried to tell you about it, sir, but you would not listen. Here.’ Bale passed the ring to Geoffrey, who regarded it in distaste. ‘I took it because, although it was on Vitalis’s hand at the beach, previously it belonged to him.’ His accusing finger indicated Magnus.

‘Not me!’ said Magnus, startled. ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

‘Are you sure, Bale?’ asked Geoffrey.

The squire nodded with such conviction that Geoffrey was sure he was telling the truth. Magnus obviously sensed he was about to be exposed, because he leaned forward to inspect the bauble and hastily revised his story.

‘Oh, yes, that is mine. It went missing on Patrick, and I assumed a pirate had taken it.’

Geoffrey was puzzled. ‘But you said nothing — and it is valuable.’

Magnus was dismissive. ‘When I am king, I shall have a hundred such rings.’

‘But you are not king yet,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘And until you are, you need all the treasure you can lay your hands on. Why you were so stoic about its loss?’

‘It is not valuable, actually,’ said Roger, examining it closely. ‘So it would not have been worth making a fuss. Especially with the likes of those pirates.’

‘But it is a pretty bauble even so.’ Magnus held out his hand. ‘Give it back.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey. Even if Magnus was its rightful owner, there was a reason why he had not mentioned its loss, and it was all very suspicious. He was not about to hand it over.

Harold gazed at him in astonishment. ‘You intend to keep it for yourself? But Bale has admitted to hauling it from a corpse! It cannot be lucky.’

Geoffrey handed it and the purse to Bale. ‘I do not want it, but nor should it go to Magnus. Not yet.’

‘This is outrageous!’ spluttered Magnus furiously. ‘And I do not forget such slights.’

He stalked away, his tall, thin body held rigidly erect.

‘He bears grudges,’ warned Harold unhappily. ‘And he can be spiteful — so watch yourselves.’

It was warm in the sun, and Harold began to doze. Ulfrith wandered away, and Geoffrey supposed he was going to torture himself with the sight of Philippa and Lucian.

‘The boy is a fool for that woman,’ declared Roger, grimacing in exasperation.

‘I shall be glad when we leave this place,’ said Geoffrey unhappily. ‘His infatuation is making him sly and vengeful. He did add something to his water flask to stop me from using it, you know. He would never have resorted to such a low trick before.’

‘Did he, by God!’ exclaimed Roger. ‘That is low, especially as you have been so sick. If it brings about a relapse, I shall cleave his head from his shoulders. Of course, he is not the only one who likes to tamper with drinks: Lucian poisoned you with his cure-all.’

‘But Magnus took it, too, and he was not nearly as ill as I was.’

‘But he was unwell. And he also used Juhel’s balm for his scratched arm. Yes, I know we have been through this before, but think about what Bale said about stealing Vitalis’s ring.’

‘A trick he learned from you,’ said Geoffrey, rather coolly.

‘Yes, yes.’ Roger’s wave of the hand indicated that was irrelevant. ‘But think about it: he deceived you with a sleight of the hand. And Lucian and Juhel did the same. Lucian must have had two phials — he and Magnus drank from one, but he exchanged it for another when it was your turn. And the same goes for Juhel’s balm: one part of the pot is for healing and the other is for harm. Remember his jar — red one side and blue the other? It is so he can remember which is which.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I accept that if Bale can deceive me with tricks, then anyone can, but I doubt two men had the idea of poisoning me simultaneously. And, besides, why me? You are the one with the gold.’

‘But you have wits, and those are dangerous to men like Juhel and Lucian. I bragged about the cases you have solved — obviously, they became worried.’

‘What, both of them?’

‘They are in it together,’ persisted Roger. ‘They are involved in something sinister that saw Vitalis, Edith and that shepherd murdered by Lucian, and Paisnel killed by Juhel. Just because you do not know what it is, does not mean it has not happened.’

‘I suppose it is possible,’ said Geoffrey, although he could not see the two as partners. He looked at Bale, who was regarding him in much the same way as his dog did on occasion: with a certain desperate affection that he was not sure would be reciprocated.

‘You have done well, Bale,’ he sad, watching the man’s face split into a grin of pleasure. ‘You uncovered evidence that put Gyrth at Werlinges during the massacre, and you were probably right to take the ring and the purse — although you should not make a habit of it.’

‘No, sir,’ said Bale. ‘I will not steal from corpses without good cause in future. But how do the cross and habit prove Gyrth responsible for the massacre? I thought they only showed he visited the village.’

‘Because of the way the blood is sprayed across the material. In battles, I have seen many such stains when throats have been slashed. There are also marks in the region of the thigh, where he wiped his blade. Gyrth killed someone at Werlinges without question. Then he donned civilian clothes and came here.’

‘Where he wanted to kill someone,’ mused Roger. ‘But why you, Geoff?’

‘I doubt Gyrth was after him,’ said Harold, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Geoffrey wondered how long he had been listening. ‘It was more likely a monk who had offended him.’

‘That is unlikely,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It seems he was only here for a few hours before Galfridus dispatched him to some distant village, to test his sincerity.’

‘Then perhaps that is why he went to the hospital,’ suggested Harold. ‘He thought it was the monks’ dormitory, because he had not been here long enough to know better.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey. ‘There was not enough time for a monk to have annoyed Gyrth to that extent. I suspect his arrival here had something to do with your rebellion — and so did the massacre. Gyrth was not the only one to have been involved in that. Your brother Ulf was there, and dry blood, combined with wet, indicates he had been fighting before Bale got him. These stains indicate he did not kill the villagers himself, but he may well have ordered Gyrth to do it.’

Harold shook his head, horrified by the suggestion. ‘Impossible! We need people alive, not dead. Whatever happened at Werlinges had nothing to do with us.’

‘Of course it did. And the fact that Gyrth was involved proves it.’

‘Gyrth did support our cause,’ acknowledged Harold unhappily. ‘But I do not see how he thought to further it by slaughtering villagers and stabbing men in abbeys.’

Geoffrey was sorry for him. Poor Harold was an innocent who attracted supporters by his smiling manners. But, as soon as he was no longer needed, harder, more ruthless men would step in, and Harold would find his throat cut.

And then something else became clear. Bale had mentioned blood smeared on doors in Werlinges, as though in warning. Geoffrey suspected that was exactly what it was: Werlinges had escaped being laid to waste by King William, and Ulf and Gyrth wanted everyone to know what happened to those who collaborated with the enemy. The hapless priest had tried to make amends by providing horses for Magnus and Harold, but the Saxon rebels had not been appeased.

‘So if Gyrth was not after you, and not after a monk, who was he trying to kill?’ asked Roger.

‘You,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘Rebellions are always hungry for money, and it is common knowledge that you stole a great deal of gold from the pirates.’

‘They wanted to use my money to topple Henry?’ asked Roger indignantly.

Geoffrey nodded.

Roger rubbed his chin. ‘Then it is just as well it is in a safe place.’

‘Where?’ asked Geoffrey.

Roger grinned and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Now, that would be telling.’

The Duke did not come that day, and towards the end of the afternoon the atmosphere of excited anticipation faded to anticlimax. Galfridus retired to the church, although no one was sure whether he was praying for the Duke to arrive or to send word that he was not coming.

‘It will be a delight to host him,’ he said morosely, as he and Geoffrey met near the kitchens — the knight to beg a bone for his dog, the monk to snatch a mouthful of carp. ‘But I shall remove the Lamb of God, of course. I do not want him making jokes about the Pig of God, which is how the novices now refer to it, thanks to you. But you know the Duke, do you not? Sir Roger said you were in his service.’

‘Many years ago, and as a very lowly squire. He will not remember me. But do not be too anxious — he is easily distracted and might not arrive for days if something amuses him on the way.’

‘That would be foolish. The last time the Duke visited England, it was as an invader, and if he dallies before making his obeisance to King Henry, he may find himself attacked.’ Galfridus’s expression turned to alarm. ‘And then perhaps Belleme will come to the Duke’s aid, God help us!’

‘If you dislike fighting, why do you allow Magnus and Harold to stay here? Surely you can see Magnus is plotting?’

‘He is a dreamer. His schemes will come to nothing.’

‘I am not so sure. Look at how many Saxons have gathered in your precinct — they cannot all be pilgrims. Moreover, I saw Harold address a gathering of about fifty men last night.’

Galfridus swallowed hard. ‘But Magnus has no funds for a rebellion,’ he said weakly.

‘I am not so sure. Bale found a considerable quantity of gold on a shepherd, which I am certain was intended to fuel the revolt. I suspect he was not a shepherd at all and was taking the purse to some central fund, but was killed in the storm before he could deliver it.’

‘No,’ objected Galfridus miserably. ‘Surely not!’

‘I believe Gyrth intended to steal Roger’s gold, too — he mistook us in the dark. And Fingar told me the roads near here are full of carts and horses after dark. It all adds up to a gathering of troops and resources, and suggests a hostile action against the King. You will be deemed their supporter if you do not make a stand.’

Galfridus rubbed a hand across his face. ‘I have an awful feeling you are right. But what can I do to stop them? I have sent messages to de Laigle, but I am not sure he reads them, let alone passes them to the King. And I can order these assembled Saxons to disperse until I am blue in the face, but they will not obey me, a man of mixed parentage.’

‘Your monks-’

‘Half my monks and all my lay-brothers are Saxon. The only thing I can pray for now is that Magnus makes his stand elsewhere. But do not let me keep you, Sir Geoffrey.’

He shot into the kitchen and made for the roast carp in an effort to calm himself. Through the open door, Geoffrey watched him snatch some and eat it fast, pausing only to complain to the cook that there was glass in it.

‘Glass?’ demanded the cook. ‘There is not!’ He appealed to Harold, who was sitting on a table swinging his short legs as he ate a piece of cheese. ‘You see? Normans complain endlessly.’

Later that evening, when the light was fading, Geoffrey sat with Bale behind the chapter house, looking over the battlefield. ‘What do you make of the business at Werlinges?’ he asked.

Bale considered the question seriously. He was not often asked for his opinion, and when he was, he tended to take his time to formulate a response.

‘Well, you and Roger fought bravely, and I stopped King Ulf from joining the affray. But I was surprised King Magnus and King Harold did not help us. They must have received some weapons training, and I did not expect them to be so useless.’

‘True, but perhaps we should be glad that Juhel and Lucian stayed out of the way.’

‘Juhel would have been all right,’ said Bale. ‘On the ship, he fought a pirate and defeated him with ease, even though the fellow had a dagger and Juhel had only his bare hands.’

Geoffrey was surprised. ‘You have not mentioned this before.’

‘You did not ask. But Juhel is a fighting man. Maybe not with a sword, but with a knife or his hands, he would be a match for most men.’

Geoffrey considered the information. ‘It seems there is more to Juhel than meets the eye — or more than he is willing to let anyone see.’

‘I still think he poisoned you,’ said Bale. ‘He is a sly bastard.’

When Geoffrey made no reply, Bale took the ring and pouch of gold from his bag and began fiddling with them. Geoffrey took the purse and looked again at the coins, before handing it back.

‘You saw the shepherd’s body. Roger believes Brother Lucian killed him. What do you think?’

There was another lengthy pause. ‘His head was under the tree trunk,’ replied Bale eventually. ‘Squashed almost flat. But there were no other wounds. Lucian may have held him under the tree when it fell, I suppose, but it would not have been easy to manage.’

‘Then I imagine it was an accident. Did you notice his clothes? Did he look Saxon?’

‘Oh, yes. His hair was long and braided, like Saxons used to wear it. Why?’

‘Because it is too much of a coincidence for a shepherd to be loaded with gold near where Saxon princes are gathering. And it is odd that a pauper would oust a monk while a storm raged outside — even the most reclusive of men do not deny shelter under such conditions. But this shepherd did not want witnesses.’

‘Witnesses to what?’

‘To this rebellion. I am sure there is more to it than we think.’

Geoffrey’s plan to leave for Winchester before dawn the following morning was thwarted when he found the stables virtually empty. An unhelpful groom eventually admitted that the abbey’s entire stock had been taken to the blacksmith for re-shoeing, and all that remained were Galfridus’s personal nags, which he never lent to anyone. Geoffrey strongly suspected the animals had been quartered somewhere nearby, ready to be used by the Saxons.

‘I could walk,’ said Geoffrey, returning to Roger after a frustrating interview with Galfridus, during which his request to borrow one of the remaining mounts was politely but firmly denied.

‘You would make poor time,’ said Roger. ‘You are not yet strong enough for such a trek. And I am not leaving you here unprotected, so do not think of asking me to go instead. But Galfridus is playing with fire! I am beginning to think he wants this rebellion to succeed. He does nothing to stop it, and now he refuses to help you warn the King.’

‘I suspect he simply does not want to be without a means of escape should the situation turn nasty. Damn! Without horses, our only other option is to stay here and see what we can do to thwart this uprising. I hope to God that Breme has delivered that letter.’

Roger patted his shoulder reassuringly. ‘Do not fret. He is a reliable fellow.’

Geoffrey went to the church, but the melodic chanting from the chancel did not soothe him this time, and he prowled restlessly along the nave and aisles, looking at the carvings on the pillars without really seeing them. Roger knelt with his hands pressed together, his heavy features arranged in an expression he imagined was devout. Ulfrith stood behind him and stared miserably at the central crossing, where Philippa loitered with Lucian.

Meanwhile, Juhel leaned against a pier near the south transept, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Harold, who was chatting amiably to some lay-brothers. The Saxon said something to make them laugh, and the sounds of their mirth caused Ralph to storm from the chancel to berate them. When the sacristan had gone, Harold said something else that sent them into paroxysms of merriment, although the laughter was quieter this time.

‘Ulf was not a fellow for giggles,’ remarked Magnus to Geoffrey. ‘He was an iron man, who frightened even his closest friends with his cold heart and ruthless determination.’

‘Then you must be glad he is dead. He sounds a more formidable rival than Harold.’

Magnus’s expression was dismissive. ‘Harold is no rival! Look at how he fraternizes with servants. I cannot imagine how he will manage at the head of an army — he will be too busy gossiping with his stable-boys.’

‘What about your cousin Gyrth?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Would he have made a good general?’

‘Yes, and his death is a bitter blow to our cause.’ Magnus regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps you should join us. There will be great rewards for men involved in our victory — and dire punishments for those who side with the Usurper. You would be wise to consider your future.’

‘I will take my chances with Henry.’

Magnus’s expression turned to anger. ‘You are a fool, and I shall personally see that you regret your decision.’

He turned on his heel and strode away, not caring that he powered through a procession of monks. Several outraged glances followed him, but Geoffrey saw more that were admiring and hopeful. With the end of prime, monastics and visitors alike began to trail towards their breakfasts. Roger was one of the first, Bale hot on his heels.

Harold walked with Geoffrey, breathing in air scented with newly cut grass. ‘It is far warmer here than inside that church. Why do builders always make them so cold? When I am king, the first thing I shall do is commission a warm church. Will you accept the challenge? Roger tells me you are interested in architecture.’

Geoffrey laughed. ‘Such a project would be wholly beyond my meagre capabilities.’

Harold laid a hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘I heard what Magnus said, and I want you to know that I will not let him harm you.’

‘I am not worried about Magnus.’

‘You should be. Now our time is close, he is becoming unsettled and dangerous. He told me last night that he will not rest until he has eradicated every Norman from England.’

Geoffrey watched Harold waddle away, thinking he had never encountered a less likely horde of rebels. He was jolted from his musings by a yell and watched Bale lumber after the dog, which was racing away with a piece of smoked pork. Not wanting to be blamed for the theft, he ate his breakfast alone outside the refectory, watching sparrows squabble for crumbs at his feet. Suddenly, droppings splattered on to the bread he was lifting towards his mouth.

‘That is a sign of good fortune,’ said Juhel, who happened to be passing. ‘But you are wise to be out here, because Magnus is holding forth again. Do you think his claims have any substance? There is certainly a lot of Saxon coming and going, and the fish ponds are thick with folk.’

‘That is because Galfridus told the layfolk to catch as many carp as possible, so there is a good supply for when the Duke arrives.’

Juhel was unconvinced. ‘Delilah has the right idea about that Magnus, and so does your dog: they both took an instant dislike to him.’

‘What do you think they see in him that we do not?’

‘That he is more dangerous than he looks. I am a stranger here, and what is happening is really none of my business, but I do not like to see a country torn asunder with silly plots. Do you think there is anything we can do to stop this before it goes too far?’

‘I sent a message to the King,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘And de Laigle should have dispatched a warning, too. I imagine it will not be long before someone comes to investigate.’

‘Good,’ said Juhel. ‘I wish I had done the same — I count His Majesty among my list of acquaintances, you know. Incidentally, Magnus is a liar. Do you recall that scratch on his arm at Werlinges? Well, I think he received it fighting Ulf. He ran into the church, then raced out a few moments later with Ulf at his heels.’

‘You smeared his injury with your balm,’ Geoffrey said, thinking it was time he resolved whether Juhel had poisoned him once and for all. ‘Do you still have it?’

Juhel looked uncomfortable. ‘No. Roger accused me of poisoning you with it, so I threw it away before he could add something toxic, then denounce me as a murderer. I have seen how scapegoats are procured, and I am too easy a target — a lone Breton among Normans and Saxons.’

‘Roger was right to accuse you. You do not like Magnus, and it was not me you wanted to harm, but him. The pot has two sides — red and blue — but in your excitement at having your victim at your mercy, you confused them.’

Juhel was aghast. ‘That is a dreadful thing to say! I would not know the first thing about feeding a man noxious substances.’

‘Obviously, as Magnus and I are still alive. I should have listened to Philippa when she told me you were a killer. She saw you throw Paisnel overboard — and saw him wave his arm in a feeble attempt to call the boat back.’

Juhel’s jaw dropped. ‘She is lying.’

‘I thought so, too. But Donan also saw him struggling in the water.’

Juhel began to tremble, his face ivory pale. ‘That cannot be true! He was dead.’

‘You admit tossing him over the side?’ pounced Geoffrey.

Juhel put his head in his hands. ‘He was dead! There was no life-beat.’

‘The cold water must have shocked him into consciousness. Why did you kill him? I thought you were friends.’

‘I did not kill him,’ whispered Juhel. ‘I admit to tipping his body into the sea. But only after someone else had stabbed him.’

Geoffrey did not believe him. ‘You probably murdered Vitalis, too,’ he said in disgust. ‘A frail old man. How could you?’

‘He was not as helpless as you think,’ said Juhel, some of his fire returning. ‘But I did not kill him, and I did not kill Paisnel.’

‘Right,’ said Geoffrey, walking away.

It had not been a pleasant interview, and Geoffrey was disheartened. When he saw Roger sitting on the hospital steps, he flopped down next to him and put his head in his hands.

‘I have been thinking,’ the big knight said. ‘It is beginning to feel very dangerous here, so I recommend we walk to the nearest town, buy horses, then ride to Winchester. I trust Breme to deliver your message, but it occurs to me that Henry may later ask why we did not do it ourselves.’

Geoffrey was relieved. It was a sensible plan. ‘Shall we go now?’

‘No — tonight is the eve of the Feast of St Columba, and I intend to keep a vigil until dawn. We shall leave tomorrow at dusk, when the darkness will afford us some protection. Besides, you need the additional day to regain more of your strength. You are still too pale for my liking.’

Geoffrey stared at him. ‘St Columba? Who is he?’

Roger waved an expansive hand. ‘A holy man — Irish, I believe. Or Scottish. God’s blood! What is Ulfrith doing to that woman now?’

Philippa’s furious voice was audible over most of the abbey as she screeched her outrage. Geoffrey hurried towards them, Roger at his heels, wondering whether the squire had done something that would see them on their way sooner than anticipated. Galfridus would not want female guests to suffer sexual advances while they were under his protection.

‘My Lady!’ cried Ulfrith, distraught. ‘I meant no harm. I love you!’

Geoffrey saw Lucian nearby, watching the scene with a troubled expression. Philippa looked at him out of the corner of her eye while she railed at Ulfrith, who hung his head with shame. Geoffrey frowned, wondering what she was up to.

‘I must go to the chapter house,’ mumbled Lucian, edging away. ‘Brother Ralph is reading from the writings of the Venerable Bede.’

‘Do not leave me!’ cried Philippa, swinging around fast, so the folds of Edith’s cloak billowed. ‘Not to the mercy of louts. Why did you not tell Ulfrith that I am already taken? We have an understanding — I gave you my necklace as our troth.’

‘You gave me your necklace for my journey to Bath,’ corrected Lucian, a little coolly. ‘There was no “understanding” between us. How could there be? I am a monk.’

Philippa gaped at him. ‘But you said you would renounce your vows for me.’

The flicker of unease that crossed Lucian’s face convinced Geoffrey she was telling the truth, but the monk remained firm. ‘You are mistaken, madam. My vows are sacred.’

Philippa was furious. ‘It is because of what you read in Vitalis’s will,’ she declared accusingly. ‘You had no right to steal it from me and poke through it without my permission.’

Lucian shrugged. ‘You do not own it. So how could you, a woman who willingly undertook a bigamous marriage, stop me?’

Geoffrey understood immediately what had happened: Lucian had not known Philippa’s ‘marriage’ was illegal and had expected her to inherit Vitalis’s wealth. Now he was in retreat — and Philippa had used the hapless Ulfrith, fooling the boy into molesting her in the hope that Lucian would be forced to declare himself publicly before it was too late.

‘So, Aelfwig was right: you did only want me for my money,’ said Philippa, bitterly accepting the truth. ‘Except that now you know I have none.’

‘Men of God are not interested in money, lass,’ said Roger slyly. He looked hard at Lucian. ‘Unless he is an imposter, of course, and no more a monastic than I am.’

The altercation had attracted the attention of several monks, Aelfwig among them.

‘Lucian is not an imposter,’ said Aelfwig, not altogether happily. ‘He may not act like one of us, but I have visited the abbey at Bath, and he is the bursar there. He is most certainly a powerful member of our Order.’

‘He may be powerful, but he is not rich,’ said Geoffrey. ‘His “gold” cross was actually painted steel, and he has been inveigling money, rings and necklaces from anyone who will part with them. And I imagine he has no intention of repaying any “loans”, either. Anything left over when he reaches Bath will go straight into his abbey’s coffers — from which there will be no return.’

Lucian looked angry. ‘So I collect funds for my abbey. What of it? There is nothing wrong with vain women parting with baubles for a worthy cause. I keep very little for myself. Ask my Bishop.’

‘He knows what you do?’ asked Aelfwig, shocked.

Lucian regarded him coldly. ‘He sanctions it.’

‘You do it to curry his favour, because you have no influential family to help you,’ surmised Roger. ‘You lied about that. You are-’

‘You forget yourself!’ snarled Lucian. ‘My family owns most of Herefordshire and my father has the ear of the King.’

Geoffrey smiled. ‘My own estates are in Herefordshire, and I know the biggest landowners. Your family is not among them. Like me, they may hold a tiny part, but they will not be wealthy.’

‘I did my best to warn you,’ said Aelfwig to Philippa. ‘I told you not to give him anything.’

Philippa scowled at Lucian, who scowled at Aelfwig. ‘So I have parted with my necklace,’ she said flatly. ‘The only thing of value I own — for a man who does not intend to marry me?’

‘There is still me,’ said Ulfrith generously. ‘I will marry you.’

‘But I do not want you,’ she sneered, making the squire take a step away, stung. ‘Boy!’

Geoffrey watched her, amazed at the risks she had taken to secure herself a safe future. He wondered what else had she done in her relentless pursuit of a man who would keep and protect her. And then answers snapped clear in his mind. Carefully, he eased back her cloak, then pointed to the purse that he had seen as she had twirled around. Protruding from the top was a strand of red ribbon.

‘You killed your friend,’ he said. ‘And your husband.’

‘I did not!’ screeched Philippa furiously. ‘Why would I kill Vitalis, when he was my provider? And Edith said she would look after me.’

‘But she could not guarantee it,’ said Geoffrey. ‘The chances are that she would have been forced to marry another wealthy suitor, and then what would have happened to you? Women are seldom allowed to control the money they inherit, and you knew Edith might not have been able to keep her promise. It was safer to kill her and try for Lucian.’

To Geoffrey’s surprise, Philippa proved quick-thinking and resourceful, quite unlike the babbling imbecile he had taken her for. She came towards him with a sly smile.

‘You are wrong,’ she said. ‘About everything. I loved Vitalis and I loved Edith. And, anyway, Edith was killed when I was with Roger — with whom I spent the night.’

‘Oh, God!’ whispered Ulfrith shakily.

‘Yes — we were here, in the church,’ said Roger, more to the listening monks than Ulfrith. ‘So you must be wrong, Geoff. She could not have killed Edith. I still think it was Lucian.’

‘Lucian was in the Lady Chapel from vespers until prime,’ said Aelfwig, although he regarded his fellow monk with deep distaste. ‘And a dozen brothers will tell you the same. We were praying that Belleme will not invade England, and he was asking God to send him some money.’

But Geoffrey now knew the truth. He continued to address Philippa. ‘Edith was strangled before you sought out Roger’s company. You used him because you knew you might need an alibi.’

‘She was alive when I left, and dead when I returned,’ said Philippa coldly. ‘And you cannot prove otherwise. It is dreadful of you to say these things when I am alone and unprotected.’

She shot a rueful glance at Lucian and drew the cloak more closely around her shoulders. As she did so, one of its pleats opened and revealed the lining underneath. The material was scarlet, but there was a corner that had been ripped away. Geoffrey stepped forward to inspect it, recalling what he had seen in Edith’s dead hand. Philippa shoved him away with considerable force and stalked out with her head held high, defiance in her every move.

‘Was that ripped when she killed Edith?’ asked Roger uneasily.

‘I imagine there was an argument between them,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘And the ribbon was to hand. It is not difficult for one woman to throttle another, if her blood is up. Then she was cunning enough to slip out and secure herself an alibi.’

‘Unfortunately, throttling Edith did nothing to affect Philippa’s situation one way or the other,’ said Lucian. ‘I read Vitalis’s will today. He bequeathed everything to sons from an earlier marriage, and Edith was to have a paltry pension until her next marriage. Philippa was not even mentioned.’

‘He is right,’ added Aelfwig. ‘She brought me the will when she first arrived, and wept bitterly when I read it to her. She snatched it back, and I assumed she intended to destroy it, perhaps with a view to composing one that was more congenial to her.’

‘Yet you did nothing to stop her?’ asked Lucian. ‘And you criticize my behaviour! Hypocrite!’

‘She is a poor Saxon lass,’ flared Aelfwig. ‘Abused by greedy Normans. Of course I kept quiet about the will in the hope that it would give her a chance to redress the injustice of her situation. I did not think she would stoop to murder. .’

‘Philippa is not Saxon,’ sneered Lucian. ‘She said she was kin to my Bihop, John de Villula — and he is as Norman as they come. She said an alliance with her would earn me untold favour in ecclesiastical courts.’

‘And you believed her?’ demanded Aelfwig archly. ‘When she is so patently poor?’

‘I am unused to liars,’ replied Lucian stiffly. ‘So yes, I believed her — until a few moments ago, when she slipped up with some insignificant fact. I might have overlooked it, had she not then promptly tried to distract me from it by screeching that the squire had assaulted her.’

‘And I never touched her,’ whispered Ulfrith, still shocked.

‘It seems we all underestimated her,’ said Geoffrey quietly. ‘She is far cleverer than we thought.’

‘What a merry dance she has led us all!’ muttered Roger, half disapproving and half admiring. He addressed Geoffrey. ‘So, is that it? Philippa killed Edith? Did she dispatch Vitalis, too?’

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘She had far too much to lose. Edith did not kill him, either, because Philippa would have stopped her.’

‘So what happens now?’ asked Roger. ‘Will she hang? It is a pity — she is a pretty wench.’

‘Not on the evidence we have,’ said Geoffrey. He lowered his voice. ‘However, I would recommend you keep Ulfrith away from her. She is bitter and vengeful, and I would not like to think of her striking at us through him.’