The Bloodstained Throne

Two

Philippa and Edith were elegant ladies, but chalk and cheese. Edith was a tall, golden-haired beauty with a long neck, large blue eyes and haughty Norman manners; Philippa was small, dark, lively and full of opinions. Edith was older and the more dominant of the pair.

Geoffrey had spent little time in their company on Patrick due to their husband’s vehement accusations. However, what he had seen of them convinced him there was not an intelligent thought in the head of either.

‘Vitalis is dead!’ wept Philippa as Ulfrith ushered them forward. ‘He was alive when we reached the shore, but water must have swelled inside his lungs and choked him, even as he gave thanks for his deliverance. What shall I do now? He was all I had!’

‘There, there, sister,’ crooned Edith. ‘We shall look after each other. I will never leave you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Philippa, forcing a wan smile. ‘And I suppose we have two knights to protect us now. Thank God! I thought we might have to throw ourselves on the mercy of a rabble.’

She gazed distastefully at the pirates and then at Ulfrith and Bale, who, as mere squires, were too lowly to be considered genteel company. Ulfrith did not notice and continued to beam. His happy grin faded at the next comment, however.

‘Have you seen dear Brother Lucian?’ asked Edith. ‘We looked for him on the beach but saw only two drowned sailors. And Lucian’s manservant. He was dead, too.’

‘Poor man,’ said Juhel with gentle compassion.

Philippa barely glanced at him, clearly considering a mere parchmenter beneath her. Then she started to cry. ‘Actually, it is poor Vitalis! And poor Lucian!’

‘Vitalis was a good man,’ Edith agreed, also tearful. ‘We shall have masses said for his soul when we reach a place of safety.’ After a moment, she inclined her head towards the villagers. ‘Do they mean to attack us? They seem very menacing.’

‘They frighten me,’ added Philippa. ‘I do not want to stay here.’

Edith agreed. ‘No one else will come ashore alive now, and we should consider our own safety. It distresses me to leave without knowing poor Brother Lucian’s fate, but he would have understood our need to protect ourselves.’

‘He certainly would,’ muttered Ulfrith. ‘He was a selfish brute, who put himself above everyone. He was the first overboard when Fingar gave the order to abandon ship.’

‘We must stay together,’ said Juhel to Geoffrey and Roger, apparently deciding that two knights represented his best chance of staying alive. ‘At least until we reach civilization.’

‘Do you have money?’ asked Roger bluntly. ‘Or just that chicken?’

Juhel smiled and raised the cage so everyone could see the disconsolate bundle within. Geoffrey saw his dog lick its lips and leaned down to grab it before it did anything irreversible.

‘My bird is worth more than all the treasure in Jerusalem,’ Juhel declared. ‘But I have enough gold to pay my way. I saved my dagger, too, so I am not completely helpless. But the ladies are right: we should not linger here with daylight fading.’

‘A knight with a sword is better than a merchant with a dagger,’ said Philippa, simpering at Geoffrey. ‘We are fortunate to have found you.’

‘I agree,’ said Edith. She rested a hand on Roger’s arm and beamed. ‘I know you will find us somewhere warm tonight.’

‘Aye, lass,’ said Roger with a leer that suggested he might supply some of the heat personally.

‘Then we should go,’ said Geoffrey promptly. ‘We will walk towards that tower I saw.’

‘And tomorrow?’ asked the Saxon haughtily. ‘What happens tomorrow?’

Geoffrey shrugged. ‘If we do not find shelter, there may not be a tomorrow for us.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Roger. ‘The fellow with the green hat is still watching us. The others are concentrating on Fingar’s salvage, but not him. Look! There he is among those trees.’

‘So he is,’ muttered Geoffrey, following Roger’s gaze. ‘And his large friend is with him. Is he interested in us because he thinks we will be easier to rob? Or is there another reason?’

Unsettled by the peculiar interest of the green-hatted man and his hulking friend, Geoffrey began to walk towards the tower. Roger marched behind him, Edith clinging to his arm, followed by the other passengers, with Bale bringing up the rear. Philippa ran to catch up with Geoffrey, but so did Ulfrith, taking her hand in a powerful grip to support her over the uneven surface. She grimaced, loath to settle for a squire when her friend had a knight, but she made the best of it and began to chatter gaily about herself — the subject she seemed to like best.

She had some serious competition, though, because Juhel was also determined to hear his own voice. He rattled on about some perfumed oil he had sold to Belleme. Geoffrey was dubious: he could not imagine that ruthless tyrant being interested in fripperies. As they babbled, Geoffrey glanced behind him to ensure Bale was carrying out his duties as vanguard.

He need not have worried. Bale took seriously any order issued by his master and was assiduously looking backwards every two or three steps to ensure no one was in pursuit. He had Geoffrey’s dog on a piece of rope, knowing the animal would growl if any villager came too close. Geoffrey had a feeling the would-be looters would be disappointed if they did intend to attack after dark: about thirty sailors had survived, and such a large group would present a formidable challenge.

‘Have you noticed that Saxon has attached himself to us?’ asked Ulfrith of Geoffrey, rather indignantly. ‘He has been very unfriendly, so I do not know how he dares!’

‘Because we are a better proposition than Fingar and his rabble,’ said Juhel, overhearing. ‘We will not slit his throat in the night and make off with his belongings.’

‘Life will be difficult for me now,’ said Philippa, bringing the discussion back to herself. ‘I am a young widow, whose husband has been ripped away in untimely fashion.’

‘Vitalis was rather old,’ remarked Ulfrith tactlessly. ‘But now you can choose a younger man.’ He glanced hopefully at her out of the corner of his eye.

‘I should like a younger man,’ said Philippa, smiling at Geoffrey.

But Geoffrey was not paying attention to her; he was concentrating on the curious movements of the green-hatted man and his friend, who had started to follow the party. Besides, Hilde had aroused in him an odd sense of affection and loyalty he had rarely felt towards women. If he did break his marriage vows, it would not be with a simpering girl.

‘Sir Geoffrey is married,’ said Ulfrith with a hint of triumph. ‘However, I am unattached. And I have fair prospects, being a fighting man — loot, you understand.’

‘But you are only a squire,’ said Philippa in distaste. ‘I am used to being wed to a knight.’

‘I understand Edith was wed to him, too,’ said Ulfrith sanctimoniously. ‘Such situations are frowned upon in England. It is called bigamy, and we Saxons disapprove. Of course, Denmark is different.’

‘Not that different,’ said Juhel, laughing. ‘The only countries that countenance multiple wives are those that follow the teachings of Mohammed — and then only if they can be afforded.’

‘Well, Sir Vitalis could afford me and Edith,’ said Philippa sulkily. ‘I cannot imagine what I will do now he is dead. Edith has wealthy kin, but I am friendless and alone. Who will care for me?’

‘I will,’ called Edith from where she walked with Roger. ‘As I keep telling you. You need have no fears for your future, Philippa.’

Philippa smiled back at her, then tripped over a stone. Ulfrith’s clumsy attempt to catch her resulted in the inadvertent grabbing of a breast, and her squeals of outrage were loud enough to draw the attention of several villagers. Growing exasperated, Geoffrey took her hand and set a cracking pace that had the others running to keep up. After a while, the villagers lost interest and turned back towards Fingar’s salvage. When he next glanced around, the green-hatted man was also moving in the opposite direction.

‘The Church dictates that a man may not have more than one wife,’ said Edith, when Geoffrey slowed a little, allowing breath for conversation again. ‘But the Church is full of celibates, who are hardly in a position to appreciate the needs of normal men. A knight should be allowed to take more than one wife if he feels like it. And a woman should be allowed more than one husband, too.’

‘I have been happier than I ever thought possible with Vitalis and Edith,’ said Philippa wistfully. ‘Damn those wretched pirates! They have lost me more than they could ever imagine.’ When she saw Geoffrey glance behind again, she misunderstood the object of his wary attention and lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘You do not approve of that nasty man coming with us. Neither do I. He is a killer!’

‘I know,’ said Geoffrey, recalling how the Saxon had sacrificed his servant to save himself.

‘And he talks all the time,’ said Philippa.

‘You refer to Juhel?’ asked Geoffrey in surprise. ‘I thought you meant the Saxon.’

‘No,’ said Philippa in disdain. ‘I would not waste my breath talking about an arrogant stick of a man who would not even tell my husband his name. I meant that garrulous Juhel. He might be witty and clever, but he is a murderer!’

‘Is he now?’ said Geoffrey, paying her scant attention.

‘I saw him kill his friend,’ Philippa chatted on. ‘Do you remember how distressed he was, rushing all over the ship the morning Paisnel disappeared?’

‘I remember,’ said Ulfrith, keen to show he was interested in her tale, even if Geoffrey was not. ‘He wept bitterly when we realized Paisnel must have gone overboard during the night.’

Philippa continued to address Geoffrey. ‘Well, his tears were not of grief, but of guilt. I saw him throw Paisnel overboard with my own eyes, and I heard the splash as his body hit the water.’

Geoffrey did not believe a word Philippa said, and assumed she was telling spiteful tales to win the sympathy of the men who were most likely to care for her. He smiled at that notion: Philippa was a poor judge of character if she imagined she would be safe from Roger. The big knight already had her companion in an inappropriate ‘protective’ embrace, but would shift his attentions to Philippa once Edith had fallen to his charms.

‘We will see you settled in a convent,’ Geoffrey said, planning to be rid of them both as soon as possible. ‘And I will write to Edith’s kinsmen, so they will know to come and fetch you.’

‘I do not want to stay with nuns!’ cried Philippa, aghast. ‘I want to be left with some rich nobleman. Preferably one in need of a wife.’

‘Did you really see Juhel throw Paisnel overboard?’ asked Ulfrith, whose slow wits were still coming to terms with her accusations.

‘I did,’ said Philippa, still looking at Geoffrey. ‘But I see you do not believe me.’

‘I do!’ declared Ulfrith. ‘I believe anything you tell me, dear lady.’

‘Your master does not,’ said Philippa sulkily. ‘He thinks I am lying to gain his attention.’

‘I am merely curious as to why you have waited so long to tell anyone,’ said Geoffrey with a noncommittal shrug. ‘Why not when Paisnel first went missing?’

He glanced behind and saw that Juhel had abandoned Roger and Edith to take advantage of the Saxon’s taciturn nature and natter at him. Geoffrey wondered whether Philippa had only made her accusations because Juhel was safely out of earshot.

‘Because Vitalis told me not to,’ replied Philippa. ‘I was obliged to get up in the night, you see. For natural purposes.’ She lowered her voice and pursed her lips prudishly.

‘You mean to take fresh air?’ asked Ulfrith innocently.

This drew a reluctant smile. ‘You could say that. It was a night when the seas were too rough for the deck, so everyone was sleeping in the hold. I finished my business and was making my way down the ladder again when I heard voices. I thought it was sailors at first, but then I realized they were speaking Norman-French.’

‘And it was Juhel and Paisnel?’ asked Ulfrith politely.

Philippa nodded. ‘Juhel was doing all the talking, of course. They were huddled at the back of the ship, where they thought they would not be seen or overheard. I was bored, so I made my way towards them — for company.’ Her eyes filled with tears, and Geoffrey could not decide whether it was genuine distress, a ploy for sympathy or the effects of the cold wind.

Ulfrith was less cynical. ‘Poor lady,’ he said kindly.

‘There was blood,’ Philippa whispered brokenly. ‘A lot of it. Paisnel had been stabbed in the chest, or perhaps the neck. Juhel was sobbing when he tossed him overboard. I ran away at that point, but when Juhel returned to the hold, he was wet: he had washed off the blood.’

Geoffrey regarded her sharply as something jarred in his mind. He had also noticed that the parchmenter’s tunic had been wet the morning after Paisnel’s disappearance. Philippa continued when she saw she had his attention at last.

‘But the truly vile thing is that Paisnel was not dead. I saw him raise one arm as the ship sailed on and left him to his horrible fate.’

‘They were friends,’ said Geoffrey, not sure what to believe. ‘They had travelled together from Dublin, and Juhel was going to stay with Paisnel’s family in Ribe. Why would he kill a friend?’

Philippa shrugged. ‘Not every man can be as gentle as poor, dear Vitalis. There are some dreadful brutes around, and Juhel is one of them.’

‘Vitalis was not always gentle — he accused Sir Geoffrey of some awful things,’ said Ulfrith, clearly unsure where his loyalties should lie. ‘Truly wicked things.’

‘He did not,’ objected Geoffrey. ‘He said-’

‘Everything he said was true,’ interrupted Philippa. ‘He whispered them again as he lay dying on the beach, his lungs all gurgling and full of water. You will have to do penance for them, Sir Geoffrey, perhaps in the nunnery where you plan to leave me.’

‘I cannot believe Juhel killed Paisnel,’ said Geoffrey, preferring to discuss her story than the old man’s accusations. ‘They never even had a cross word. .’

But that was not true, he recalled. He had caught them quarrelling the day before Paisnel went missing. They had kept their voices low, so he had not heard the nature of the disagreement, but there was no mistaking the angry gestures. But did it mean anything? Geoffrey frequently argued with Roger, and their friendship was as robust as any. Companions often fought, and surely there was nothing significant in Paisnel squabbling with Juhel?

‘He threw Paisnel’s bag overboard, too,’ said Philippa, seeing the doubt in his face and pressing her point. ‘I saw the poor man flap towards it, probably hoping it would keep him afloat. But Vitalis told me not to tell anyone, because he was too seasick to protect me from Juhel’s inevitable anger. You are not seasick, though, and-’

‘But why would Juhel do such a thing?’ interrupted Ulfrith, bewildered. ‘Paisnel was so nice and polite. He even tried to make friends with that rude Saxon. Of course, even Juhel’s chicken detested him — she scratched him cruelly, if you recall. Animals are seldom wrong when they take against people. But why did Juhel throw Paisnel’s pack overboard?’

Philippa shook her head. ‘I do not know! It made no sense, because, as his friend, Juhel would have been entitled to keep it. But he threw it in the sea with great haste. Perhaps it contained something he did not want to see again.’

‘Such as what?’ pressed Ulfrith.

Philippa was becoming exasperated with him. ‘I do not know! Perhaps those documents that were tied up with red ribbon. That braid would have looked rather well with my best kirtle; I asked Paisnel if he would exchange it for a green one, but he refused.’

‘Sir Geoffrey uses red ribbon when he writes to his wife and sister,’ said Ulfrith. ‘I am sure I can persuade him to give you a little.’

‘I shall persuade him myself, thank you,’ said Philippa with a sultry smile.

‘Paisnel had a medallion,’ said Ulfrith thoughtfully. He was thinking about Philippa’s story and did not notice the smouldering look she shot Geoffrey. ‘It was a large gold one. Perhaps Juhel wanted to get rid of that, although I cannot imagine why. You would think he would keep it, especially if it was valuable.’

‘What kind of medallion?’ asked Geoffrey.

Ulfrith shrugged. ‘A big gold one, with writing on it. You know: a medallion.’

Geoffrey’s thoughts were in turmoil. He had noticed Paisnel’s bag was missing the day after the man had disappeared; he had thought it odd at the time that Juhel had failed to mention it. And then there were the ribbon-bound documents. Geoffrey had seen Paisnel reading them once and had passed close enough to see they were official deeds of some kind. And the day after it had been decided that Paisnel must have fallen overboard, Geoffrey had seen Juhel with them. Had Juhel thrown away the pack so no one would notice the documents were no longer in it? But that made no sense, because, as Philippa pointed out, Juhel was Paisnel’s companion and would have come into possession of them anyway. Or was he afraid Fingar might have his own views on the distribution of a dead man’s property?

Geoffrey shook himself impatiently. It was not his concern. Nevertheless, he decided he could not be rid of his travelling companions quickly enough and began to look forward keenly to the time when he would be alone.

They had not gone far before Edith, unbalanced by the weight of Roger’s arm about her shoulders, took a tumble and twisted her knee. She wept piteously but declined to allow Geoffrey to inspect it, claiming it would be improper for a married man to see her bare flesh. Roger offered his services instead, pointing out that he had no wife, but Edith was angry with him for making her stumble in the first place, and his offer was repelled with equal iciness. Philippa obliged in the end, and the men were ordered to move a respectable distance away.

‘She is irked with me,’ said Roger, dismayed. ‘I was only trying to help.’

‘I would be careful, if I were you,’ advised Geoffrey. ‘Their relationship with Vitalis was odd, and Philippa has been making accusations of murder against Juhel.’

‘Be careful of what?’ demanded Ulfrith, leaping to defend the woman who had captured his heart. ‘They are decent ladies who will not even reveal a knee to a man.’

Usually, Geoffrey would have boxed the lad’s ears for his impudence, but the previous month Ulfrith had saved Geoffrey’s sister by killing a wild boar that was about to attack her. Ulfrith could do no wrong in Joan’s eyes, and she had extracted a promise from Geoffrey to be gentle with the lad. Jerosolimitani took vows seriously, and Ulfrith had been permitted to overstep the mark on several occasions.

‘They are lucky they have you to watch over them,’ was all Geoffrey said.

Ulfrith nodded stiffly. ‘I will protect them.’

‘So will I,’ said Roger with a leer. ‘I will protect Philippa next, as Edith seems out of sorts.’

‘No!’ cried Ulfrith, who was not so naive that he did not know where that would lead. ‘She should walk with me.’

Roger gazed at him in astonishment, amazed that a squire should presume to argue with him. Then he saw the fiercely ardent expression, and his face creased into a grin of understanding.

‘Very well — you go for her, lad, and good luck to you! It is about time you cut your teeth on a decent wench. I shall persist with Edith. We were getting along famously until she took her tumble.’

‘Vitalis was lucky to have two such women,’ said Bale sadly. ‘I would like a wife, but ladies do not seem to find me very attractive. Perhaps they will like me more when I have some money.’

‘It is the bald head, man,’ said Roger bluntly. ‘They do not like the way you shave it. You would do better if you had a bit of hair.’

‘If I had hair, it would only be at the back and sides, and it would be grey,’ said Bale mournfully. ‘I would look like a monk, and no woman wants to bed one of those.’

Geoffrey tried to imagine what his squire might look like with a tonsure, but found he could not do it. However, he certainly did not think patchy grey locks would make Bale resemble a cleric — unless it was a very debauched and violent one.

‘Lady Hilde cried bitterly when you left,’ Bale went on, still thinking of female companions. ‘I wish a lady would weep for me.’

Geoffrey regarded him in surprise. ‘She did not! She had no interest in marrying me, and I imagine she is only too pleased to be left on her own. My estates will do well under her and my sister, and they were both relieved when I said I was leaving.’

‘They were not,’ contradicted Roger immediately. ‘Joan was furious, and Hilde was hurt. They like you better than you think, lad. They will be pleased when you return so soon — and you have to go home now, because you cannot travel without money.’

‘Perhaps Lord Baderon will give you some,’ suggested Ulfrith. ‘Your father-in-law is a wealthy man. You can offer to pray for his soul when you reach the Holy City. In fact, you can persuade him while Sir Roger and I deliver Philippa and Edith to their home.’

Geoffrey smiled at Ulfrith’s transparency. He was also amused by the notion that Baderon would pay for his visit to the Holy Land: his kinsman had been dead set against the journey in the first place. Geoffrey’s sole duty, Baderon had claimed angrily, was in the marriage bed until he had produced a son to ensure the succession. Geoffrey had done his best, but Hilde was old to be a first-time mother. Moreover, he could tell from their time together that he was not the first man to enjoy her favours, but she had not conceived before. It was entirely possible that their union was destined to be childless.

‘You were not married a month before you mentioned travelling east,’ said Roger. ‘What is wrong with Hilde? She is a nice, big lass — better than the other weaklings that were on offer.’

Geoffrey had not taken to any of the local heiresses presented to him, and that had included Hilde at first. Almost as tall and broad as Geoffrey — and he was taller and broader than most — Hilde could wield a variety of weapons with devastating effect and was not afraid to practise her military skills in the skirmishes that often broke out in the volatile Marches. Roger admired her greatly, but Geoffrey wished she was gentler. He was still pondering her idiosyncrasies when his dog growled. The aloof Saxon was approaching.

‘It is too dangerous to linger here,’ he declared. ‘If the women cannot continue, we shall abandon them. It is imperative that you convey me to a place of safety.’

‘Is it indeed?’ asked Geoffrey, as Roger gaped at the presumption.

‘Yes,’ stated the Saxon with finality. ‘And do not tell me you plan to continue your journey east instead, because you barely have enough to take you to Hastinges, let alone Jerusalem.’

‘How do you know?’ demanded Roger. Geoffrey might be penniless, but he himself had enough to travel to the Holy Land and back several times in comparative luxury.

‘Because I overheard you talking. You were right: it was folly to have undertaken your journey when there were double moons portending disaster and blood bubbling from the ground in lieu of springs. God’s message to you is clear: stay in England. Now we must find the church you saw from the ship. It cannot be far, and I want to reach it before it is completely dark.’

‘I shall go when it pleases me,’ said Roger dangerously. ‘It is not for you to tell a Jerosolimitanus what to do.’

‘Ah, but it is,’ replied the Saxon enigmatically. ‘Your father is only a Norman bishop, but your mother was a true Saxon lady, and you have a fine Saxon lad as your squire. You are a Saxon at heart, and that is why I have decided to trust you.’

‘Trust him for what?’ asked Geoffrey suspiciously, knowing that Roger was far more Norman than Saxon, especially in his love of other people’s property.

‘To help me in my quest. But I do not need you. I am only interested in recruiting Saxons. Now, if we walk along this beach for just a little longer, we should reach that church.’

‘Who are you?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘And how do you know this coast? You joined the ship in Ireland, and it is only by chance that we landed here.’

The man pulled himself up to his full height, which was considerable: he towered over Roger. ‘I am Magnus, eldest son of King Harold and England’s rightful monarch.’

Despite Ulfrith carrying Edith, and Geoffrey setting a pace that had them all gasping for breath, it was pitch black by the time they reached the tower. It was not a church at all — which made him sceptical of Magnus’s local knowledge — but a fortress glowering across the heaving waves.

‘What place is this?’ asked Roger, studying the stalwart earthworks and ancient but powerful stone wall that ran in a massive oval around a substantial bailey. A stone keep dominated the buildings inside, standing atop a motte.

‘It must have been built by Romans,’ said Geoffrey, admiringly. ‘The walls have been repaired in places, but they still stand tall and strong.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Edith irritably. ‘My leg hurts. Tell them to admit us at once.’

‘God help us!’ breathed Magnus in sudden alarm, once he had come close enough to see the place through the darkness. ‘It is Pevenesel Castle! We must have fetched up farther west than I thought. It is a Norman stronghold, in the care of a nobleman named Richer de Laigle.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ said Roger suspiciously.

Magnus regarded him pityingly. ‘Yes. What sort of king would I be if I were unfamiliar with the defences of my enemies? But we cannot stay here. If they learn who I am, they will kill me.’

‘Then do not tell them,’ suggested Juhel. ‘As I always say to the Duke of Normandy, if you-’

‘You must find somewhere else,’ said Magnus to Roger. ‘This is unacceptable.’

‘Any ideas where?’ asked Geoffrey archly, gesturing around him. ‘The castle is the only thing here — except for those houses outside the bailey, and they will be inhabited by people who work for de Laigle. We have no choice but to beg his hospitality.’

‘And I am staying with him,’ said Roger, pointing at Geoffrey. ‘So you can stop giving me orders. I may have Saxon blood, but I do not serve any master who demands my loyalty. I only honour leaders who can pay.’

‘I will pay you,’ insisted Magnus. ‘As soon as I am king. But you must conduct me to a Saxon haven first — tonight. It is imperative that I do not fall into enemy hands.’

‘I doubt de Laigle will see you as an enemy,’ said Geoffrey, suspecting the man would probably deem Magnus insane.

He was not sure he believed the tale himself, because Magnus did not look like the son of a great warrior, although embroidery and gold thread on his clothes indicated that he had some wealth. Tall and painfully thin, he had straggly grey hair tied in a meagre tail at the back of his head, and an enormous silver moustache — an odd fashion in England, where most men were bearded. His bony face — which still bore the scars of its spat with Juhel’s chicken — was dominated by a wedge-shaped nose and bloodless lips. Geoffrey’s father had fought at Hastinges and had often talked about King Harold’s strength of body and character. If Magnus was indeed his son, then he had not inherited his sire’s looks or his commanding personality.

‘I cannot take that chance,’ said Magnus curtly. ‘Lead on, Sir Roger.’

‘No,’ said Roger firmly. ‘I have been shipwrecked, man. All I want is meat, wine and a wench to warm my bed.’ He winked at Edith, who ignored him.

‘Well, I cannot walk any further,’ declared Philippa. ‘So I shall throw myself on their mercy.’

Before anyone could stop her, she strode up to the gatehouse and thumped on the door.

‘What?’ came an irritable voice after she had hammered for some time.

‘I demand to see de Laigle,’ she shouted. ‘My. . sister and I are shipwrecked gentlewomen in distress. Open the gate immediately.’

There was a short silence and then a lot of coarse laughter. ‘Nice try, Mabel! You almost had us convinced. But Lord de Laigle said we were not to let you in any more — not after that trick with the onion and the candle. You will have to ply your trade elsewhere.’

‘I am not Mabel!’ cried Philippa, outraged. ‘Open the gate, before I tell de Laigle what a dreadful gaggle of oafs he has in his service.’

‘Bugger off,’ came the reply.

‘Open up!’ yelled Roger in a furious bellow. ‘My name is Sir Roger of Durham, Jerosolimitanus, and I demand entry.’

This time a grille was unfastened, followed by a hasty, urgent debate inside. Some soldiers were won over by Roger’s fierce demeanour and the bright Crusader’s cross on his surcoat; others were sceptical. When Roger made some colourful threats, the gate was hastily pulled open. Geoffrey was unimpressed: they should have asked more questions before admitting strangers after dark. He saw Magnus watching in silence and wondered what they would say if they knew they had revealed their weakness to a Saxon pretender to the crown.

Once inside, a soldier led them across the bailey to a long hall. Although it was late and snores emanated from some of the huts they passed, the hall itself was ablaze with light, and the guard opened the door to reveal a throng of people who did not look at all as though they were ready for bed. Most were brightly clad nobles who raised brimming goblets in sloppy salutes or grabbed clumsily at the serving girls, while perspiring minstrels strove valiantly to make their music heard over the racket. The chamber smelled of roasted meat, spilt wine, stale rushes and damp dogs.

The soldier hurried to a young, jauntily dressed man who sat at a table on a dais. The fellow’s eyebrows shot up at the whispered message, and he tottered towards his unexpected guests. Several of his companions followed, including a woman dressed entirely in white. This was a poor choice of colours, since it revealed exactly where she had spilled her victuals, while manly fingermarks showed in inappropriate places.

‘Shipwrecked mariners?’ asked the man with supercilious amusement. ‘You do not look like sailors. And what do these women do aboard ship? Furl your sails? Or are they put to the oars?’

His friends howled with laughter, and Geoffrey felt Roger tense beside him. Philippa and Edith seemed bewildered, and Juhel startled into silence; Magnus kept to the shadows.

‘I should never be able to row a ship,’ declared the woman in white. ‘So you must protect me, husband. I would not like to be carried off by pirates.’

More laughter followed, and Geoffrey decided they were too intoxicated for sensible conversation. Explanations could wait until the next day. He had reckoned without Ulfrith, though.

‘Ladies Philippa and Edith are the wives of a knight, so treat them with respect,’ he said coldly.

‘Saxon dog,’ sneered the man contemptuously. ‘Who are you to address me, Richer de Laigle, so familiarly? Remember your place, boy, before I have you run through.’

‘We are sorry to interrupt your entertainment,’ said Geoffrey, before the argument could escalate. ‘We ask only for food and shelter — for which we can pay. Tomorrow we will be gone.’

De Laigle regarded him blearily. ‘You are a Jerosolimitanus, I see. I have heard they are a vile, unmannerly breed, and now I see for myself that the rumours are true.’

‘Now look here,’ hissed Roger, stepping forward in a way that had de Laigle staggering back in alarm. ‘I did not come here to be insulted by some cockerel-’

‘Cockerel, am I?’ asked de Laigle from behind the guard. ‘Well, you are a brute.’

He folded his arms and pursed his lips, as though he had scored some kind of point. Roger regarded him uncertainly, taken off guard by the peculiar response.

‘Oh, leave them, Richer,’ said Lady de Laigle, draining the contents of her cup. Another purple stain was added to her kirtle. ‘I would rather dance than exchange obscenities with ruffians.’

‘My guard will find you a stable,’ said de Laigle to Roger. He grabbed his wife and hauled her towards him for a long, passionate kiss that almost made her pass out. ‘I cannot be bothered to banter with you tonight.’

Lady de Laigle managed to claw herself more or less upright by using Geoffrey as a prop. ‘I hate England — there are too many Saxons scurrying about with their heads down and glints of malice in their eyes. They still think the country should be theirs, you know.’

‘It should,’ snarled Magnus, galled into imprudence.

De Laigle waved a finger at him, and it was only the guard’s timely lunge that prevented him from dropping into the startled Saxon’s arms like a lover.

‘It should be Norman, because Saxons are debauched drunkards who cannot hold their wine. But who are you, anyway? You are no Jerosolimitanus. You are too skinny to wield a sword. I, of course, leave that sort of thing to brutal fellows I employ.’

Geoffrey hoped Magnus would be discreet, but the Saxon was buoyed up with a sense of moral advantage. ‘I am King Magnus,’ he declared. ‘Rightful monarch of England.’

De Laigle regarded him open-mouthed for a moment and then burst into derisive laughter. His wife lurched to the nearest table, grabbed someone else’s wine and raised it in a salute before downing it in a series of determined gulps. Geoffrey watched in fascination, waiting for her to fall flat on her face. He had never seen a woman drink with quite so much indomitable resolve.

‘The stable,’ prompted Juhel, prudently drawing an end to the encounter.

‘This way,’ said the guard, stepping aside smartly as Lady de Laigle pitched towards him, landing in a way that would have hurt had she been sober. ‘Follow me.’

‘Stable?’ whispered Roger indignantly in Geoffrey’s ear. ‘I am the son of the Bishop of Durham, and they put me in a stable?’

‘It does not matter,’ said Geoffrey quietly. ‘We leave at dawn — I have no intention of being around when de Laigle wakes. Especially if he recalls what Magnus said.’

Roger nodded slowly. ‘You are right. We do not want him telling King Henry that there is a Saxon claimant for his throne on the loose, and that I am his chief henchman.’

‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey vehemently. ‘We do not!’