The Bloodstained Throne

Three

Geoffrey followed the guard across the bailey to a dilapidated building with a sod roof, and thought Magnus had been right in his reluctance to accept Pevenesel’s hospitality. He did not like its drunken constable, slack guards and unruly merrymaking. Or was marriage ruining his sense of fun, and he was becoming a withered old prude who frowned on the gaiety of others?

‘Lord!’ exclaimed Philippa, impressed. ‘They know how to entertain themselves!’

The guard grimaced. ‘Yes, and Lord de Laigle will not like it one bit.’

‘But he was liking it,’ Roger pointed out.

‘I mean the senior Lord de Laigle, who owns this castle. Richer is his son — the youngest and most useless of his brood. The real Lord de Laigle is with the King in Winchester, discussing how the coastal castles might be strengthened.’

‘Is there talk of an invasion, then?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily.

‘There is always talk of invasion,’ said the guard with a dismissive wave. ‘But the Duke of Normandy is in St Valery at the moment — the place where the Conqueror sailed from when he snatched the English throne. Lord de Laigle wants to be prepared.’

‘Then he had better hope the Duke does not invade while he is away,’ said Roger. ‘Because his son will do little to repel him — except perhaps shock him with his disgraceful manners.’

‘He writes,’ said the guard with considerable disapproval. ‘Young Richer, I mean. He was supposed to enter the Church, so they taught him his letters. Perhaps that is what sent him sour.’

‘It is often the case,’ agreed Magnus, as Geoffrey rolled his eyes. ‘No good ever comes from learning. Paisnel was a clerk, and look what happened to him.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Juhel, his voice tight.

‘I mean he was always poring over documents and they sent him insane,’ explained Magnus. ‘Then he fell over the side of the ship.’

‘I suspect he was a spy,’ said Philippa in a transparent effort to provoke Juhel into saying something incriminating. ‘It would explain why he took his bag when he jumped overboard.’

If she was expecting Juhel to confess to his friend’s murder, she was disappointed. Juhel only looked away, as if he found Paisnel’s death too painful to discuss. Philippa, seeing she was not to be satisfied, turned to the guard.

‘The locals were not very hospitable when our ship floundered in the storm,’ she said.

‘Well, you are Normans,’ said the guard. ‘And they recall what happened when the Conqueror arrived — how he destroyed all manner of villages before having himself crowned. People around here have long memories. You may think your welcome was unfriendly here at Pevenesel, but at least no one will cut your throat while you sleep.’

With that, he opened the door to the shabby building, handed her a candle and left. A number of men were already snoring inside, so Geoffrey took two blankets from a pile near the door, passed them to Philippa and Edith and suggested they sleep in the loft. Roger and Ulfrith volunteered to accompany them there, but, wisely, Edith declined their offer.

Philippa shot Geoffrey a smile full of invitation as she left, which had Ulfrith gaping in dismay. To allay his distress, Geoffrey suggested that he sleep at the foot of the ladder, to prevent anyone from following them. Pleased to serve Philippa, Ulfrith promptly curled around the bottom rung.

‘The rest of you will sleep in a circle around me,’ said Magnus. ‘It is your duty to protect me.’

‘I do not think so,’ said Roger, selecting a place as far away as possible. Magnus’s confident authority faltered when Geoffrey followed, leaving him with Juhel.

‘Have no fear,’ said Juhel, laughing when he saw Magnus’s distrust. ‘My chicken and I will look after you.’

‘I am uneasy here,’ Roger said to Geoffrey in a low voice, throwing his friend a blanket. ‘I distrust de Laigle and his whore wife.’

Geoffrey grimaced in distaste when he found his blanket was damp and stank of urine. He flung it away, and his dog scratched it into a suitable shape before sinking down in abject pleasure. It rested its head on its paws, but its eyes were open and its ears flicked back and forth. Geoffrey went to fetch a cleaner one, but there were only two left: one so thick with lice that they were visible even in the faint light of the candle, the other with brown stains that looked like blood. He chose the bloody one and went to lie next to Roger and Bale. ‘It is freezing, too,’ the big knight grumbled. ‘And it is only September. Another omen against your plans, Geoff. A sensible man always pays heed to the real meanings behind unseasonable weather.’

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than a distant howl sounded on the wind. The dog whimpered and Juhel’s chicken clucked and flapped in agitation.

‘That was a wolf!’ exclaimed Bale in astonishment. ‘I never expected to hear one again. They are all but gone near Goodrich.’

‘That was no wolf,’ said Roger with considerable conviction. ‘That was a fay.’

‘A fay?’ asked Geoffrey, peering at him in the darkness. ‘What is a fay?’

‘A fairy,’ replied Roger in a hoarse, meaningful whisper. ‘You know — a mysterious being. It is odd, is it not, that the moment I mention these omens, a fay should utter her eerie call?’

The animal howled a second time, and Roger and Bale both sat up.

‘She did it again,’ whispered Bale. ‘She is warning him to heed these omens.’

When the creature howled a third time, and Bale began to cross himself, Geoffrey lost patience.

‘That is a wolf, not a spirit. And omens can be interpreted in any number of ways. How do you know the signs were not telling me I should return to the Holy Land?’

‘Because God would not have wrecked your ship if they were,’ said Roger with finality. ‘He would have seen you safely across the water. I know what I am talking about: my father is a bishop, and your head is stuffed too full of silliness from books and scrolls.’

They were silent for a while, Geoffrey listening to the sounds of other men sleeping. Juhel lay flat on his back, seemingly asleep, but Geoffrey saw his hand edge towards his dagger when someone went to drink from a communal bucket. Juhel’s reactions were almost as finely honed as his own, and the knight wondered how a parchmenter came to be so well trained.

‘I do not want to travel any farther with our companions,’ he whispered to Roger. ‘Philippa says Juhel drowned Paisnel, and it would be rash to become involved with would-be Saxon kings.’

‘I agree,’ murmured Roger. ‘If we start early, we can be gone before they are awake.’

‘My father described this part of the coast to me — it was where he landed with the Conqueror. It is no great journey to Dover, which has ships leaving every day. I will make my way there.’

‘And do what?’ asked Roger. ‘God’s blood, it is cold in here! Move closer to me: there is a savage draught coming under that door and you will block it if you ease over a touch.’

‘And see what kind of berth I can buy. I did not want to travel through Normandy while Belleme is there, but I will do if there is no choice.’

Roger gave Geoffrey a hefty shove, to place him in the path of the gale that swept under the door. ‘And how do you propose to fund this journey? By selling your dog? He is the only thing you have left, other than your armour, and you will need that.’

‘You will lend me some,’ said Geoffrey, moving back to his previous position.

Roger sat up. ‘Normally you would be right: I would give you my last penny, as long as you promised to pay it back. But not this time. The omens-’

‘Omens!’ spat Geoffrey. ‘There are no omens. And I will not rest easy until I learn why Tancred dismissed me after so many years of faithful service. We were friends, and I do not understand why he-’

‘Because you used him badly,’ interrupted Roger. ‘You ignored his order to return to the Holy Land immediately and served another master instead. What do you expect? Would you accept Bale back after two years, during which he had repeatedly ignored your demands?’

‘That is not the same.’

‘Yes, it is,’ insisted Roger. ‘At the end of the day, you are Tancred’s servant, no matter how many times you fought at his side — or saved his life. It is time you forgot him and accepted what God has given you: fertile lands, a good wife and a sister who does all the work.’

‘I am still going,’ said Geoffrey stubbornly.

Roger sighed and lay back down again, turning on his side and pushing Geoffrey with his back until he had them both in a position where he was comfortable. ‘Then you go alone, Geoff, because I will not ignore Heaven’s wishes. Ulfrith and I will ride to Durham once we see you to Dover.’

Geoffrey’s early escape was thwarted by Roger’s fay. Shortly before dawn, it resumed howling, although much closer than before. It woke everyone, and Roger’s declaration that it was an evil spirit looking for blood was sufficiently convincing that a consensus was reached that the gate should not be opened. By the time he announced that all fays must have returned to their dark holes, the sun was shining brightly. A bank of clouds in the distance and a nip in the air indicated it would not stay fine for long, however, and even as Geoffrey watched, the waves seemed to swell in size, as if in anticipation of another tempest.

They were served a meagre breakfast of ale, gritty bread and some kind of fish that stank enough to make Geoffrey’s eyes water. His dog declined the one he tossed it, so he decided to abstain, too.

‘Give the rest to me,’ ordered Magnus. ‘They are a Saxon delicacy and too good to waste on that revolting creature. This Norman fortress may be a temple to Sodom, but at least someone knows how to provide a decent meal.’

‘The cows are under the hedge,’ said Juhel conversationally, pointing to where four skinny bovines huddled near a straggly line of hawthorn bushes at the far end of the bailey. ‘That means rain is in the offing.’

‘And the gulls are aiming inland,’ agreed Roger. ‘That is always a sign of a brewing storm.’ He cast a baleful eye at Geoffrey.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Juhel, intrigued by the meaningful look.

‘I mean it is a sign from God,’ said Roger. ‘He has already sent several, warning against going to the Holy Land. I imagine He thought a shipwreck would have been sufficient to prove His case, but someone continues to be obstinate, so He is obliged to summon yet another tempest.’

‘The wreck was your doing, was it?’ asked Juhel, humour gleaming in his eyes.

‘Yes,’ said Roger before Geoffrey could reply. ‘And now he is intent on going to Dover, to find another boat that he will lead to its doom.’

‘Dover?’ asked Magnus. ‘That will take you back the way we came yesterday.’

‘I suppose it will,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Then I shall come with you,’ determined Magnus. ‘I need to travel that direction myself.’

‘I thought your destination was Ribe.’ Geoffrey was reluctant to have anything to do with him.

‘No — Fingar said he would make one or two brief stops en route,’ said Magnus. ‘One of those was my destination.’

Geoffrey frowned. ‘He told me he had no intention of stopping anywhere.’

Juhel laughed. ‘It would have been foolish in the extreme for him to put in along the English coast, given the amount of contraband he collected in Bristol. The King’s agents would have been after him in a trice.’

Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. ‘I knew he was smuggling, but I did not know it was on the scale you are suggesting. That answers why his crew was gathering up all the wreckage.’

‘Evidence,’ explained Juhel when Roger looked puzzled. ‘They can hardly wander off leaving barrels of contraband strewn across the beach. They must destroy it first.’

‘Is that what they were doing?’ mused Roger. ‘I thought they were hoping to sell it.’

‘Pepper and sugar mixed with sea water will not fetch much,’ said Juhel. ‘And that was what was under all those Irish pelts: spices — the gold of the East.’

‘It is a good thing Lord de Laigle is away,’ said Magnus. ‘He is an efficient taxor and would have arrested the lot of us. I doubt he would have believed we were innocent.’

‘But I had no idea there were spices aboard,’ cried Roger indignantly.

‘Neither did I until we were underway,’ said Juhel. ‘Although the cheap berth did arouse my suspicions. But that is immaterial — we all would have hanged at Fingar’s side had we been caught.’

‘I thought you dealt in parchment — a lucrative commodity,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Why should you seek out a cheap berth?’

Juhel winced. ‘Business was poor this year, and I am short of funds. Paisnel was able to pay for my passage, as well as his own, by opting for Fingar’s ship. What about you? Are you trying to evade justice?’

‘No!’ exclaimed Geoffrey, startled. ‘We just wanted a route that would not involve journeying through Belleme’s territory.’

Juhel nodded understanding. ‘He is a bad enemy, and I am fortunate that he likes me. But I may accompany you to Dover, too. Now poor Paisnel is dead I have two reasons for reaching Ribe: to make arrangements with Danish leather sellers and to deliver Paisnel’s dispatches to the Bishop. Paisnel was devoted to his prelate and would have wanted me to complete his work.’

‘I am leaving today,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But I am used to travelling quickly in unfavourable conditions. You should wait for better weather, then join a larger party.’

‘I cannot wait,’ objected Magnus. ‘I want Sir Roger to escort me to an abbey that stands nearby. It is no more than ten miles from here.’

‘Do you mean the abbey that was built after the battle?’ asked Geoffrey. His father had told him how the Conqueror had ordered a fine monastery to be founded on the spot where so many men had died. It had been a decision rooted in self-interest: the shocked Church was appeased over the terrible bloodshed, and it meant there were plenty of monks to pray for the souls of those who had died, lest the battle was held against the instigator on Judgement Day.

Magnus nodded. ‘There are a number of Saxon villages surrounding the abbey, and I will be safe there until I decide my next move. You will appreciate that, as the true claimant to the crown, I did not intend to be washed up in England with little more than my clothes.’

‘I shall come with you,’ said Juhel. ‘It would be prudent to pay for a mass, to give thanks for our deliverance. I do not want to experience another violent storm.’

‘I shall do the same,’ said Edith, coming to join them. ‘We are lucky to be alive, and I want God to know I am grateful. Philippa and I will travel with you to the abbey.’

‘We are not going there,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Roger is going home, and I am going to Dover.’

‘Actually, Geoff, I think we should, so we can purchase masses, too,’ said Roger. ‘And if you want to borrow money for your journey to the Holy Land, you must come with us — it is my condition for lending it to you.’

Geoffrey was unimpressed by Roger’s stipulation, although he did appreciate that they had had a narrow escape. He just wished Roger would simply let him say a few prayers in a church along the way instead.

However, his displeasure was nothing compared to that of Philippa and Edith when they learned that Lord de Laigle’s wife — somewhat fragile that morning — had offered to keep them at Pevenesel until their kin could collect them. Geoffrey accepted the offer with alacrity. Ulfrith was distraught, and Roger disappointed, especially as Edith’s irritation from the previous day seemed to have dissipated. She appealed to him to persuade Geoffrey to allow them to go to the abbey instead.

‘They will be no trouble, Geoff,’ wheedled Roger. ‘And it will please Ulfrith. He is like a moonstruck calf with Philippa.’

‘She will never submit to the charms of a squire, and they will have to be parted sooner or later,’ said Geoffrey, unmoved. ‘It is better to do it before matters get out of hand.’

‘Then I will make it a condition of your loan,’ countered Roger craftily. ‘Either we take the ladies or I will not lend you the money.’

‘Then I will manage without it,’ said Geoffrey, suspecting there would be an ongoing set of provisos if he did not take a stand.

Roger glared. ‘You will find that difficult.’

‘But not impossible. There will be some merchant or pilgrim who will accept me as a guide or protector. It is a long and dangerous journey, and I have made it several times. Someone will pay my passage in return for my skills.’

‘Unlikely,’ said Juhel with one of his cheery grins. ‘You look far too disreputable. We all know what kind of men went on the Crusade, and you appear to be one of the rougher ones. Your surcoat is stained with blood, and your armour has clearly seen too much use to be respectable.’

Geoffrey stared at him. ‘I am a soldier — of course it has seen plenty of use. And these stains are not blood, but rust. Bale left my shield lying on top of it.’

‘I think you are very handsome,’ said Philippa, sidling up to him. ‘You have beautiful eyes and you are not badly scarred like many warriors. All you need is a good wash and some clean clothes, and you will be an Adonis.’

Ulfrith’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who is Adonis? And where do you know him from?’

‘If you accept payment for that sort of commission, you will be a common mercenary,’ said Roger, conveniently forgetting that he often sold his talents to anyone who had enough gold. ‘And is it so much to ask that you let me take these women to the abbey?’

Fortunately, Juhel began to chat to the women about the perfumes Adonis was alleged to have used, so Geoffrey took the opportunity to haul Roger away. There was no point in trying to reason with the big knight while Edith had him fixed with great, piteous eyes.

‘We cannot, Roger. Their fathers and brothers will assume we abducted them — and I am a married man. They must stay here, where women of their own status are willing to look after them.’

‘I could look after them,’ said Roger with a meaningful wink.

‘Quite, and it will not do. Besides, what happens if we arrive at this abbey and find it has no facilities for women? It is a community of Benedictine monks, so there is no reason to suppose they can accommodate females. You may be obliged to take them as far as Dover.’

‘I would not mind.’

‘You would, because then you will be forced to stay there until their relatives decide to fetch them. You could be waiting months, and it will be expensive to feed and house them.’

‘Are you ready?’ bawled Roger to the squires, thoughts of extra costs quickly bringing him in line with Geoffrey’s position. He made a perfunctory bow to the women. ‘I am sorry, ladies: my friend is right. We cannot expose you to unnecessary danger.’

He strode out of the bailey, his possessions wrapped in one of the castle’s blankets and slung over his shoulder. Magnus shot after him, determined to walk next to the man he considered his protector. With considerable reluctance, Ulfrith followed, Bale murmuring sympathetically in his ear. Geoffrey went last with Juhel at his side, chicken swinging in the cage next to him.

Juhel chattered incessantly, and since his monologue did not require much response, Geoffrey’s mind wandered. He was brought back to the present when Ulfrith suddenly stopped at an oddly shaped tree that had grown twisted in the coastal winds.

‘This is where Philippa came ashore,’ he said. ‘We should make sure the tide has not washed Vitalis out of his grave. It is a small service, but she may be grateful when she learns I suggested it.’

‘No, we should press on,’ argued Magnus. ‘We do not have time for the dead.’

‘I agree,’ said Juhel. ‘Those black clouds are coming up fast. Can you not feel the tingle in the air as thunder gathers?’

‘No,’ said Ulfrith shortly. ‘But I can manage alone. You go ahead. I will catch up.’

‘I will stay with him,’ said Geoffrey to Roger, suspecting that the lad might take the opportunity to return to Philippa if he was allowed to linger on his own.

‘You want to claim the credit for a good deed that was my idea,’ said Ulfrith accusingly.

Geoffrey fought down his irritation. ‘I am offering to help you, boy. I am not interested in your lady. I am married, remember?’

‘But only to big old Hilde Baderon,’ Ulfrith muttered in a sufficiently low voice that Geoffrey could not be absolutely certain he had heard him right. He decided to overlook the remark in the interests of harmony, hoping Ulfrith would soon forget about Philippa and be back to his normal ebullient self.

‘Come,’ he said shortly. ‘We will not have so far to run if we hurry.’

Ulfrith followed him down the beach, Bale trailing behind.

‘I see no grave,’ said Ulfrith, looking around with his hands on his hips.

Geoffrey pointed to a knot of squawking, flapping gulls a short distance away. ‘I imagine it is over there.

Ulfrith gaped. ‘What are they doing?’

‘I thought you grew up near the sea,’ said Geoffrey, advancing cautiously. The birds took to the air, although they did not go far. ‘You must have seen this sort of thing before.’

‘You mean they are eating him?’ exclaimed Ulfrith, appalled. ‘But he was a man!’

Geoffrey did not reply but stared at the body in the sand. Vitalis’s wives had made a poor job of burying him. They had interred him below the high-water mark, so the next tide had scoured him out. Their hole had been too shallow, and they had not protected the grave with stones. Moreover, the birds were not the only ones to have ravaged Vitalis; it appeared that the villagers had been at him, too.

Geoffrey indicated that Bale was to help him carry the corpse to the boggy meadow behind the beach. He then set the squires to scooping out a decent hole with pieces of driftwood, while he gathered rocks to make a cairn. Fortunately, the soil was soft, and it was not long before they were able to roll Vitalis into his new final resting place.

‘He has a nice cloak,’ said Bale, fingering it. ‘And I like that ring.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey sharply. He and Bale had had this discussion before. ‘We do not steal from the dead. Besides, clothes harvested from cadavers carry diseases.’

‘Only after they begin to rot, sir,’ countered Bale. ‘Vitalis is relatively fresh. And the ring-’

‘The ring belongs to Vitalis,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘And with Vitalis it will stay.’

‘But he will not be needing it where he is going,’ reasoned Bale. ‘And you are about to embark for the Holy Land without so much as a spare shirt. The ring would mean you would not have to borrow funds from Sir Roger. Besides, if we do not take it, those greedy villagers will.’

‘That is why we are burying him deep,’ replied Geoffrey. He looked around uneasily, suddenly assailed with the sense that they might be being watched. ‘Put the ring back, Bale. We are not corpse robbers.’

Bale looked sorry but did as he was told. Geoffrey gazed out to sea, wondering what it was about corpses that Bale so liked. He was one of the least greedy men Geoffrey had ever known, but he seemed unable to resist items belonging to the dead.

‘You should say something, sir,’ said Ulfrith. He was pale, and Geoffrey supposed he had not buried many men who had been half-eaten by birds. ‘We cannot just leave. It would not be right.’

‘Say something in Latin,’ suggested Bale helpfully. ‘That always sounds nice.’

‘Oh, yes!’ agreed Ulfrith keenly, removing his hat in anticipation. ‘Like a priest. Lady Philippa will like that when I tell her.’

‘I wish my horse had not died in this wretched place,’ said Geoffrey in Latin, staring down at the dead, sand-brushed features of the old knight but thinking of the animal he had lost. ‘Should I have listened to Roger about the omens? But that is odd! What is that line on Vitalis’s neck?’

‘Amen,’ said Ulfrith and Bale in unison as Geoffrey dropped to one knee to inspect the mark more closely. It lay under Vitalis’s cloak, which Bale’s rummaging had disturbed.

‘Something is tied around his neck,’ said Geoffrey, turning the dead man’s pecked head in his hands. ‘A piece of twine.’

‘It is tight,’ said Bale, squatting next to him and touching it with his forefinger. He took one of his sharp little knives and cut through it, showing where it had bitten deeply into the skin below. Then he leaned all his weight on Vitalis’s chest. Nothing happened. ‘There,’ he said in satisfaction.

‘There what?’ asked Ulfrith, bemused.

‘He did not drown,’ explained Geoffrey. ‘Or Bale would have been able to squeeze water from his lungs. No, he was strangled with that piece of twine.’

‘Not twine,’ said Bale, handing it to Geoffrey. ‘Ribbon. Fine red ribbon.’

‘I have seen its like before,’ said Ulfrith, staring at it. ‘But I cannot remember where.’

Geoffrey frowned. ‘Paisnel used red ribbon to keep his documents in order.’

The documents that had been in Paisnel’s bag, he thought, but that he himself had seen Juhel inspecting the day after Paisnel’s mysterious disappearance.

‘Then Juhel killed Vitalis!’ exclaimed Ulfrith, wide-eyed. ‘Philippa said he killed Paisnel, so he must have strangled Vitalis, too.’

‘There is no evidence to suggest that,’ said Geoffrey, his thoughts whirling. He had red ribbon of his own in the saddlebag he had saved from Patrick, but his was coarser. He looked at the stuff in Bale’s hand and tried to assess whether it was the same kind that Paisnel had owned. But ribbons were often used by clerks, and it could belong to anyone.

‘It was a long time before Juhel rejoined us yesterday,’ Bale pointed out. ‘He could have been off throttling Vitalis. And Lady Philippa was right to accuse him of dispatching Paisnel, because they were always squabbling. Men get a taste for killing, see, and they cannot help themselves.’

‘Well, this is definitely Juhel’s ribbon,’ declared Ulfrith, as Geoffrey wondered uneasily whether Bale had a taste for killing, too.

‘You seem very sure of that. How?’

Ulfrith shrugged. ‘I saw Paisnel reading documents with important-looking seals one night, and I saw Juhel glancing through similar ones after Paisnel went missing. Red ribbon kept them in a neat bundle. It is obvious what happened: Juhel used Paisnel’s ribbon to strangle Vitalis.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Even if Juhel did take Paisnel’s documents, we do not know if he salvaged them when the ship sank. And you cannot prove this particular piece of ribbon belonged to Juhel. The stuff is not exactly rare — I have some myself.’

‘You did not kill Vitalis, though,’ said Bale loyally.

‘Then who else could it have been?’ asked Ulfrith. ‘The pirates?’

‘Possibly,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But they were not with Vitalis when he died. Nor did they try to bury his corpse.’

‘Philippa and Edith dug the grave,’ said Ulfrith. ‘And they were with him when he died. Philippa told us herself that Vitalis’s last words were that he had spoken the truth when he accused you of. .’ He trailed off when the implications of what he was saying dawned on him.

‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey soberly. ‘It very much looks as though Philippa and Edith are the prime candidates for their husband’s murder.’

‘This is monstrous!’ yelled Ulfrith, tears of rage and distress rolling down his flushed cheeks as he followed Geoffrey and Bale along the beach. ‘You have no right to make such accusations.’

‘I accused no one,’ said Geoffrey calmly. ‘I merely outlined the evidence.’

‘You will see Philippa hanged,’ shouted Ulfrith. ‘How could you? I thought you liked her.’

‘I do like her.’ Geoffrey saw that was the wrong thing to say, because Ulfrith’s eyes narrowed.

‘You intend to hold it over her,’ he said, white-faced. ‘To force her to lie with you.’

If it had not been for the promise Geoffrey had made to his sister, Ulfrith would have been flat on his back with a blade at his throat. Seeing his master’s hand twitch towards his dagger, Bale turned quickly and rested a warning hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Ulfrith shrugged it off.

‘I am going back to her,’ he said. ‘I want to be at her side if she is accused of terrible crimes.’

‘No one will accuse her,’ said Geoffrey, struggling to be patient. ‘The only people who know Vitalis did not drown are us and his killer — who may or may not be Philippa.’

‘Or Edith,’ added Bale helpfully.

‘And we will say nothing, so they have nothing to worry about,’ Geoffrey went on. ‘But you cannot ignore the facts. We all saw Vitalis alive as we abandoned ship, and Bale has just proved he did not drown. Ergo, he was strangled on the shore.’

‘But not by Philippa,’ persisted Ulfrith.

Geoffrey continued with his analysis. ‘Philippa said Vitalis reiterated his accusations about my family before he died. She also said there was water in his lungs and that he gurgled as he spoke. We know that was not true, because we just saw for ourselves that his lungs were dry. She lied.’

‘She was mistaken!’ cried Ulfrith. ‘She must have heard the gurgle of waves in the pebbles and assumed it was her husband.’

That was highly unlikely, even with Philippa’s dim intellect. ‘You explain what happened, then,’ suggested Geoffrey.

‘Juhel was late in joining the rest of us,’ began Bale when Ulfrith could not rise to the challenge. ‘And some of the pirates wandered off to look for their contraband. Any of them could have killed Vitalis.’

‘How?’ demanded Geoffrey. ‘Philippa stated quite clearly that she was with him when he died — which means she was with him when he was strangled. As I imagine she would have noticed someone else choking the life out of him, the only logical explanation is that she and Edith did it.’

‘Perhaps they thought he was dead when they buried him, but someone else came along, dug him up and strangled him later,’ suggested Bale, doing his best for Ulfrith.

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘The truth is that Philippa and Edith either killed him or were complicit in his death. The facts simply do not allow any other conclusion.’

Unwilling to debate the matter further, he turned away and began to walk again. But he had underestimated the intensity of Ulfrith’s feelings, and, with no warning, the squire attacked. Geoffrey had never been assaulted by a servant before and was taken off guard by Ulfrith’s ferocity. Ulfrith was a powerful lad, and the weight of his body knocked Geoffrey from his feet. He began to pummel the knight with his fists, the dog racing around them, barking frantically. The battering did not even stop when Geoffrey pressed his dagger against Ulfrith’s throat: the lad was in such a rage that he was oblivious to everything.

‘No!’ Geoffrey yelled as Bale jumped forward with one of his knives. Bale might be Ulfrith’s friend, but protecting Geoffrey came first.

Bale hesitated, giving Geoffrey just enough time to drop his dagger and scrabble for a rock, which he brought up sharply against the side of Ulfrith’s head. Ulfrith slumped, dazed, and Geoffrey struggled out from underneath him.

‘God’s teeth!’ he muttered, not sure which had unnerved him more: Ulfrith’s blind fury or Bale’s readiness to kill a comrade. He ran his hand over his face and found Ulfrith had scored a scratch on his cheek, which would soon probably be joined by bruises. He grimaced in annoyance, thinking he would hardly be hired by a pilgrim if he looked like a man who brawled. He prodded the squire with the toe of his boot, watching impassively as he regained his senses.

‘Get up,’ he ordered coldly. ‘I did not hit you that hard.’ And certainly not as hard as I wanted to, he added inwardly.

‘Oh, God!’ groaned Ulfrith. He looked up at Geoffrey, his face ashen. ‘Will you tell Sir Roger what I. . He will dismiss me. Or worse.’

‘It is no more than you deserve,’ said Geoffrey, regarding him dispassionately. ‘You should be thankful you did not attack him, or you would be dead now.’

‘That is true,’ agreed Bale. ‘His knife would have been through your throat in an instant.’

‘That is enough, Bale,’ said Geoffrey, wondering what he had done to be saddled with such a pair. ‘Rinse your face in the sea, Ulfrith. You look as though you have been crying, and that will not impress Roger.’

‘I will fetch you some water,’ said Bale when Ulfrith was slow to obey. He glanced at Geoffrey. ‘I will get some for you too, sir. For the blood.’

‘You are a fool,’ said Geoffrey when Bale had gone. ‘All this for a woman who has not even noticed you. And a lying one at that, who may have murdered her husband.’

Ulfrith shot him a bleak look, but his fury was spent. When Bale returned, he rinsed the cut on Ulfrith’s head, then did the same for Geoffrey, humming all the while. He was never so content as when he was up to his elbows in gore.

‘There,’ he said, standing back to inspect his handiwork. ‘That is better. You are lucky he did not knock out one of your teeth, sir.’

‘No, he is lucky he did not knock out one of my teeth. And now we had better catch up with Roger; he will be wondering what we have been doing.’

‘He will not be pleased when he hears what happened,’ said Bale in a wicked understatement. ‘So could we say Sir Vitalis’s corpse jumped out of its grave and set about us — and you were obliged to strangle it? That would explain why Vitalis was throttled, why you two are battered — and it would exonerate Philippa and Edith. Everyone will be happy.’

Geoffrey regarded him uncertainly. ‘Everyone except me. I would earn a reputation as a corpse throttler.’

‘Do you intend to look into it, sir?’ asked Bale. ‘The murder, I mean? You have investigated similar crimes, and there is nothing to stop you from exploring this one.’

‘Other than the fact that I have no authority to start poking about in such affairs. But this is the second murder to occur among Patrick’s passengers, if Philippa is to be believed. They are far too dangerous company for me, and all I want is to be away from them all.’ And from Bale and Ulfrith, too, Geoffrey thought acidly.