The Bloodstained Throne

Four

Roger, Juhel and Magnus had not gone far. They had reached the place where Patrick had foundered the previous day and were watching the sailors gather the remaining flotsam and set it alight. Roger had found a low bush on a rise above the beach and was spying on them. Magnus sat with him, fretting about the passing time, while Juhel lay on his back next to them, fast asleep.

‘Get down!’ hissed Magnus when Geoffrey approached. ‘They will see you.’

‘They must have been here all night,’ said Roger, not taking his eyes off the beach. ‘Burning everything, lest taxors come to investigate.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Geoffrey, resisting Magnus’s attempts to pull him down. ‘But we have no need to hide from them.’

‘I disagree,’ said Roger, reaching out a powerful hand to haul on Geoffrey’s surcoat. Puzzled, Geoffrey crouched next to him. ‘They look dangerous to me — and desperate. They have already killed some of the scavengers, and, much as I like a fight, I do not think we should risk an encounter with thirty smugglers and murderers.’

Geoffrey looked to where he pointed and saw several bodies — villagers, judging by their clothes. Then he glanced at the marshy vegetation behind the beach and saw that although most of the locals had gone, two shadows still loitered. The distinctive green hat identified one; the other was the heavyset man. Eventually, Roger climbed to his feet, taking care to stay out of sight.

‘God’s blood!’ he swore when he noticed Geoffrey’s face. ‘What happened to you?’

‘We found Vitalis,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But he was strangled, not drowned.’

He showed Roger the ribbon. Meanwhile, Juhel’s rest had been disturbed by their voices, and he was waking up. Geoffrey watched his reaction to the news intently, but Juhel revealed nothing other than the astonished dismay that any innocent man would have expressed.

‘It looks like something a woman might own,’ said Roger, handing it back. Then his jaw dropped. ‘Do not tell me that Philippa and Edith did it?’

‘They were very distressed by his death,’ said Ulfrith stiffly. ‘You saw how bitterly they wept.’

Geoffrey thought, but did not say, that if Edith and Philippa had dispatched Vitalis, they would hardly celebrate the deed with smiles and laughter. He held up the ribbon for Magnus and Juhel to see, watching for any flicker of recognition. He was not surprised when there was nothing.

‘It is the kind of cord used for binding documents,’ remarked Magnus. ‘Paisnel owned some, because he dabbled in sinister clerkly activities.’

‘He could write, yes,’ acknowledged Geoffrey. ‘But so can I.’

‘Quite,’ agreed Magnus acidly. ‘And that is why I trust Sir Roger over you. Literate types cannot help but dissemble and lie.’

‘You speak like a peasant,’ said Juhel in distaste, the twinkle fading from his eyes. ‘There was no dishonesty in Paisnel, and there is none in Sir Geoffrey. You should watch your tongue, man, or you will find yourself abandoned — you do not win protectors with insults.’

Magnus glowered. ‘I was speaking my mind, and if honesty offends you, then you have no place in my kingdom. I was pointing out that this kind of ribbon is favoured by men who possess documents: if Vitalis was strangled with some, then it means his killer can write.’

‘No, it means he owned some ribbon,’ corrected Geoffrey. ‘Or that there was some to hand when he — or she — decided that Vitalis should die.’

‘This debate will get us nowhere,’ said Roger impatiently. ‘That sort of cord is common — Geoff owns some, I saw a bit in Juhel’s bag, and Magnus used a piece on the ship to tie his hair.’

Juhel regarded him uneasily. ‘You looked in my bag? Why?’

Roger shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Because you left it unguarded. It was an open invitation to any man with any enquiring mind, such as my own.’

‘Vitalis’s death is very sad,’ said Magnus, cutting across Juhel’s spluttering indignation. ‘But we have been here far too long. Your battered faces show you have already endured one encounter with those damned pirates, and even ruffians like you must want to avoid another.’

‘Is it true?’ asked Roger. ‘You met a stray sailor? They have been wandering everywhere, hunting for wreckage, so it does not surprise me. I take it the scoundrel will be no further trouble?’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey evenly. ‘The scoundrel most certainly will not.’

‘Good,’ said Roger, slinging his blanket of possessions over his shoulder. ‘Then I suggest we leave before we are obliged to dispatch any more. So who killed Vitalis? Tell me as we walk.’

Geoffrey followed him to the path that ran behind the beach, where everyone ducked and weaved in an effort to stay out of sight. He glanced at Juhel, who was walking behind him.

‘I have no idea who would want Vitalis dead,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

‘Me?’ Juhel seemed startled by the question. ‘Why ask me?’

Geoffrey shrugged. ‘You spent more time with him than the rest of us. Why should I not ask your opinion?’

‘I did spend time with him, but I found him very bitter, and he said horrible things about your family. If I had to choose a suspect, I am afraid you would be top of my list.’

‘I have been with Roger, Ulfrith and Bale ever since we abandoned ship — when we all saw Vitalis alive. Besides, I would not be telling people he was murdered if I were the culprit, would I?’

‘True,’ acknowledged Juhel. ‘But I thought we were speaking hypothetically. And you did argue with him.’

‘It was hardly an argument,’ said Geoffrey wryly. ‘It was more a case of him railing at me.’

‘You have no alibi, though,’ said Ulfrith, looking hard at Juhel. ‘Sir Geoffrey has one, but you were gone a long time before you joined us.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Juhel with a shudder. ‘Because I was in the sea, fighting for my life. I came to you the moment I could stand — but I certainly had no spare strength for murder. You must look for another culprit. Magnus — what do you have to say for yourself?’

‘Vitalis was a Norman,’ said Magnus in disdain. ‘One who fought at the battle that saw my father slain. It is beneath my dignity to soil my hands with his blood.’

‘Down!’ hissed Roger sharply, dropping to his belly on the damp, sandy path. Geoffrey was beside him almost before he had finished speaking; long years of campaigning had taught him that instant obedience could mean the difference between life and death. The squires were not far behind, although Magnus and Juhel stood stupidly before they were dragged from their feet.

‘How dare you!’ snarled Magnus, trying to free himself.

‘Hush!’ snapped Roger. ‘The sailors are coming! Do you want to be killed?’

The crew were indeed making their way to the path, carrying all they deemed portable. It would be only a matter of moments before they stumbled across their hiding passengers.

‘They will see us!’ squeaked Magnus in terror, indignation forgotten. ‘What shall we do?’

‘Perhaps they will leave us alone when they see we will fight,’ said Roger, drawing his sword.

‘We cannot win against so many.’ Geoffrey glanced around urgently. ‘We should hide.’

‘Too late!’ whispered Juhel. ‘They are here!’

Just as the first sailors reached the path, there was a yell from their captain, and they turned and trotted obediently back to him. They gathered in a circle, where Fingar was announcing something in a furious howl. Whatever news he imparted seemed to incense them, too, because there was a good deal of yelling. Although Geoffrey could hear them quite clearly, they spoke a language he did not understand.

‘It looks as though they have lost something,’ said Juhel. ‘My God!’

This last exclamation was in response to an action of Fingar’s. One of his crew had been edging towards the path again. The captain’s weapon flashed and the man fell.

‘That is a bad sign,’ muttered Bale. ‘We would do better to avoid them.’

‘He is right,’ said Magnus, addressing Roger. ‘We should slip away now, while they are busy with each other. Hurry! You must not dally when your king has commanded you.’

‘If I am to be in your service, I should be paid,’ said Roger, following him along the path at a rapid lick. The others were not far behind. ‘Did you save any gold or jewellery from the ship?’

‘I might have a little gold,’ hedged Magnus evasively.

‘How little?’ demanded Roger. He was not easily deceived where money was concerned. ‘Jerosolimitani do not come cheap.’

‘Well, I do not have a lot with me,’ admitted Magnus. ‘But it will not be long before I can give you whatever you like — treasure, land, even a see.’

‘A see?’ asked Roger, intrigued. ‘You mean to make me a bishop? Like my father?’

‘Yes. Then you will have tithes to enjoy, and manors and woodlands in which to hunt — although you will have to give sermons on Sundays. All you have to do is see me safely on my throne. And help me depose Henry the Usurper.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey sharply. ‘He is not going to become involved in treason.’

‘It is treason to back the Usurper against England’s rightful king,’ flashed Magnus.

‘I might help you,’ said Roger slyly. ‘But only if you can pay me appropriately. Ulfrith, too. He is a good Saxon lad.’

‘And me,’ said Bale. ‘But I do not want gold. I want a wife — one who likes me.’

‘I will see what I can do,’ said Magnus, looking as though he thought finding a loving wife for Bale might be considerably more difficult than providing a bishopric for Roger.

Geoffrey did not waste his breath pointing out that assisting rebels against a powerful king like Henry was suicide — especially a rebel like Magnus, who was either an impostor or a madman with illusions of grandeur. He only walked faster, wanting as much distance between him and the sailors as possible. They had not gone far before they reached a junction.

‘Here is the path to the abbey,’ said Magnus, pointing to the track that wound inland. ‘It becomes a causeway that runs across the marshes, before rising to higher ground. We can be there by this afternoon.’

‘Then we should hurry,’ said Juhel. He nodded to where the thunderheads were now a good deal closer. ‘I am not keen on meeting Fingar’s crew; nor do I want to sit out here while the heavens open.’

Geoffrey would have preferred to continue along the coast, but suspected that was the route the sailors would take — no mariner liked to be too far from the sea, and they would be looking for another ship. Reluctantly, he conceded that wasting a day or two at the abbey was preferable to taking the coastal path with Fingar on his heels. Without a word, he took the abbey track, ignoring Roger’s victorious smirk as he assumed Geoffrey had yielded to the conditions of his loan.

‘The sailors are coming this way, too,’ blurted Ulfrith after a while. ‘They are following us!’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Perhaps they just want to be a little distance inland when the storm breaks.’

‘Damn this path,’ muttered Roger, glancing around uneasily. ‘We can be seen for miles! There are few trees and the bushes are low. And the mud! You can tell it is dangerous — if we leave the path, we will be sucked under.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Magnus. ‘But I know these marshes like the back of my hand. If the sailors gain on us, we shall hide in a channel. Of course, that might be a mistake if the tide comes in. .’

‘Then we should stay well ahead,’ said Geoffrey, breaking into the steady trot that he could maintain for hours, even in full armour. ‘Although they have no reason to attack us.’

The others seemed to think differently, but they were struggling to keep up and made no reply. Roger was breathing hard under the weight of his possessions, while Juhel’s chicken cackled her displeasure at the way she was being jostled. Bale began to lag behind, and Ulfrith was obliged to mutter encouragement to keep him going. Magnus was the only one who seemed happy running, and Geoffrey wondered how much of it the Saxon pretender had done in his life.

‘So,’ said Magnus, using the opportunity to talk, ‘you do not believe I have a right to my throne?’

‘I do not believe you can take it from Henry,’ corrected Geoffrey. ‘Belleme tried it last summer and failed — and he had troops and castles.’

‘I do not intend to fight him in open warfare,’ said Magnus contemptuously. ‘There are other ways to topple a tyrant. I shall-’

‘No,’ interrupted Geoffrey. ‘I do not want to know. And you can leave Roger out of it, too. I will not allow him to become embroiled in something so dangerous. We will travel with you to the abbey, but after that you are on your own.’

Magnus smiled under his silver moustache. ‘We shall see. But let us talk of other matters, since we are the only ones with the breath to do so. You have not said who you think killed Vitalis.’

‘That is because I do not know.’

‘Well, he was an aggressive Norman fool, and you should not waste your time. He had the temerity to say that I look nothing like my father.’

‘Did he?’ asked Geoffrey, uninterested.

‘He said he fought at Hastinges. So did I — well, perhaps I did not fight exactly, but I was there, at my mother’s side. However, I know what my father looked like, and I am his very image.’

‘My father said he was sturdy and strong,’ said Geoffrey pointedly.

‘Quite,’ said Magnus, preening. ‘And he had thick yellow hair, just like me.’

‘Yours is grey.’

Magnus sighed impatiently. ‘Yes, but it was yellow once. It is the sign of a true Saxon.’

He glanced behind and increased his pace when he saw one of the sailors had gained ground. Then he ducked down a smaller path, muttering something about a shortcut. Bale blundered after him, too winded to care what he was doing, and Ulfrith followed Bale. Juhel slogged along behind them, short legs pumping furiously. Geoffrey waited for Roger.

‘Magnus seems very eager to avoid meeting Fingar,’ he said. ‘Should we be suspicious?’

Roger shrugged, one hand to his side to ease a stitch. ‘God knows. But I do not want to be out here when the storm comes. He seems to know this area, so I am willing to stay with him for now.’

‘I am not sure it is wise to keep company with a man who claims to be England’s rightful heir. Henry has spies everywhere, and it will not be long before Magnus’s presence is discovered. Anyone who has consorted with him may be considered a traitor.’

‘Even Henry cannot blame us for taking the same road away from a shipwreck,’ said Roger. He shot a furtive glance behind. ‘I do not like those pirates being behind us. They may blame us for their ship sinking, and I am not in the mood for a brawl.’

‘Why would they think that? And why are you not in the mood for a brawl? Are you ill?’

‘I do not want my good looks marred by cuts and bruises,’ retorted Roger curtly. ‘It does not go down well with the ladies.’

‘What ladies? We left Philippa and Edith behind.’

‘Philippa,’ growled Roger in distaste, changing the subject. ‘Is she the reason Ulfrith hit you? Because you accused her of murder?’

‘You know?’ Geoffrey was astonished. Roger was not normally astute.

‘I can tell by his sheepish manner. He has gone for me in the past, too, although I did not come off as badly as you seem to have done.’

‘And I thought I was the one with the dangerous squire!’

Roger grinned. ‘I do not mind him displaying the odd flare of temper. Indeed, I encourage it, because otherwise he is too gentle for his own good. But he should not have tried it on you.’

‘No, and he only got away with it because of my promise to Joan.’

Roger began running to catch up with the others. Before he followed, Geoffrey glanced back to see the seamen streaming along in their wake. Then he saw Fingar point directly at him. Several whoops sounded as the crew put on a spurt of speed.

Magnus’s shortcut led in an almost straight line across the marshes, but it was sodden from recent storms. In places it had sunk below the surrounding land and was virtually indistinguishable from the matted, boggy vegetation that lay in all directions. Progress was agonizingly slow, and the only consolation was that it was slow for their pursuers, too.

‘This is near where the Conqueror’s first troops landed,’ Ulfrith announced brightly. He either did not see or did not understand Magnus’s malevolent glare — he was trying to inveigle his way back into the knights’ good graces and was oblivious to the reactions of everyone except them.

‘Is it?’ asked Roger keenly. ‘I would like to see the place where the battle was fought.’

‘You will,’ said Ulfrith, transparently obsequious. ‘Because the abbey we are heading for is La Batailge — Battle Abbey. The Conqueror built it on the exact spot to atone for all the slaughter.’

‘I hope the buildings have not obscured the site, then,’ said Roger disapprovingly. ‘Or we shall never understand and appreciate the Conqueror’s tactics.’

Ulfrith shrugged. ‘Apparently, he thought founding an abbey would save him doing penance for starting a war — he was not thinking about preserving the field in its original condition.’

‘I do not need to do penance for starting fights or for my sins,’ declared Roger grandly. ‘I am a Jerosolimitanus, which means all that sort of thing is taken care of.’

‘All the abbeys in the world will not atone for what happened that day,’ said Magnus in a cold voice. ‘Saxon blood still screams out for vengeance. And I shall see it done.’

‘How?’ asked Roger curiously. ‘By raising an army? By shooting Henry when he is off guard? By urging Belleme or the Duke of Normandy to invade and help you?’

‘I have not decided yet,’ said Magnus.

Roger laughed, then began a lively debate with Ulfrith about the best way to topple a king. Bale and Juhel were lagging behind, gasping like old nags, although Bale was not so breathless that he could not speak: he was regaling Juhel with a bloody account of the battle that he had heard from Geoffrey’s father. Godric Mappestone had often entertained his villagers with tales of his military prowess, and Bale had been one of the few who had actually listened.

‘I thought King Harold’s sons were named Harold and Ulf,’ Geoffrey said to Magnus, noting that the sailors, unused to travelling long distances on foot, were falling behind.

At his side, the dog growled, so he slipped his belt around its neck. He knew from the wild look in its eyes that it did not like Magnus, and it would only be a matter of time before blood was spilled. As the dog was cowardly and never attacked unless it was sure of success, the spillage was unlikely to be canine.

‘They were the offspring of his union with Queen Ealdgyth,’ explained Magnus. ‘Twins, born after he died. But my mother was his handfast wife, Edith Swannehals.’

‘You are illegitimate?’ asked Geoffrey, realizing as he spoke that it was not a question to pose to such a proud man. He was right. Magnus stopped abruptly to glare at him.

‘You impertinent dog! Still, I expect no better from Norman scum. They are incapable of decency, and having been on the Crusade makes you even more of a villain.’

Geoffrey blinked, unused to men insulting him quite so brazenly. Most took one look at his surcoat and weapons and opted for politeness. He could only suppose that Magnus was more of a lunatic than he had imagined.

‘I met a man in Flanders who went on the Crusade,’ Magnus went on icily. ‘He was a brute before he went, but he returned a monster. He told me the venture took three years because the Normans fought among themselves, rather than uniting against the infidel.’

‘Different factions did bicker,’ acknowledged Geoffrey. ‘But it was not confined to Normans.’

‘But Normans were the worst — they always are. However, I was talking about my mother, Edith Swannehals — “Swan Neck” to you. She bore Harold five children, and I am the eldest surviving son.’

‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, even more convinced the man was insane. ‘But reclaiming your throne from Henry will not be easy. I can tell you from personal experience that he is very attached to it.’

‘You know him?’ asked Magnus in astonishment. He looked the knight up and down. ‘You do not seem the kind of man with whom a king would consort.’

‘I have met him several times,’ said Geoffrey, amazed by the steady flow of insults. He considered challenging him, but there would be small satisfaction in besting a scrawny wretch.

‘You have sworn loyalty to him?’ asked Magnus keenly.

‘I hold my manor at Goodrich from him,’ Geoffrey replied, wondering where the discussion was going. ‘So of course he has my loyalty.’

‘But you do not like him,’ stated Magnus. ‘He does not have your respect. You are unwilling to serve such a serpent, and that is why you were fleeing England in an unseaworthy vessel.’

‘My liege lord is Tancred, Prince of Galilee,’ said Geoffrey, seeing Magnus was more astute than he had appreciated. ‘He-’

‘He is not,’ interrupted Roger, overhearing. ‘Tancred dismissed him, because he spent too long here, helping King Henry. But Geoffrey wants to hear it from Tancred’s own lips. Of course, it is a journey God does not want him to make.’

‘I do not believe Tancred would release me without explanation,’ said Geoffrey doggedly.

‘He did explain,’ said Roger wearily. ‘He said you are insolent and disloyal, and that he will have you executed if he ever sees you again. Still, I do not blame you for hoping there was a mistake. Tancred is ten times finer than Henry.’

‘Amen to that,’ agreed Magnus as Geoffrey winced, still unable to accept that a man he had loved like a brother would have written such things. ‘There is only one man who should be sitting on that throne: me. I tried to overthrow the Bastard in the years following Hastinges — I invaded with my brothers, but something always went wrong. I even begged help from my Norwegian kin, but they declined, and time passed. Now I am ready to try again.’

‘So, you have invaded England alone?’ asked Geoffrey caustically. ‘That was brave.’

Magnus scowled. ‘I have a plan. It begins at the abbey, at the high altar. It stands on the spot where my father was foully slain, you see, so Henry will never touch me there.’

‘Right,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether they had been wise to take a shortcut across treacherous bogs recommended by a man who was so patently out of his wits. ‘And how will you take Henry’s crown from there?’

‘It is not his; it is mine,’ snapped Magnus. He glared at the knight. ‘You said earlier that you did not want to know my intentions, but now you are full of questions. Why?’

‘Curiosity, I suppose,’ said Geoffrey, wishing he had remained in blissful ignorance.

Magnus pulled himself up to his considerable full height. ‘All I will say is that La Batailge will go down in history as the place where Saxon honour was restored. And you are the lucky men who will be remembered for helping to bring it about.’

Geoffrey saw the fierce blue light of the fanatic burning in Magnus’s eyes and knew he believed he would succeed. That made him dangerous. Geoffrey stopped walking abruptly.

‘I want no part of this,’ he said. ‘I have seen how the King treats traitors, and I have a wife to consider. You can go to the abbey, but we are going the other direction.’

‘I would not do that, if I were you,’ said Magnus, a crafty look stealing across his thin face. ‘Those sailors are catching up fast and they do not look friendly. Even two Jerosolimitani cannot fight thirty seamen, so we shall have to run again — all of us.’

Geoffrey had not fled from many confrontations during his life as a soldier, and it went against the grain. Besides, he saw no reason why the sailors should mean them harm — if anyone should bear a grudge, it was the passengers against Fingar, for losing the ship — and he was keen to talk to them. Roger was unwilling to let him try.

‘You put too much faith in your negotiating skills,’ he said. ‘Pirates are not reasonable beings, anyway. I am not staying here to be cut down, and Magnus knows somewhere we can hide.’

Just then there was a furious yell from behind, and Geoffrey saw the mariners coming closer, rage etched into every movement. He stared in puzzlement. They had been on the beach together the previous day, and there had been no trouble then. So what had changed?

‘I do not like this,’ gasped Juhel, bending double to catch his breath. ‘They are so determined to get us that they have abandoned their salvage. Why do that, with those scavengers still at large?’

‘Where is this refuge?’ Roger demanded of Magnus, his face red from exertion. ‘If we do not reach it soon, it will be too late.’

Magnus began flailing furiously with a stick at the side of the causeway. He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes in intense concentration, then began prodding a little farther on. He gave a triumphant yell. ‘Here!’

Geoffrey regarded the narrow track he had exposed. It looked like something made by birds, cutting raggedly between two treacherous-looking bogs. ‘I still do not understand why-’

‘Come,’ ordered Magnus urgently. ‘They will never follow us down there. Hurry!’

Geoffrey glanced behind and saw the seamen drawing steadily closer. He frowned. There was definitely something odd about their determination to catch their former passengers. Magnus seemed keen to evade them, and so did Roger. Had one of them done something to antagonize them?

‘Run!’ urged Magnus, plucking at his sleeve. ‘Stealing is a hanging crime among pirates.’

Geoffrey was puzzled. ‘We have not stolen anything.’

Roger looked defiant. ‘No, we have not. We took only what is rightfully ours.’

Geoffrey regarded him in horror. ‘What have you done?’

Roger scowled, then unclenched one of his big fists to reveal three gold coins. ‘They paid for the loss of our horses.’

‘That does not explain why they are chasing us,’ said Geoffrey. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Or did you take it without their permission?’

‘These were lying on the beach,’ said Roger defiantly. He sighed when Geoffrey looked sceptical. ‘All right — they were in that chest. But when they left it unattended, it seemed a good opportunity to claim what was our due.’

Geoffrey was disgusted. ‘No wonder they are angry! Give the money to me. I will return-’

‘No,’ said Roger shortly. ‘Those damned villains owe me a horse, so the only way they are getting this back from me is if they take it from my corpse.’

‘They will not be content with its return now anyway,’ Magnus pointed out. ‘They will kill us regardless. I have been forced to associate with Fingar for years, and he is deadly when crossed — even his own men are terrified of him.’

Geoffrey stole a glance over his shoulder and saw the captain was leading the chase. Even from a distance, Fingar’s face was slashed with a savage fury, and he suspected Magnus was right: Roger’s actions had crossed some irreversible line.

‘Your only hope for avoiding death is to come with me, but I will not wait,’ said Magnus, moving away. ‘Come now or die.’

Reluctantly, Geoffrey followed him along a narrow path that soon had them out of sight from the main track. Then he was stumbling along a barely visible trail that snaked past quicksands, through alder thickets and across muddy channels. It jigged and twisted, and Geoffrey quickly lost all sense of direction. They had not gone far when Roger, bringing up the rear, released a yell that brought Geoffrey to an abrupt standstill. Then came the sound of clashing weapons.

Ignoring Magnus, who declared that thieves should be left to their fate, Geoffrey raced back along the path. But when he reached Roger, it was to find his friend wiping the blade of his sword on the grass, two bodies lying nearby.

‘They will not be hoodwinking hapless travellers into sailing with them again,’ he said grimly. ‘I have saved countless lives by dispatching such wicked fellows.’

‘Come on,’ said Geoffrey urgently. It was no time for Roger’s contorted logic and twisted morals — the slapping of feet on mud indicated more sailors were catching up. He turned and ran, Roger’s lumbering footsteps behind him.

It was easy to retrace his steps at first — his rush to Roger’s aid had left a trail of broken twigs and bruised leaves — but then the path disappeared. Geoffrey had the uneasy sense that Magnus had abandoned them, but he blundered on, breath coming in short gasps and sweat drenching his shirt under his heavy mail. Roger was already slowing, and Geoffrey knew they could not keep up such a rapid pace for much longer.

‘Here!’ Juhel suddenly hissed from one side. ‘This way.’

He rearranged the bushes after the knights went by, to disguise their passage. It was not a moment too soon, because one of the ship’s boys appeared, carrying a dagger and clearly intending to use it. He raced past, eyes fixed on the more obvious track ahead. Four or five others followed, and then there was silence.

‘Hurry,’ said Juhel, pushing past Geoffrey so he could be in front. ‘Magnus said he would post Ulfrith at the next junction, but I do not trust him.’

‘I do,’ panted Roger. ‘He needs us as much as we need him — more, probably. And besides, there he is.’

‘Where have you been?’ demanded Magnus furiously. ‘I ordered you to stay with me, not go haring off. Here is the next junction, and we turn right. No, left.’ He reconsidered. ‘No, it is right. Hide our tracks, Ulfrith.’

‘You must have been very young when William fought Harold,’ said Geoffrey to Magnus, watching Ulfrith jump to obey. ‘When were you last here?’

Magnus started to jog along the path he had chosen. ‘I was eight when I fought at my father’s side at Hastinges, and eleven when I last tried to wrest my throne from the Normans, so it has been some thirty years. . but I know these paths well-’

The rest of the sentence was lost as he plunged head-first into a boggy pool. With some trepidation, and aware that the sounds of pursuit were coming closer again, Geoffrey tugged him out, recalling that earlier Magnus had admitted to being with his mother during the battle. The Saxons’ great hope was liberal with the truth.

‘I was just seeing how deep it was,’ snapped Magnus in embarrassment, once he was on dry land. He looked around quickly, then headed for a mud bank that stood the height of a man. Its sides were slippery with algae, and trees grew along its crest, roots twisting downwards. He scrabbled towards a dense patch of brambles. ‘This is it. Help me.’

To his surprise, Geoffrey saw a cunningly hidden refuge — a screen of woven twigs concealing a small door that led to a dank cavern. Magnus dived inside, leaving the others to follow. Ulfrith, Juhel and Bale were next, then Roger; Geoffrey brought up the rear, dragging the screen back into position as he did so.

The cave was a marvel. Not only was it so well concealed that it was invisible from outside, but it was surprisingly spacious. It comprised a single chamber, high enough at the front to allow a man to stand without stooping, and tapering off to shadowy recesses at the back. It was wide enough for several men to stand side by side without touching, and there were pots and containers attached to the walls, suggesting it was sometimes used for extended periods.

However, it was pitch black once the door was shut, and it felt close and airless. Geoffrey detested underground places of any kind, and ones that had slippery walls and water on the floor were among the worst. He felt his chest tighten when the stench of old mud clogged his nostrils, and he was sure there was not enough air for everyone to breathe. He began to cough, trying desperately to muffle the sound, which made it worse. The urge to run outside again was intense.

Roger reached past him and cracked open the door. The gap was no more than the width of a finger, but it allowed light and air to filter inside and was enough to let the panic recede. Roger clapped a gruffly comforting hand on his shoulder. Geoffrey had once been in charge of a countermine under a castle Tancred was besieging, and it had been several days before they had excavated him after its collapse. Although years had passed, the terror of his ordeal remained. He focussed his attention on the sliver of light, forcing himself not to think about where he was.

Meanwhile, the pirates had discovered the path and had reached the mud bank. It began to rain hard, so that the whole marsh seemed to hiss and sway with the force of it, and somewhere nearby a bird issued a low, undulating cry. Donan, Fingar’s rodent-faced second-in-command, muttered a prayer to ward off evil spirits.

‘Fays,’ he said. ‘They haunt bogs and come out to grab unwary souls. Unless you cross yourself and say the name of your favourite saint three times, they will get you.’

Immediately, a variety of saints were invoked in a mixture of Irish and English, some of whom Geoffrey had never heard of.

Fingar bent to inspect some footprints, and the dog began to growl. Sensing rather than seeing a movement behind him, Geoffrey became aware of Magnus holding a knife — he intended to kill the animal, to shut it up. Geoffrey crouched down and put his arm around it, reassuring it into silence.

Just when Geoffrey was sure they were going to be caught, Donan pointed across the marshes.

‘There!’ he hissed. ‘I saw a flash of movement. It must be them. Come on!’

Most of the men followed, although Fingar stood uncertainly, squinting into the rain and clearly not convinced that Donan was right. But Donan shouted something else, and, with an impatient grunt, Fingar followed. And then they were gone.