The Bloodstained Throne

husband. Geoffrey supposed Edith might be the murderer, acting without Philippa’s knowledge, but that did not fit well with Philippa claiming she had been with their husband when he had died and that his lungs had been full of water. Even if Edith had been responsible for the throttling, Philippa’s lie meant she was complicit in the crime. Or had the women found Vitalis already strangled, then fabricated the ‘death scene’ to arouse sympathy, so they could claim protection? But if that were the case, then who had throttled the old man?

Magnus? He was so determined to succeed in his ridiculous rebellion that he had allowed his servant to drown. That was murder in Geoffrey’s book. But had Magnus had the opportunity to dispatch Vitalis? Geoffrey had deduced that the murder had occurred on the beach, and he himself was Magnus’s alibi for that time. Or was his assumption wrong, given that he had based his conclusions on Philippa’s dubious testimony? But why would Magnus kill a half-senile old warrior? Because Vitalis had guessed his plans and threatened to expose him?

Or was Juhel the culprit? He had had plenty of opportunity, having been missing for several hours. Philippa claimed to have seen him murder Paisnel and had told her husband. Had Juhel strangled Vitalis to prevent him from blabbing? Did that mean Philippa was in danger, too? Geoffrey had not noticed any hostility towards the women the previous day, but Juhel was a complex man, and Geoffrey still did not have his measure.

Or had Vitalis been strangled by the pirates? Geoffrey had witnessed Fingar dispatching one of his own men, so they were certainly killers. Had they suspected early on that a passenger had damaged their ship, and taken instant revenge against Vitalis? Perhaps they had wanted to see what Vitalis had managed to bring ashore: he was a man of wealth, after all. A sailor seemed the most likely culprit.

And what about the odd business of Paisnel? If Philippa was a liar, should Geoffrey discount her tale about Juhel throwing him overboard? However, the details suggested there was some truth in her tale; her story explained the disappearance of Paisnel’s bag and accounted for Juhel’s inexplicable dampness afterwards.

Geoffrey found he could answer none of his questions with certainty, but he did not intend to remain with his suspects much longer anyway. He had decided to leave everyone, including Roger and the squires, before reaching the abbey, then travel alone to Dover. He did not want to accept a loan laden with inconvenient conditions, and Bale and Ulfrith were liabilities. He would do better with just his cowardly dog for company.

But he was no longer a bachelor with unlimited freedom. He was a married man with estates, and he was fond of his sister. He did not know his wife well enough for love, but he liked her. So where did his duty lie? Should he return to them and accept the yoke of lord of the manor? Should he leave England, so there could be no question of his having associated with Saxon rebels? Or should he ride to King Henry and warn him that there were men who intended to have his crown? But he looked at Magnus’s thin, eager face and Harold’s fat, smiling one, and he knew he could not sentence these inept dreamers to death. To take his mind off his questions and quandaries, he turned his attention to the discussion among his companions.

‘I saw Simon in the lower hold,’ Roger was saying to Magnus. ‘But when I asked why he was holding an axe, he said Fingar had ordered him to adjust the cargo, to reset Patrick’s balance.’

Geoffrey was unimpressed that Roger had not questioned such an explanation: Fingar would never have entrusted such a task to passengers. He wished Roger had mentioned it sooner, because he would never have contemplated reasoning with the pirates if he had understood the magnitude of his companions’ crimes against them.

Outside, the storm abated suddenly. The rain stopped, and the wind dropped with peculiar abruptness. Geoffrey glanced out of the door again, wondering whether it was his imagination or if he had heard voices carried on the remaining breeze.

‘I thought you had brought the Usurper’s men with you when you burst in with Norman knights at your heels,’ Harold was saying to Magnus, as Geoffrey turned his attention to the cave again. ‘I hid, quaking like a leaf. It might have been amusing, had you not given me such an awful fright!’

‘I hid here when I was a child,’ said Magnus. ‘After the battle, when the Bastard was looking for Saxons to slaughter. It seems an appropriate place from which to launch our glorious-’

Voices outside silenced him abruptly, and Geoffrey shot to his feet. Fingar sounded as though he might be standing on their roof as he hailed his men. They had taken advantage of the lull in the weather to resume their search.

‘He is calling his men over here, because this is the last place he saw footprints,’ said Magnus, cocking his head. ‘I know a little Irish, you see — I learned it when I was exiled there.’

At that moment, Delilah laid an egg, and her delighted clucks were answered by a peevish yap from the dog. No one needed to know Irish to understand Fingar’s next statement.

‘Hah! Now we have them!’

Silently, Geoffrey drew his sword and waited, Roger next to him similarly alert. Through the crack in the door they could see the sailors milling outside, and Geoffrey reviewed their options. He and Roger could not fight inside the shelter: there was no room to wield their weapons. But almost all Fingar’s men had gathered, and he and Roger were unlikely to defeat them all, even with Bale and Ulfrith. He dismissed the Saxons and Juhel as of no consequence — Magnus, for one, had always borrowed Simon’s knife when he had needed to cut his meat, and was never armed.

The pirates were arguing. Fingar was convinced their quarry was nearby — he tapped his nose to indicate he could smell something, and Geoffrey wondered if it was garlic — but his crew were pointing deeper into the marshes. Fingar was angry, his face a dangerous red. Kale, an unkempt, ugly man who had spent most of his time onboard trimming the sail, was the most vocal. The debate became heated, and although Geoffrey understood few of the words, the gist was clear.

Kale thrust a finger towards the sky, almost screaming in frustration: the sound the captain had heard was a bird, and they should not be wasting time in an area they had already searched. Most of the crew nodded agreement. Fingar roared something in return, perhaps that birds did not sound like dogs. Kale said something in a sneering voice that made the others snigger. Fingar moved quickly, and Kale was suddenly on his knees, gasping as blood gushed between his fingers. There was a deathly silence as he toppled forward.

Fingar’s eyebrows were raised in a question: did anyone else think he could not tell the difference between a bird and a dog? Then a flock of waterfowl flapped overheard, and one uttered a low honk — a sound that could easily have passed for a bark. There were a lot of carefully impassive faces as Fingar glared at his people. Clearly, no one wanted to say that Kale had told him so, and there was a sullen silence before Fingar gestured that Donan should lead them back the way they had come. Without a word, Donan obliged, Fingar and the others trailing.

When he was sure they had gone, Roger released a pent-up sigh. ‘Thank God for geese! I shall never eat one again.’

‘We cannot leave while they are rampaging around,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It is safer to wait here.’

He expected someone to disagree, but no one did. Magnus, Harold and Juhel clearly had no intention of challenging such ferocious adversaries, and Roger was too experienced a warrior to argue with sound military advice. They settled as comfortably as they could, Geoffrey keeping watch by the door.

It was not long before the wind began to pick up again. Then came the rain, brought by dark clouds that scudded in from the west. Lightning forked once or twice, and thunder rebounded across the marshes. Again, Geoffrey watched the grass outside go from a moderate sway to a violent flap, and then to lying flat against the ground.

‘What will you do next?’ Geoffrey asked after a while. He was bored, and even conversation with the Saxons was better than nothing, although common sense told him it might be wiser to remain in ignorance. ‘Now that you two are together and your plan is underway?’

‘As soon as it is safe to leave, you will escort us to the abbey,’ said Magnus.

‘I am travelling directly to Dover,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Nowhere near the abbey.’

‘It is only a few miles out of your way,’ said Magnus, wheedlingly. ‘And no ships can put to sea as long as the weather remains wild. You can stay in the abbey until the storms subside, and then your moral duty to me will have been fulfilled into the bargain.’

‘He has a point, Geoff,’ said Roger. ‘About the weather, I mean, not the moral duty. There is no point in travelling anywhere during storms. Besides, we should give thanks for our deliverance.’

It galled him, but Geoffrey knew they were right. All ships would be port-bound until the wind subsided, and he had no money for an inn. An abbey, however, would provide free food and shelter. And while he was at La