stopped him. He had not survived three gruelling years on the Crusade by being reckless, and all his senses clamoured that something was badly amiss.
‘I do not want to go through this place,’ he said. ‘We will walk around it.’
‘But what about the horses Harold arranged?’ demanded Magnus angrily. ‘You cannot expect kings to arrive at La Batailge on foot, like common serfs.’
‘Then we will wait here,’ said Roger. ‘Go and collect your beasts.’
‘Alone?’ asked Magnus, immediately uneasy. ‘When you think it is dangerous?’
‘It is all right,’ said Harold in relief. ‘I can see the horses in the field over there. I asked Wennec the priest to hire me good ones, and he has! I confess I was concerned he might renege.’
‘Why?’ asked Geoffrey, scanning the trees. There was no birdsong again, and the entire area was eerily silent. ‘Is he dishonest? Or just loath to have anything to do with a rebellion?’
‘Werlinges has always expressed a preference for Normans,’ admitted Harold. ‘I imagine that was what prompted the Bastard to spare it.’
‘So why ask its priest to find your horses?’ asked Geoffrey suspiciously. ‘Why not go elsewhere for help?’
‘Harold has just told you why,’ said Magnus impatiently. ‘All the other settlements were laid to waste. Werlinges is the only village available, so he had no choice but to approach Wennec.’
‘Then that is even more reason to leave,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Surely you can sense something oddly awry here? There are no people, but there are the horses, flaunted in an open field. It is a trap.’
‘Nonsense,’ declared Magnus. ‘Everyone left because of the storm. But enough of this blathering — go and fetch the nags at once.’
Neither knights nor squires moved. Then, casually, Roger drew his sword, testing the keenness of its blade by running the ball of his thumb along it. Geoffrey stood next to him, his senses on full alert.
‘If you want the horses, get them,’ said Roger to the Saxons. ‘If not, we shall be on our way.’
‘All right,’ said Harold, moving forward. ‘We shall show you Saxon courage.’
‘I will come with you,’ said Lucian. ‘I do not fancy walking all the way to La Batailge, so I will borrow a pony if there is one to be had.’
‘Do not make your selection before your monarch,’ ordered Magnus, hurrying after him.
He broke into a trot. So did Lucian, until they both made an unseemly dash towards the field, like children afraid of losing out on treats. Juhel chortled at the spectacle, although Geoffrey was too uneasy to think there was anything remotely humorous in it.
‘Perhaps I had better ensure our noble king does not lose out to a “Benedictine”,’ said the parchmenter. ‘Because I suspect he is incapable of selecting a good horse.’
Geoffrey regarded him sharply. ‘You are sceptical of Lucian’s vocation, too?’ he asked.
Juhel gave one of his unreadable smiles. ‘Well, I have never seen him pray. Of course, it may just be youthful exuberance that makes him forget his vows.’
‘He is certainly not bound to chastity,’ said Roger. ‘I am sure he and Edith lay together on the ship. And that gold pectoral cross he wore speaks volumes about his adherence to poverty, too. If he is a monk, then he is not a very obedient one.’
‘His worldliness makes him an inappropriate choice for such a long, lonely mission,’ said Juhel. ‘So either Bishop de Villula
‘And why might that be?’ asked Geoffrey, regarding Juhel warily, aware that these were probably observations that had been fermenting for some time. But why was the man so interested in his fellow passengers? Geoffrey thought about Paisnel, who Magnus believed was a spy. Was it true, and had Juhel been sent to dispatch him? But who would order such a thing?
‘Lord knows,’ said Juhel. ‘An escape from an unhappy marriage, perhaps? He was the first to abandon ship, and, although he claims he took nothing, I saw him towing a small bundle. And I am sure it did not contain a psalter!’
He ambled away, leaving Geoffrey confused and uncertain. Was Juhel casting aspersions on Lucian to deflect suspicion from himself? Or was he just a man who liked to watch the foibles of others?
‘This village has a smell,’ said Bale, his whisper hot on Geoffrey’s ear. The knight eased away, not liking the hulking figure quite so close. ‘A metallic smell, and one I know well.’
‘Something to do with the salt-house?’
‘Blood,’ drooled Bale. ‘I smell blood.’
‘You do not,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘But we are leaving as soon as Harold has his horses, so go and make sure the road north is clear. Take Ulfrith with you. And be careful.’
‘You were right: there
Geoffrey’s reply was drowned out by a monstrous shriek, and he saw men running from the woods wielding weapons. At their head was Donan, his face a savage grimace of hatred. In the distance, Geoffrey was aware of the Saxons, Juhel and Lucian swivelling around in alarm. They scattered immediately. Magnus ran awkwardly, all knees and flailing arms, while Juhel tipped himself forward and trotted like an overweight bull. Harold and Lucian were less ungainly, and Geoffrey did not think he had ever seen a faster sprinter than the monk.
‘Death to thieves and saboteurs,’ Donan howled, sword whirling. ‘Now you will pay!’
Geoffrey’s weapon was drawn long before Donan’s cry had faded, and he stood calmly next to Roger, waiting for the onslaught. Not all the pirates were there, but Donan’s contingent numbered about a dozen, all carrying swords, daggers or cudgels.
If Geoffrey and Roger had been mounted, twelve sailors would not have caused them much trouble. The additional height, and the length of their swords, meant they could have hacked at their attackers without much risk to themselves. It was more difficult for a knight to fight on foot, but, even so, Geoffrey was not unduly worried by a dozen undisciplined mariners. He and Roger fought back to back, making it difficult for more than a few opponents to attack at a time. Roger’s long reach was especially devastating — he killed one and injured another in the first few moments.
‘That contains something of ours,’ yelled Donan when the first savage encounter was over and the surviving crew had fallen back to regroup. He pointed at the bundle near Roger’s feet. ‘Give it to me, and I shall kill you quickly. Refuse, and you will regret it.’
‘You drowned my horse,’ said Roger through clenched teeth. ‘And I took compensation. If you have any sense, you will leave while you are still in one piece.’
Geoffrey stole a quick look beyond their attackers. Ulfrith was tackling a single opponent, the two slashing at each other in a highly predictable pattern, and Bale was chasing a cabin boy around one of the houses, doggedly determined to make a kill. Their fellow passengers were nowhere to be seen.
Roger glanced at Geoffrey, passing a silent message, then, before the sailors understood what was happening, both knights launched simultaneous attacks, swords whistling in a series of vicious swipes and thrusts. The ferociousness of the offensive allowed for no rejoinder. Geoffrey dropped one man with a thrust through the chest, then twisted around and sent the dagger skittering from the grasp of another. Fingerless, the man fled, ignoring Donan’s screech to stand fast. Out of the corner of his eye, Geoffrey saw another man fall to Roger’s onslaught.
Donan faced him, spitting his fury at what was becoming a rout. Geoffrey feinted to his left, then chopped at a man’s shoulder, but before he could follow up, he felt a burning pain as a dagger slid under the mail on his right side. He whipped around and saw off the attacker with a thrust that penetrated the man’s thigh, but the sharp sting of his own cut did not encourage him to press his advantage. Swearing vilely, the sailor limped after his retreating fellows, Donan among them.
‘We should finish this,’ said Roger grimly. ‘We shall have no peace as long as they are alive.’
‘If you want peace, then give them back their gold,’ snapped Geoffrey, hand to his side.
‘I will not! It is mine, and I will kill anyone who tries to take it.’
As the sounds of the pirates’ flight receded, Geoffrey leaned against a tree to catch his breath. Roger took Ulfrith to check there were no lingerers, and Bale hurried to take his sword and clean it — a task he always enjoyed. The knight could see from the squire’s bloody hands that Bale had triumphed in his own skirmish.
‘Did you kill the cabin boy?’ he asked, disapprovingly.
