The Bloodstained Throne

again.

‘For about an hour,’ replied Galfridus. ‘Before that I was in the church.’

‘I mean at La Batailge,’ said Roger. ‘How long have you been abbot?’

‘I am not abbot,’ said Galfridus resentfully. ‘I should be, because I do an abbot’s work, but the King does not see fit to appoint me, probably because my mother was Saxon. But I am perfect for this post: the abbey was built to honour the dead of both nations and I have mixed parentage. However, he does not concur, and so I remain simple Galfridus.’

‘Is there a monk here called Brother Wardard?’ asked Geoffrey. He knew there was a pressing reason to speak to Wardard, but his mind was frustratingly blank as to why. ‘He threw a man from the back of a ship and watched him drown.’

‘No, that was someone else,’ said Roger. He made a pretence of removing the platter, muttering under his breath, so the others would not hear. ‘Say no more, Geoff. Lucian’s cure-all or Juhel’s paste has sent you out of your wits. Galfridus thinks you are a heretic, and Harold believes you are ranting because of the pox.’

Geoffrey struggled to understand. ‘I do not have the pox. Why did you tell him I did?’

‘Because you told me to be discreet,’ hissed Roger obscurely. He offered Geoffrey his goblet. ‘Drink some of this.’

Geoffrey complied, but when he looked at Roger again, he was almost indistinguishable from the Lamb of God, black wool framing his face. There was a painful buzzing in his ears. Moreover, the Lamb of God was growling, and he was certain it would attack him if he moved.

Geoffrey was not sure how long the Lamb of God snarled at him, but eventually he became aware that Galfridus was talking about Wardard. Roger’s bulk was protecting him from some of the heat from the fire, but he was still bathed in sweat, and the light-headedness persisted.

‘Wardard is one of us. He fought in the battle, along with his friend Vitalis, whom I understand you met. Vitalis lived in Normandy and was a vassal of Robert de Belleme, God help him.’

‘I was under the impression you liked Belleme,’ said Roger. ‘You were his guest in Arundel.’

‘That was before he was exiled,’ explained Galfridus. ‘And I only went because I wanted to see his carp ponds.’

‘He tried to seduce my sister once,’ said Geoffrey, thinking about an incident in Goodrich. Or was he confusing Belleme with someone else? For a short moment, he could not recall what Joan looked like, but then her determined chin and strong face slipped into his mind. Like their mother, she was a formidable woman.

‘Juhel is one of his spies,’ said Magnus resentfully. ‘He is here to gather information, so that Belleme can invade. I do not know whether to let him do it or not. You see, if Belleme attacks the Usurper, it will squander the Usurper’s resources. But Belleme might win, and I do not like the notion of him being king. He will be worse than the Usurper.’

‘Belleme offered to help me, should I ever mount an armed invasion,’ said Harold chattily. ‘But he would want too many estates and titles, and it would be difficult to rule a vassal like him. So I decided to reject his kind proposal — politely, of course. I would not want to annoy him.’

‘I am sorry to hear Vitalis is dead,’ said Galfridus to no one in particular. He turned to Geoffrey, clearly bracing himself for an answer he might not understand. ‘Why do you ask about Wardard? Did your father ask you to pass his respects to an old comrade before he died?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Harold, answering when Geoffrey did not. ‘He has questions of a personal nature that he would like to ask Wardard.’

In a sudden flash, Geoffrey remembered Vitalis’s accusations. He did not understand why he had been so unsettled by them — he had neither respected nor liked Godric, but, for all his faults, Godric had always been the first to ride at enemies near his estates. In fact, he had always been too eager to fight, and Geoffrey had often wished he would allow longer for negotiations.

‘Vitalis said Godric ran away from Hastinges and hid until it was over,’ said Roger. ‘And he told Geoff to ask Brother Wardard.’

Galfridus raised his eyebrows. ‘Godric a coward? I doubt it! Herleve was very fussy about her men. But ask him anyway — he likes to talk about the battle, even though he took holy orders to atone for the lives he took that day. As warriors, you two did the right thing by undertaking a Crusade — now all your sins have been expiated and your souls are spotless before God.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Roger proudly. ‘It is always good to have a spotless soul.’

‘I do not think it was an open-ended expiation, though,’ warned Galfridus. ‘You cannot continue killing now you are home.’

Roger shrugged. ‘I usually pay a monk to recite prayers on my behalf, so I shall have no problems come Judgement Day. The arrangement suits everyone, because I do not have time to say them myself, and monks are always pleased to have the money.’

‘Does King Henry know you welcome Saxon rebels in your abbey?’ asked Geoffrey. His wits seemed to be returning at last.

Galfridus seemed surprised by the question. ‘Of course. I often provide hospitality for members of King Harold’s family: Harold, Ulf, Magnus, Edith of the Swan Neck. Why should I not?’

‘We will speak to Wardard and then leave,’ said Geoffrey, trying to stand. He found his legs were unequal to the task and he sank back down.

‘You cannot travel so soon after learning the truth about your mother,’ said Galfridus kindly. ‘Stay a few days — we have a clean, comfortable hospital, and our food is plentiful and wholesome.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey. ‘King Henry is likely to arrive soon, and I do not want to meet the sly-’

’Why would Henry come here?’ interrupted Galfridus, startled.

‘To deal with those claiming his throne, for a start,’ said Roger, nodding at Magnus and Harold. ‘He is not a man to let a challenge go unanswered.’

Galfridus gazed at Magnus. ‘You plan to tell him you are here? That is foolish! He does not mind Harold, but he does not like you at all. And although he turns a blind eye to the occasional visit, to flaunt yourself is asking for trouble.’

‘The time for skulking in Flanders is over,’ said Magnus grandly. ‘I have come to claim my rightful inheritance: the land of my Saxon fathers. And mothers.’

‘That is my purpose also,’ said Harold. ‘I am King Harold’s legitimate heir, and England belongs to me.’

Galfridus looked from one to the other in consternation. ‘Well, you cannot both be king.’

‘Our people will choose which of us they want,’ said Magnus. ‘But for now we stand united — Saxon right against Norman might.’

‘I see,’ said Galfridus warily. ‘What support do you have? Where is your army?’

‘We do not have one yet,’ admitted Harold. ‘But when they hear we are here, our people will rise up from their ploughs and spades and rally to our cause. By Christmas, there will not be a Norman left in England.’

A waddling infirmarian called Brother Aelfwig led Geoffrey and Roger to the House of Pilgrims, or hospital, which adjoined the abbey gate, while the Saxons were escorted to separate lodgings that overlooked the cloisters. The hospital was a stone building that formed part of the outer wall and comprised a single room with a high ceiling and a beaten earth floor. There were no windows in the wall that bordered the road, but there were enormous ones in the wall that faced the abbey, so that pilgrims could see the church.

It was devoid of guests when Aelfwig opened its door, although an empty cage at the foot of one bed indicated Juhel had already claimed a berth. There were eight beds, each furnished with a chest at its foot for guests’ belongings, and two neatly folded blankets. Geoffrey’s dog made a quick circuit, sniffing each cot before selecting the only one in the shade. Bale and Ulfrith, the latter dragged from the chamber where Philippa and Edith were still chatting to Lucian, did as they had been taught and assessed the place’s defensibility — the quality of the window-shutters and the strength of the bar that would seal the door at night.

Aelfwig was a rotund man with short legs and a kindly face. He recited the abbey’s rules for hospital guests — mostly that women were not allowed in — and then extended an invitation for them to attend any of the monks’ services, day or night.

‘The bell will be chiming for vespers soon.’ He peered at Geoffrey. ‘But you are not well. Perhaps you should come to my infirmary. It is a pleasant place, near the herb garden, and you hardly notice the smell of the sewers once you are used to them.’