The Bloodstained Throne

‘He can write,’ acknowledged the rat, making it sound sinister. ‘But Philippa killed Paisnel.’

‘Regardless, we should not have let him drown,’ said Fingar.

‘The gold,’ said Donan, who had turned into a weasel. ‘We should think of the gold.’

‘Sir Roger has it,’ said Fingar. ‘So we must wait for his return. Move behind the door, and be ready when he comes in, but do not kill him until I say so.’

‘I will make him give it back,’ said Geoffrey desperately. ‘No killing.’

‘You will not succeed,’ said Fingar. ‘When a man steals a chest of gold, he does not give it up easily, and your friend is greedy. Besides, you are in no condition to force him.’

‘It was a few coins, not a chest.’ Geoffrey flinched as the ceiling began to collapse. ‘Look out!’

Fingar glanced upwards with a puzzled expression. ‘I would not go to all this trouble for a few coins. He took our entire fortune.’

‘I do not believe you.’ The ceiling was back in its rightful place.

‘Give him more of that medicine,’ recommended the weasel. ‘He is out of his wits.’

Fingar took a flask and poured something into a cup. He sniffed it and grimaced. ‘No wonder he is ailing! What he needs is clean water.’

There was gurgling as liquid was poured. Geoffrey turned away when Fingar brought the cup to his lips, but the man was too strong.

‘More,’ said Fingar, refilling it. ‘Water is good for fevers.’

‘Look at this,’ said the weasel, holding something in the air. It glittered, and Geoffrey saw it was a pendant, probably gold.

‘Is it Roger’s?’ asked Fingar. He poked Geoffrey to make him answer. The finger grew longer until it appeared to be touching a sheep that was standing at the far end of the room.

‘How did you do that?’ Geoffrey asked, awed. ‘Magic?’

‘He is rambling again,’ said the weasel in disgust. He shoved something in Geoffrey’s face. ‘What do these say? I found them with the pendant, and I know you can read.’

Geoffrey tried to push him away. ‘That sheep — it must be the Lamb of God.’

‘These are holy visions,’ said one of the sailors uneasily.

‘Where is my dog?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I do not want it chasing the Lamb.’

‘We ate him,’ replied Fingar. ‘Roasted with mint. Hush! I hear footsteps.’

‘How did you find us?’ asked Geoffrey, desperately trying to speak loudly to warn Roger, but his voice was little more than a whisper.

‘A fisherman told us you were heading this way, and we just climbed over the wall. There is a gatehouse, but no guards anywhere else. It was easy!’

There was a creak outside. Geoffrey braced himself, then, as the door began to open, he summoned the last of his strength to yell. ‘It is a trap! Fingar is-’

A hand clamped over his mouth, and, struggling to breathe, Geoffrey’s world went black.

When he opened his eyes again, the chamber was dim, although there was a candle burning next to the bed. It cast an orange glow and there were monstrous shadows playing on the walls. Someone was still looming over him, and his fingers fumbled for his dagger, but it was not there.

‘What are you doing?’ came Roger’s peevish voice. ‘Hoping to stab me?’

‘Where is Fingar? He was here. .’

‘Who is Fingar?’ asked a voice Geoffrey did not recognize.

‘I do not know,’ replied Roger shiftily.

Geoffrey struggled to understand what had happened, but the pain in his side was draining his strength, and he lapsed into unconsciousness again. When he next awoke, there was daylight flooding through the windows. A dull clinking was coming from one side. He turned his head and caught the gleam of metal. Roger was counting his ill-gotten gains — and there was a lot more than the handful he had shown Geoffrey in the marshes. Fingar had been telling the truth.

‘Where is Fingar?’ he asked. ‘Did you kill him?’

Roger stuffed the gold out of sight. ‘You have been raving about Fingar for two days now,’ he said testily. ‘He is not here and never has been.’

‘He was,’ objected Geoffrey, trying to sit up. His senses reeled, so he lay back down. ‘He was going to ambush you for his gold.’

‘My gold,’ corrected Roger. ‘But he cannot have it, because I have given most of it to the abbey. There have been so many tales about your father — first a paragon of virtue, then a traitor; a bold knight, then a coward — that I asked the monks to pray for the truth.’

‘You spent your gold to help me?’ asked Geoffrey, touched.

‘Masses of it. Then Aelfwig said you would not last the night, so I was obliged to buy candles to place on King Harold’s altar, too. I asked him to put in a word for a fellow soldier.’

‘I doubt Harold would do much to save a Norman. He is probably still irked over the battle.’

‘You are wrong: you fell into a natural sleep shortly after Brother Wardard lit them. Then there was Breme. He was more help than that useless herbalist.’

‘Breme?’

‘Me,’ said the voice Geoffrey had heard earlier. It was the peddler with whom Roger had argued. ‘I know a thing or two about medicine. I made a charm, which is still around your neck.’

Geoffrey felt the cord that held a small bundle at his throat, then sat up slowly. No dizziness this time. ‘Thank you.’

‘It is a pleasure — especially as Sir Roger has been so generous.’ He saluted the big knight and left, closing the door behind him.

‘I have cost you a great deal of money,’ said Geoffrey ruefully. ‘How shall I ever repay it?’

Roger waved a dismissive hand. ‘You can name your firstborn after me. Roger Mappestone has a fine ring to it.’

‘Not if it is a girl. But the bells are ringing. Is it Sunday?’

Roger nodded. ‘And the monks have put so many flowers in the church that it smells like a brothel. Remember Abdul’s Pleasure Palace in Jerusalem? Those were the days! We knew our enemies then and did not have to look over our shoulders all the time. Not like now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Bale, Ulfrith and I have been taking turns to watch you, but Bale fell asleep once and only woke when someone was standing over you with a knife. He reacted with commendable speed and had his blade in the fellow’s throat before he could act, but it was a close call.’

Geoffrey stared at him. ‘Someone tried to kill me? Who?’

‘No one knows. His corpse is in the charnel house.’

‘It must have been one of Fingar’s men,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He laid an ambush for you, and that is the last thing I remember.’

‘But you have not been left alone,’ said Roger. ‘You must have seen the fellow with the dagger and assumed it was Fingar in your delirium. It is not a pirate in the charnel house.’

Geoffrey rubbed his head, but the memories were too jumbled to make sense. ‘Donan took a gold medallion. Has anyone lost one?’

‘I thought Magnus had one on the ship, but he says I am mistaken. And I have no idea what Juhel has — that damned chicken warns him every time I go near his bag.’

‘What about Lucian? Was his pectoral cross real gold or imitation?’

‘It looked real to me. But you have been dreaming these conversations, Geoff lad. I can understand it: I dream about gold myself.’

Geoffrey remembered something else. ‘They ate my dog.’

Roger stared at him. ‘I have not seen it for a day or two, but it will show up when it is hungry.’

‘He does not wander away for days on end,’ said Geoffrey, worried. ‘I should find him.’

Roger shook his head. ‘Not today. Rest and we will talk again later.’ He pulled the blanket up to Geoffrey’s chin with a powerful yank.