The Bloodstained Throne

him. Juhel gave one of his unreadable smiles and obliged wordlessly.

There were two bundles of documents. The first comprised the same gibberish Juhel had written for Edith. Geoffrey looked hard at the symbols in the light of the candle, but they were nonsense, although they would look like writing to an illiterate. They were tied with red ribbon, and the seals convinced him they were the ones he had seen Paisnel studying.

The second batch was slightly damp, with ink that had run. They were far too badly damaged by rain or seawater to be legible; it was impossible even to tell whether they had been real missives or the same meaningless scrawl of the others.

‘Can you read these?’ Geoffrey asked, indicating the second batch.

‘No,’ replied Juhel shortly. ‘They have been wet too many times. Still, if I dry them, I may be able to reuse the parchment. It is expensive, and I do not have money to waste.’

‘What about the dry ones? Can you read those?’

‘They are in the language of the Danes. Do you know it?’ Juhel looked superior when Geoffrey shook his head. ‘I thought not. The Danish alphabet is different from ours, like Arabic and Hebrew.’

Geoffrey was sceptical. He had never seen Danish written, but there was no reason to suppose it was different from Latin or French. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. These are runes, which are often used to convey Danish in official documents. Would you like me to translate them for you?’

‘Please.’

Juhel took a sheet and went to the door, where the light was better. He rested a grubby finger at the top right, then moved it left, as Geoffrey had learned to read Arabic. The knight was mystified; he had believed only the Semitic languages ran counter to Latin.

Juhel began to speak. ‘The Bishop of Ribe holds this manor. It was always in the hands of the monastery, and before there were fifty hides, and then it answered for thirty-eight hides; now for twenty-eight. Land for thirty-three ploughs. In lordship, five ploughs and fifty smallholders. There is meadow of fifteen acres, and woodland of forty. Would you like me to continue, Sir Geoffrey? There is a good deal more, and it gives a detailed account of the entire diocese, if you are interested.’

Geoffrey took the document from him, trying to see a pattern that would allow him to confirm the translation, but he could make neither head nor tail of it. Juhel retrieved it with a smirk.

‘Why do you have it?’ asked Geoffrey, still not sure Juhel was telling the truth about his literacy. For all he knew, the man was simply reciting something from memory and the so-called ‘runes’ were exactly what they appeared — gibberish.

‘That is none of your business. However, as I do not want you to start spreading tales about me, I shall answer. Paisnel was a clerk, and these are his documents. I took them from his pack after he died, so I can return them to the Bishop of Ribe. It is what he would have wished.’

‘Why did Paisnel have them in the first place? It strikes me that these are deeds that should be in Ribe, not being hauled all across Ireland and England.’

‘When he left Denmark after his last visit, Paisnel had a great chest of writs with him. But when he arrived in Ireland, he discovered these were included by mistake. He was returning them, in his capacity as the Bishop’s counsellor.’

Geoffrey frowned. ‘You told me earlier he was a clerk.’

Juhel licked his lips. ‘He was, but-’

‘If you lie, you must be blessed with a good memory,’ interrupted Geoffrey. ‘And you are not. Was Paisnel a clerk or a counsellor? Or would it be more accurate to call him a spy?’

‘You pay too much attention to those women,’ said Juhel, attempting nonchalance as he gathered up the parchments.

‘He was a spy,’ said Geoffrey, sensing his unease. ‘I imagine that is why you threw his pack overboard. You wanted to destroy any items that might incriminate him.’

Juhel’s face was white, and Geoffrey did not tell him he had been seen heaving Paisnel’s body into the sea as well, afraid it might incur a violent reaction — and he was not yet certain of his own strength. The Breton suddenly clapped both hands over his face and scrubbed hard.

‘All right,’ he said tiredly. ‘There is no point in denying it, when even those stupid women saw through Paisnel’s clumsy subterfuge. Yes, he was a spy, although not a very good one. I threw his pack in the sea, because I did not want to be accused of treason should his materials be found. I kept only these manorial rolls, which I know are innocent. Are you satisfied?’

‘Who was his master?’

‘Lord Belleme.’ Juhel gave a weak grin when he saw Geoffrey’s astonishment. ‘Even Philippa guessed that — but you thought the notion so outrageous that you did not believe her. Paisnel’s father holds his Norman estates from Belleme, who often calls for favours. This time, Paisnel was charged to look at England’s coastal defences, because Belleme is considering invading.’

‘Is he?’ Geoffrey supposed it might be true.

‘Yes, but Belleme should never have entrusted him with such a mission: Paisnel had no idea how to conduct a discreet survey and asked the most brazen of questions. We argued, because I was afraid his incompetence would see us both hanged.’

If that were true, then several things made sense: the whispered argument Geoffrey had witnessed on the ship; the other one observed by Philippa; Juhel’s easy familiarity with his friend’s possessions. But had their disagreement led Juhel to kill Paisnel because he was a liability?

‘Then what about this?’ he asked, producing the letter Juhel had written for Edith. ‘Is it more information about manorial rolls?’

Juhel took it from him, and his expression turned to alarm. ‘Where did you get this? It was supposed to have been sent to Edith’s family.’

‘She was sceptical about its contents and asked the monks to translate it for her. They told her it was nonsense. Now she is dead.’

Juhel was aghast at the implicit accusation. ‘Her death was nothing to do with-’

‘She was strangled with red ribbon. Just like Vitalis — he did not drown, as his wives claimed. And red ribbon fastens your documents.’

‘I have seen red ribbon on the parchments in your bags, too,’ Juhel shot back.

‘My cord is thicker and coarser. It was a finer braid that killed Vitalis and Edith.’

Juhel was appalled by the direction the discussion had taken. ‘You cannot accuse me of murder just because of ribbon! If you want to catch Edith’s killer, look to the men she encouraged with her fluttering eyelashes and then abandoned when someone better came along. Ask Roger about her.’

Geoffrey stared at him. ‘What are you saying?’

‘You know perfectly well: Edith enjoyed Roger’s company — until Lucian reappeared. If you want suspects for her murder, ask Roger what he was doing the night she died. He was certainly out and about, because I saw him.’

Of course, Roger had not harmed Edith, because he had been with Philippa. However, the big knight did solve problems with violence, and not everyone would believe his innocence. Moreover, Geoffrey did not trust Philippa to confirm his alibi. She was a woman out for her own ends and might well lie if she thought there was a chance she might benefit from it.

Juhel smirked victoriously when Geoffrey had no reply, ‘But I do not believe Roger is the culprit. I suspect Lucian, whom I also saw abroad that night. When I asked him the following day what he had been doing, he claimed he had been at a vigil all night. Do you believe such a tale from a man who did not utter a single prayer while we were on Patrick?’

Geoffrey admitted it sounded unlikely. ‘Read that to me,’ he said, indicating Edith’s letter. ‘What does it say?’

‘It relates a woeful tale to her father, all about high seas and unruly sailors. I will translate it if you like, but you will find it dull listening.’

‘But as it is written in runes, her father will not be able to decipher it.’

‘No,’ said Juhel with malicious satisfaction. ‘And it will serve her right. She said I would be paid to write it,