The Bloodstained Throne

was secure — for now, at least.

‘Fool!’ howled Ralph at Wardard. ‘What possessed you — opening the door like that?’

‘I was saving innocents from being slaughtered,’ said Wardard coolly. ‘You may be happy to stand meekly by as murder is done, but I am not. Now, go and check the window shutters are secure. Galfridus? Are you sure the cloister door is locked and barred?’

Galfridus nodded, his face white. ‘And ten monks set to guard it, as you ordered. With the dozen you have here, no one should be able to get in.’

‘Good,’ said Wardard. ‘I believe the best way to avert violence is to avoid confrontation. If the Saxons see no Normans, their fury may fade. Magnus cannot keep them at fever pitch indefinitely.’

‘I put Odo and Peter in the clerestory with bows, too, like you said,’ added Galfridus. ‘And there are lookouts everywhere. Your troops are deployed.’

Wardard smiled. ‘Then it is time to solicit God’s help. I want no more deaths on this field — Norman or Saxon. Will you join us, Geoffrey?’

Geoffrey shook his head. He wanted to inspect the defences and reorganize the ‘troops’ as he saw fit. Wardard might have been a professional soldier once, but it was a long time ago.

‘Our situation is worse than I thought,’ said Juhel worriedly. ‘If Magnus were in charge, we might have escaped unscathed, but Ulf is a different matter altogether.’

‘Are you saying I killed Harold?’ asked Bale, bewildered. ‘But they were wearing different clothes, and there was no time for them to change.’

‘I agree,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Besides, they were not identical — Harold has scars around his wrists, and the dead man was thinner.’

‘That is because we have been misled from the beginning,’ said Juhel, pacing back and forth in agitation. ‘He said he was Harold, and we all believed him. Even Magnus. But he was lying.’

‘That is ridiculous,’ declared Roger. ‘Magnus could tell his half-brothers apart.’

‘Why, when they spent most of their lives separated?’ countered Juhel.

‘But what benefit is there in Ulf pretending to be Harold?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘Ulf is a bully and a tyrant, who, given power, will become a monster. No Saxon will follow a man with his reputation, and so he has pretended to be gentle, smiling Harold. He is even allowing Magnus to take a certain degree of command, biding his time until the rebellion has sufficient momentum. Then he will take over.’

‘I have noticed the odd flare of nastiness in Harold,’ said Roger thoughtfully. ‘He put glass in Galfridus’s carp, and I saw him throw stones at Brother Wardard.’

‘That was him, was it?’ asked Wardard. ‘I thought it was Aelfwig, who has never liked me.’

‘I should have seen this sooner,’ said Juhel bitterly. ‘The clues were all there. At Werlinges, Magnus was sick, and even you two battle-hardened knights were shocked, but “Harold” had to fabricate emotions he certainly would not feel. And he did it badly.’

Geoffrey supposed he might be right: Harold had recovered fairly quickly from the shock of seeing his twin’s throat cut, which suggested a certain resilience to violent death.

‘Was it this Ulf who ordered the massacre, then?’ asked Bale.

‘I imagine so,’ replied Juhel. ‘When we first discovered the atrocity, we said it was the kind of thing Ulf would do — although “Harold” insisted on his brother’s innocence. I suspect he ordered Gyrth to do it, so knew exactly what we would find when we all arrived there.’

‘Ulf was held prisoner by the Conqueror,’ said Geoffrey thoughtfully. ‘Not Harold. Did you notice his wrists? They are scarred.’

‘From being kept in chains,’ said Roger in understanding. ‘If he is the maniac everyone says, his captors would have needed to subdue him.’

‘He also claimed Henry had given him a horse,’ Geoffrey went on, becoming more convinced Juhel was right as he considered what they knew. ‘But Henry is much more likely to have given one to Ulf — who was his father’s prisoner for twenty years. Why would he make a gift to Harold, a man to whom he did not need to make amends?’

‘True,’ agreed Roger.

‘And Harold is supposed to be a fine musician,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But this man could not play the horn properly — and tried very hard to avoid obliging when Bale insisted on a tune.’

‘Because he said it was a cheap, nasty instrument,’ supplied Ulfrith.

‘It is very expensive, actually,’ objected Galfridus. ‘From the curia in Rome.’

Juhel turned to Galfridus. ‘You know them both. What do you think?’

‘I am afraid Sir Geoffrey distracted me by insulting my objet d’art, and I paid Harold scant attention. He usually visits me a lot when he is here, but he has not been once this time. I have been busy, so have not thought to question why. But what about Osbjorn? He knows both twins and will be able to tell them apart. He likes Harold, but detests Ulf.’

Geoffrey recalled the way the surviving twin had almost dragged Osbjorn from his horse with the force of his greeting. It had not been an expression of familial affection, but a muttered threat.

‘I know how to tell them apart,’ said Wardard suddenly. ‘Garlic. Harold hates it, but Ulf is well known to chew it constantly.’

Geoffrey had done no more than make a preliminary inspection of the defences — in the process noticing that both Philippa and Lucian had taken refuge in the church — before there was a yell from a lookout. A contingent of Saxons was approaching. Geoffrey stationed Ulfrith and Bale at the cloister entrance, then trotted to the great west door — the only other way in.

‘We can hold out for a while,’ muttered Roger. ‘Some of the monks brought food, water and weapons. And a couple thought to grab some armour.’

‘And Ulfrith managed to acquire us seven horses,’ said Geoffrey, nodding to where the beasts were tethered. Four were warhorses belonging to the Saxon earls, but the remaining three were only fat mares.

‘Wardard and Ralph are ready to fight, but the others will be useless. We are essentially on our own, Geoff.’ Roger cocked his head. ‘I can hear Ulf, yelling to his men that we are cowards and ripe for the slaughter.’

They walked to the nearest window. Geoffrey poked a hole in the shutter with his dagger, so they could see what was happening outside.

‘God above!’ exclaimed Galfridus, white-faced as he peered through it. ‘Where have all those men come from?’

‘Lay-brothers,’ said Wardard shortly. ‘And supposed pilgrims. They have used our abbey as a rallying point.’

‘They are only armed with sticks, for the most part,’ said Ralph, eyeing them with disdain. He and Wardard wore mail jerkins and conical helmets. Little of his monastic clothing was visible, and he looked like a knight. Geoffrey hoped he would behave like one. ‘Whereas we have swords.’

‘But what are a few swords compared to three hundred hoes?’ whispered Galfridus.

‘Normans!’ came a stentorian voice from outside. It was Ulf. He had dispensed with civilian clothes and was wearing a knee-length mail tunic, leather leggings, and a helmet that looked to be gold. He was one of a dozen mounted men. ‘Come out before we come in.’

His men roared their approval at the challenge.

‘No, thank you,’ replied Galfridus in a wavering voice. ‘We do not want to.’

‘God’s blood!’ breathed Roger, appalled. ‘Could you not think of anything more manly to say? They are laughing at us!’

‘Who are you?’ shouted Ralph, belligerence dripping from every syllable. ‘I do not recognize you as a man to be giving me orders. I am the abbey’s sacristan.’

The jeers turned to murmurs of anger, and Geoffrey scowled at him.

‘I am Ulf,’ came the reply. ‘King Harold’s legitimate heir.’

This caused consternation on both sides. Those monks who knew of Ulf’s reputation crossed themselves, and two abandoned their posts and made a dash for the high altar. A ripple of unease passed along the Saxon lines, and Aelfwig and Eadric regarded Ulf in astonishment. Osbjorn’s face was impassive, but his unease was clear. Magnus,