The Bloodstained Throne

stomach for their skirmish and preferred to believe Geoffrey.

Red with fury and frustration, Ulf charged back to a knot of his horsemen, who were milling about in hopeless confusion, and ordered them to take up formation around him. Then he bellowed an order, and the little cavalcade rode at a hard pace, not towards the gate, but to the ponds.

‘Who are those men?’ Geoffrey demanded of Osbjorn, who was still in an undignified heap over Roger’s saddle.

‘Seven are his housecarls,’ replied the captured Dane miserably. ‘And the eighth is Aelfwig — he must have grabbed someone else’s horse to join them. All will fight at Ulf’s side until they die.’

‘They will die if they continue to fight,’ said Roger grimly. ‘Where are they going?’

‘To the fishponds,’ said Osbjorn, pathetically eager to cooperate. ‘There is gold hidden there, and Ulf will claim it before he leaves. The treasure we hid in the water is stolen, but more is buried under a tree. He will use it to rebel again, although he can do it without me. I would have followed Harold or even Magnus. But never him.’

‘We must stop him,’ said Wardard urgently to Geoffrey and Roger. ‘Too many Saxons have died for his foolishness already, and I will not let him destroy more. Will you help me?’

‘Me, you and Geoff against eight Saxon warriors and an inept herbalist,’ said Roger. Then he grinned. ‘The odds are good enough for me!’

Geoffrey, Roger and Wardard thundered towards the marshes, leaving Juhel, Hugh and Ralph to chase away the last of the Saxons and imprison Osbjorn. Aelfwig was already emerging from the trees with a bundle, staggering under its weight.

‘We cannot let him take it,’ shouted Geoffrey.

Wardard chuckled. ‘Ulf will not be financing anything with what is inside that sack, Geoffrey. I took the opportunity to exchange it for a few rocks after I saw you had only given half his treasure trove to your pirate friends.’

Geoffrey glanced at him. ‘You were not with Juhel, were you?’

Wardard nodded. ‘This is my abbey, my home. Do you really think men can come in and hide their loot without me knowing?’

‘What did you do with it?’ asked Roger, with more than a passing interest.

Wardard smiled. ‘It is locked in the crypt and will be used to purchase the services of a decent medicus. We were wrong to give Aelfwig the post and we need to make reparation. Do not worry: it will not fall into the hands of rebels.’

‘This is your fault!’ shrieked Ulf, sword at the ready when he saw the three horsemen. ‘We were poised for victory, and you snatched it from us.’

Geoffrey reined in his horse and studied the opposition. He, Roger and Wardard were outnumbered three to one, and their opponents were of the same calibre as the men who had fought at Hastinges, then Ulf might yet live to sow more seeds of rebellion.

‘My mother could have commanded the situation better than you did today,’ jeered Roger. ‘If your rout is anyone’s fault, it is yours.’

Ulf snatched the sack from Aelfwig and scrambled back into his saddle.

‘Finish it,’ he ordered his men. ‘No survivors and no quarter.’

The housecarls advanced quickly, while he rode a short distance away to inspect his treasure. Aelfwig followed, muttering in his ear. But there was no time to ponder what he might be saying, because Geoffrey, Roger and Wardard were suddenly facing opponents who knew what they were doing.

‘If you had fought like this earlier, you might have won,’ gasped Roger, as he fenced with Eadric, forcing the smaller man back with the ferocity of his assault.

Geoffrey urged his horse forward fast as another knight aimed to strike his friend’s unprotected back. The resulting clang of the parry rang out like a bell. He recovered more quickly than his opponent, and a left-handed slash with his dagger opened the man’s innards, before a hard chop with his sword dropped another from his saddle. Wardard had already dispatched one of his adversaries, and Geoffrey saw that although the housecarls might well have trained hard, they had little experience of real fighting.

‘Kill them!’ Ulf screamed, flinging off his helmet and hauling a green hat on his head in its place. ‘I will meet up with you later!’

‘Go!’ Eadric yelled back. ‘Save yourself. We will keep them occupied.’

Ulf needed no second invitation. He rode between the skirmish and the fishponds, and Geoffrey saw he was going to escape. He spurred forward to stop him, but two housecarls mounted a coordinated attack that forced him to retreat. He wheeled around and swung his sword in a savage arc that dispatched one of them, and there was a howl of pain as Wardard dealt with the second. Leaving Wardard to help Roger with those remaining, Geoffrey tore after the would-be king.

‘You strangled Vitalis!’ he shouted, as the last mystery became clear. ‘You saw us wrecked, and waited to see if there was anything to steal. You were with Gyrth.’

‘I killed an old man,’ sneered Ulf, turning around to face him. ‘But he had nothing worth taking — except a paltry ring that I could not wrench from his finger anyway. Neither do you, but you will be worth killing regardless!’

Geoffrey met his powerful stroke, then thrust back, intending to force Ulf from his saddle. He might have succeeded, had Ulf’s horse not skittered backwards. Geoffrey slashed again, and as Ulf ducked away, his horse skidded in the mud at the pond edge. It slipped, then fell, hurling Ulf backwards into the water. His armour caused him to sink like a stone. Aelfwig ran to the edge of the water with a cry of horror.

‘Fetch him out!’ he screamed. ‘He will drown!’

Breaking away from Wardard, the last surviving housecarl leaped off his horse to obey, but the moment his feet touched the ground, Roger knocked him on the head with the pommel of his sword. The fellow dropped, insensible, and Eadric dropped his weapon and raised his hands when he found Wardard’s sword at his throat.

Aelfwig was pointing and gibbering, beside himself with anguish. Not far under the surface was Ulf, arms flailing. Geoffrey could see his terrified eyes and the whiteness of his face against the green water.

‘Help him!’ screeched Aelfwig.

‘You help him,’ said Roger, unmoved. ‘He is your king.’

‘I am not strong enough,’ sobbed Aelfwig. ‘He will drown me.’

Geoffrey watched as mud billowed to obscure the agonized face, aware that he was holding his own breath. He closed his eyes tightly, then began to pull the surcoat over his head. Roger grabbed his shoulder.

‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.

‘I cannot see a man die like this,’ said Geoffrey, struggling away from him. ‘Let me go.’

But Wardard joined Roger with a grip that was impossible to break, and Geoffrey had no choice but to watch the churning pool and the final torments of the man caught there.

Eventually the water became calm and the mud began to settle. No more than the length of an arm under the surface was Ulf, fair curls floating like a halo.

‘There they are!’ came a voice from farther up the field. It was Juhel, and with him was a stocky, dark-haired horseman whom Geoffrey recognized immediately. It was the Duke of Normandy.

‘Where is the battle?’ demanded the Duke eagerly.

‘Most of the rebels have fled, my Lord,’ replied Juhel. ‘These were all that remained.’

‘Oh,’ said the Duke, disappointed. ‘I was in the mood for a skirmish. Now, what did you say it was about?’

‘A Saxon uprising, Sire,’ explained Juhel.

‘Against my brother?’ asked the Duke keenly.

‘Only a very small one,’ explained Juhel. ‘Just a few peasants and a handful of disinherited Saxon nobles. The sight of you and your retinue was more than enough to end the last skirmishes.’

‘So, I helped to thwart a rebellion against Henry, did I?’ asked the Duke softly. ‘Damn!’