The Bloodstained Throne

She had some serious competition, though, because Juhel was also determined to hear his own voice. He rattled on about some perfumed oil he had sold to Belleme. Geoffrey was dubious: he could not imagine that ruthless tyrant being interested in fripperies. As they babbled, Geoffrey glanced behind him to ensure Bale was carrying out his duties as vanguard.

He need not have worried. Bale took seriously any order issued by his master and was assiduously looking backwards every two or three steps to ensure no one was in pursuit. He had Geoffrey’s dog on a piece of rope, knowing the animal would growl if any villager came too close. Geoffrey had a feeling the would-be looters would be disappointed if they did intend to attack after dark: about thirty sailors had survived, and such a large group would present a formidable challenge.

‘Have you noticed that Saxon has attached himself to us?’ asked Ulfrith of Geoffrey, rather indignantly. ‘He has been very unfriendly, so I do not know how he dares!’

‘Because we are a better proposition than Fingar and his rabble,’ said Juhel, overhearing. ‘We will not slit his throat in the night and make off with his belongings.’

‘Life will be difficult for me now,’ said Philippa, bringing the discussion back to herself. ‘I am a young widow, whose husband has been ripped away in untimely fashion.’

‘Vitalis was rather old,’ remarked Ulfrith tactlessly. ‘But now you can choose a younger man.’ He glanced hopefully at her out of the corner of his eye.

‘I should like a younger man,’ said Philippa, smiling at Geoffrey.

But Geoffrey was not paying attention to her; he was concentrating on the curious movements of the green- hatted man and his friend, who had started to follow the party. Besides, Hilde had aroused in him an odd sense of affection and loyalty he had rarely felt towards women. If he did break his marriage vows, it would not be with a simpering girl.

‘Sir Geoffrey is married,’ said Ulfrith with a hint of triumph. ‘However, I am unattached. And I have fair prospects, being a fighting man — loot, you understand.’

‘But you are only a squire,’ said Philippa in distaste. ‘I am used to being wed to a knight.’

‘I understand Edith was wed to him, too,’ said Ulfrith sanctimoniously. ‘Such situations are frowned upon in England. It is called bigamy, and we Saxons disapprove. Of course, Denmark is different.’

‘Not that different,’ said Juhel, laughing. ‘The only countries that countenance multiple wives are those that follow the teachings of Mohammed — and then only if they can be afforded.’

‘Well, Sir Vitalis could afford me and Edith,’ said Philippa sulkily. ‘I cannot imagine what I will do now he is dead. Edith has wealthy kin, but I am friendless and alone. Who will care for me?’

‘I will,’ called Edith from where she walked with Roger. ‘As I keep telling you. You need have no fears for your future, Philippa.’

Philippa smiled back at her, then tripped over a stone. Ulfrith’s clumsy attempt to catch her resulted in the inadvertent grabbing of a breast, and her squeals of outrage were loud enough to draw the attention of several villagers. Growing exasperated, Geoffrey took her hand and set a cracking pace that had the others running to keep up. After a while, the villagers lost interest and turned back towards Fingar’s salvage. When he next glanced around, the green-hatted man was also moving in the opposite direction.

‘The Church dictates that a man may not have more than one wife,’ said Edith, when Geoffrey slowed a little, allowing breath for conversation again. ‘But the Church is full of celibates, who are hardly in a position to appreciate the needs of normal men. A knight should be allowed to take more than one wife if he feels like it. And a woman should be allowed more than one husband, too.’

‘I have been happier than I ever thought possible with Vitalis and Edith,’ said Philippa wistfully. ‘Damn those wretched pirates! They have lost me more than they could ever imagine.’ When she saw Geoffrey glance behind again, she misunderstood the object of his wary attention and lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘You do not approve of that nasty man coming with us. Neither do I. He is a killer!’

‘I know,’ said Geoffrey, recalling how the Saxon had sacrificed his servant to save himself.

‘And he talks all the time,’ said Philippa.

‘You refer to Juhel?’ asked Geoffrey in surprise. ‘I thought you meant the Saxon.’

‘No,’ said Philippa in disdain. ‘I would not waste my breath talking about an arrogant stick of a man who would not even tell my husband his name. I meant that garrulous Juhel. He might be witty and clever, but he is a murderer!’

‘Is he now?’ said Geoffrey, paying her scant attention.

‘I saw him kill his friend,’ Philippa chatted on. ‘Do you remember how distressed he was, rushing all over the ship the morning Paisnel disappeared?’

‘I remember,’ said Ulfrith, keen to show he was interested in her tale, even if Geoffrey was not. ‘He wept bitterly when we realized Paisnel must have gone overboard during the night.’

Philippa continued to address Geoffrey. ‘Well, his tears were not of grief, but of guilt. I saw him throw Paisnel overboard with my own eyes, and I heard the splash as his body hit the water.’

Geoffrey did not believe a word Philippa said, and assumed she was telling spiteful tales to win the sympathy of the men who were most likely to care for her. He smiled at that notion: Philippa was a poor judge of character if she imagined she would be safe from Roger. The big knight already had her companion in an inappropriate ‘protective’ embrace, but would shift his attentions to Philippa once Edith had fallen to his charms.

‘We will see you settled in a convent,’ Geoffrey said, planning to be rid of them both as soon as possible. ‘And I will write to Edith’s kinsmen, so they will know to come and fetch you.’

‘I do not want to stay with nuns!’ cried Philippa, aghast. ‘I want to be left with some rich nobleman. Preferably one in need of a wife.’

‘Did you really see Juhel throw Paisnel overboard?’ asked Ulfrith, whose slow wits were still coming to terms with her accusations.

‘I did,’ said Philippa, still looking at Geoffrey. ‘But I see you do not believe me.’

‘I do!’ declared Ulfrith. ‘I believe anything you tell me, dear lady.’

‘Your master does not,’ said Philippa sulkily. ‘He thinks I am lying to gain his attention.’

‘I am merely curious as to why you have waited so long to tell anyone,’ said Geoffrey with a noncommittal shrug. ‘Why not when Paisnel first went missing?’

He glanced behind and saw that Juhel had abandoned Roger and Edith to take advantage of the Saxon’s taciturn nature and natter at him. Geoffrey wondered whether Philippa had only made her accusations because Juhel was safely out of earshot.

‘Because Vitalis told me not to,’ replied Philippa. ‘I was obliged to get up in the night, you see. For natural purposes.’ She lowered her voice and pursed her lips prudishly.

‘You mean to take fresh air?’ asked Ulfrith innocently.

This drew a reluctant smile. ‘You could say that. It was a night when the seas were too rough for the deck, so everyone was sleeping in the hold. I finished my business and was making my way down the ladder again when I heard voices. I thought it was sailors at first, but then I realized they were speaking Norman-French.’

‘And it was Juhel and Paisnel?’ asked Ulfrith politely.

Philippa nodded. ‘Juhel was doing all the talking, of course. They were huddled at the back of the ship, where they thought they would not be seen or overheard. I was bored, so I made my way towards them — for company.’ Her eyes filled with tears, and Geoffrey could not decide whether it was genuine distress, a ploy for sympathy or the effects of the cold wind.

Ulfrith was less cynical. ‘Poor lady,’ he said kindly.

‘There was blood,’ Philippa whispered brokenly. ‘A lot of it. Paisnel had been stabbed in the chest, or perhaps the neck. Juhel was sobbing when he tossed him overboard. I ran away at that point, but when Juhel returned to the hold, he was wet: he had washed off the blood.’

Geoffrey regarded her sharply as something jarred in his mind. He had also noticed that the parchmenter’s tunic had been wet the morning after Paisnel’s disappearance. Philippa continued when she saw she had his attention at last.

‘But the truly vile thing is that Paisnel was not dead. I saw him raise one arm as the ship sailed on and left him to his horrible fate.’

‘They were friends,’ said Geoffrey, not sure what to believe. ‘They had travelled together from Dublin, and Juhel was going to stay with Paisnel’s family in Ribe. Why would he kill a friend?’