The Bloodstained Throne

would not like to be carried off by pirates.’

More laughter followed, and Geoffrey decided they were too intoxicated for sensible conversation. Explanations could wait until the next day. He had reckoned without Ulfrith, though.

‘Ladies Philippa and Edith are the wives of a knight, so treat them with respect,’ he said coldly.

‘Saxon dog,’ sneered the man contemptuously. ‘Who are you to address me, Richer de Laigle, so familiarly? Remember your place, boy, before I have you run through.’

‘We are sorry to interrupt your entertainment,’ said Geoffrey, before the argument could escalate. ‘We ask only for food and shelter — for which we can pay. Tomorrow we will be gone.’

De Laigle regarded him blearily. ‘You are a Jerosolimitanus, I see. I have heard they are a vile, unmannerly breed, and now I see for myself that the rumours are true.’

‘Now look here,’ hissed Roger, stepping forward in a way that had de Laigle staggering back in alarm. ‘I did not come here to be insulted by some cockerel-’

‘Cockerel, am I?’ asked de Laigle from behind the guard. ‘Well, you are a brute.’

He folded his arms and pursed his lips, as though he had scored some kind of point. Roger regarded him uncertainly, taken off guard by the peculiar response.

‘Oh, leave them, Richer,’ said Lady de Laigle, draining the contents of her cup. Another purple stain was added to her kirtle. ‘I would rather dance than exchange obscenities with ruffians.’

‘My guard will find you a stable,’ said de Laigle to Roger. He grabbed his wife and hauled her towards him for a long, passionate kiss that almost made her pass out. ‘I cannot be bothered to banter with you tonight.’

Lady de Laigle managed to claw herself more or less upright by using Geoffrey as a prop. ‘I hate England — there are too many Saxons scurrying about with their heads down and glints of malice in their eyes. They still think the country should be theirs, you know.’

‘It should,’ snarled Magnus, galled into imprudence.

De Laigle waved a finger at him, and it was only the guard’s timely lunge that prevented him from dropping into the startled Saxon’s arms like a lover.

‘It should be Norman, because Saxons are debauched drunkards who cannot hold their wine. But who are you, anyway? You are no Jerosolimitanus. You are too skinny to wield a sword. I, of course, leave that sort of thing to brutal fellows I employ.’

Geoffrey hoped Magnus would be discreet, but the Saxon was buoyed up with a sense of moral advantage. ‘I am King Magnus,’ he declared. ‘Rightful monarch of England.’

De Laigle regarded him open-mouthed for a moment and then burst into derisive laughter. His wife lurched to the nearest table, grabbed someone else’s wine and raised it in a salute before downing it in a series of determined gulps. Geoffrey watched in fascination, waiting for her to fall flat on her face. He had never seen a woman drink with quite so much indomitable resolve.

‘The stable,’ prompted Juhel, prudently drawing an end to the encounter.

‘This way,’ said the guard, stepping aside smartly as Lady de Laigle pitched towards him, landing in a way that would have hurt had she been sober. ‘Follow me.’

‘Stable?’ whispered Roger indignantly in Geoffrey’s ear. ‘I am the son of the Bishop of Durham, and they put me in a stable?’

‘It does not matter,’ said Geoffrey quietly. ‘We leave at dawn — I have no intention of being around when de Laigle wakes. Especially if he recalls what Magnus said.’

Roger nodded slowly. ‘You are right. We do not want him telling King Henry that there is a Saxon claimant for his throne on the loose, and that I am his chief henchman.’

‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey vehemently. ‘We do not!’

Three

Geoffrey followed the guard across the bailey to a dilapidated building with a sod roof, and thought Magnus had been right in his reluctance to accept Pevenesel’s hospitality. He did not like its drunken constable, slack guards and unruly merrymaking. Or was marriage ruining his sense of fun, and he was becoming a withered old prude who frowned on the gaiety of others?

‘Lord!’ exclaimed Philippa, impressed. ‘They know how to entertain themselves!’

The guard grimaced. ‘Yes, and Lord de Laigle will not like it one bit.’

‘But he was liking it,’ Roger pointed out.

‘I mean the senior Lord de Laigle, who owns this castle. Richer is his son — the youngest and most useless of his brood. The real Lord de Laigle is with the King in Winchester, discussing how the coastal castles might be strengthened.’

‘Is there talk of an invasion, then?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily.

‘There is always talk of invasion,’ said the guard with a dismissive wave. ‘But the Duke of Normandy is in St Valery at the moment — the place where the Conqueror sailed from when he snatched the English throne. Lord de Laigle wants to be prepared.’

‘Then he had better hope the Duke does not invade while he is away,’ said Roger. ‘Because his son will do little to repel him — except perhaps shock him with his disgraceful manners.’

‘He writes,’ said the guard with considerable disapproval. ‘Young Richer, I mean. He was supposed to enter the Church, so they taught him his letters. Perhaps that is what sent him sour.’

‘It is often the case,’ agreed Magnus, as Geoffrey rolled his eyes. ‘No good ever comes from learning. Paisnel was a clerk, and look what happened to him.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Juhel, his voice tight.

‘I mean he was always poring over documents and they sent him insane,’ explained Magnus. ‘Then he fell over the side of the ship.’

‘I suspect he was a spy,’ said Philippa in a transparent effort to provoke Juhel into saying something incriminating. ‘It would explain why he took his bag when he jumped overboard.’

If she was expecting Juhel to confess to his friend’s murder, she was disappointed. Juhel only looked away, as if he found Paisnel’s death too painful to discuss. Philippa, seeing she was not to be satisfied, turned to the guard.

‘The locals were not very hospitable when our ship floundered in the storm,’ she said.

‘Well, you are Normans,’ said the guard. ‘And they recall what happened when the Conqueror arrived — how he destroyed all manner of villages before having himself crowned. People around here have long memories. You may think your welcome was unfriendly here at Pevenesel, but at least no one will cut your throat while you sleep.’

With that, he opened the door to the shabby building, handed her a candle and left. A number of men were already snoring inside, so Geoffrey took two blankets from a pile near the door, passed them to Philippa and Edith and suggested they sleep in the loft. Roger and Ulfrith volunteered to accompany them there, but, wisely, Edith declined their offer.

Philippa shot Geoffrey a smile full of invitation as she left, which had Ulfrith gaping in dismay. To allay his distress, Geoffrey suggested that he sleep at the foot of the ladder, to prevent anyone from following them. Pleased to serve Philippa, Ulfrith promptly curled around the bottom rung.

‘The rest of you will sleep in a circle around me,’ said Magnus. ‘It is your duty to protect me.’

‘I do not think so,’ said Roger, selecting a place as far away as possible. Magnus’s confident authority faltered when Geoffrey followed, leaving him with Juhel.

‘Have no fear,’ said Juhel, laughing when he saw Magnus’s distrust. ‘My chicken and I will look after you.’

‘I am uneasy here,’ Roger said to Geoffrey in a low voice, throwing his friend a blanket. ‘I distrust de Laigle and his whore wife.’

Geoffrey grimaced in distaste when he found his blanket was damp and stank of urine. He flung it away, and