‘Why take the medallion?’
‘Because it was evidence that he murdered Paisnel – to be kept safe and produced later, when he will pay for what he did. Of course, he knows it will incriminate him, which is why he never made a fuss about losing it.’
‘And the ring Bale took from Vitalis’s corpse? It seems that was Magnus’s, too.’
‘Yes. Ring and medallion were on the same cord around Magnus’s neck, which snapped during the struggle. I could not find the ring in the dark, and Vitalis must have happened across it the following morning. Magnus must have been appalled when he saw it on Vitalis’s finger, but he could hardly demand it back, lest subsequent questions led to accusations of murder.’
Geoffrey was thoughtful. ‘Was the letter you wrote for Edith’s father an account of all this?’
‘Yes, and it would have been intercepted as soon as she had entrusted it to a messenger,’ said Juhel, nodding. ‘But since it was not sent, I sincerely hope Breme does not fail. Magnus is ready to act, and you and I cannot stop him alone.’
‘I plan to leave La Batailge tonight, to take word to the King.’
Juhel smiled. ‘It is refreshing to meet a loyal man. You repeatedly refuse Magnus’s offers, and I know what you did with the treasure last night.’
‘You do?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily.
‘It solved several problems – the most immediate of which is getting rid of the distraction Fingar represented. And it has deprived the Saxons of funds in a way that is permanent.’ Juhel rubbed his chin. ‘Of course, the King will not be pleased. He would have wanted it for himself.’
Geoffrey was sure he was right and suspected it would see him in trouble. To take his mind off it, he thought about what Galfridus had said when they had discussed the dangers of harbouring rebels in the abbey.
‘You are the “important man” to whom Galfridus referred? You decided the rebels should remain, rather than being ousted?’
Juhel inclined his head. ‘Better here, where I can see what they are doing, than scattered over half of Sussex. But we shall have to trust Breme for deliverance, because you cannot leave me here alone. I shall need your help if we do not want the country in bloody turmoil.’
Geoffrey was troubled when he left Juhel, so he went to the church, seeking the peace of its silent stones. There he found Roger, yawning in the nave, obviously having just prised himself from bed.
‘How was your vigil?’ he asked archly.
‘Kneeling all night is no task for a knight,’ Roger replied grimly. ‘I managed a few psalms, but then I grew sleepy. But do not fret, lad. We shall leave as soon as I have collected my gold.’
‘Leave it hidden: we are going nowhere.’ Geoffrey explained what he had done the previous night and outlined his discussion with Juhel. Roger listened without interruption, but his face was indignant when it finished.
‘You gave those pirates the Saxons’ treasure? Why did you not give it to me and let the pirates have their own back? I could have been fabulously rich!’
‘I did not know what the Saxons had. It was a gamble. You might have ended up poorer.’
Roger was about to argue, but was distracted by a commotion at the gatehouse. They went outside to see that a party of wealthy men had arrived, resplendent in fine clothes and awash with baggage. Lay-brothers hurried to welcome them, and Geoffrey could tell that they were more of those who intended to stand with Magnus.
‘The short fellow in the blue cloak is Osbjorn, one of Magnus’s Danish kinsmen,’ said Juhel, materializing suddenly. ‘The man with him is Eadric; his father was a deacon who fought at King Harold’s side. And there is Brother Aelfwig, greeting them like old friends.’
‘Well, he is a Saxon,’ said Roger disgustedly.
‘And no herbalist, as Geoffrey discovered to his cost. His father was King Harold’s uncle and Bishop of Winchester, which makes Aelfwig Magnus’s cousin. Aelfwig the Elder brought twelve monks and a score of soldiers to the battle. The traitors are coming home to roost.’
A good deal of the newcomers’ luggage was spirited away, and Geoffrey guessed it contained weapons or more treasure. Harold hurried forward and almost dragged Osbjorn from his horse with the ferocity of his greeting, muttering something in his ear that made him turn white. Geoffrey supposed Osbjorn had just been told the news about the missing treasure. Meanwhile, Magnus merely regarded his kinsman with cool hauteur.
Supplies were not all the party had brought. There was also a body. The lay-brothers cut the ropes that held it to the back of a horse, then laid it on the ground, where Aelfwig covered it with a piece of sacking.
‘About half an hour’s ride from here,’ Osbjorn was saying. ‘We thought he might be one of our own, so we brought him here.’
‘He was not one of us,’ said Aelfwig in a meaningful way. ‘He was just a peddler.’
Once the new arrivals had been escorted to the guest hall, Geoffrey went to inspect the body. He crouched down and removed the sack.
‘God’s blood!’ swore Roger. ‘It is Breme.’
‘Damn!’ said Juhel softly. ‘Are our letters in his pouch?’
Geoffrey searched the corpse quickly, then shook his head. ‘His pack is gone, too. I imagine we are supposed to assume he was attacked by robbers. But he is still wearing the ring we gave him, and thieves would have taken that.’
‘I said the rebels are incompetent,’ said Juhel in disgust. ‘They cannot even stage a fake robbery.’
‘Perhaps not, but they have ensured Breme never reached Winchester,’ said Geoffrey grimly. ‘We are on our own.’
Fourteen
The arrival of Osbjorn and Eadric caused considerable delight among the Saxons. At the guest hall, they were plied with the dishes that had been prepared for the Duke of Normandy. The Norman monks were astonished at this, but Galfridus raised a hand to silence their indignation. Lay-brothers and ‘pilgrims’ continued to crowd in, and it quickly became clear what they really were. A kitchen scullion named Thurkill hefted a sword in a way that indicated he had wielded more than filleting knives in the past, and two ‘grooms’ clapped Osbjorn on the back in a manner that would have been inappropriate had they really been servants.
‘I sincerely hope help is on its way,’ said Galfridus when Geoffrey approached. ‘You have sent for some, have you not? The situation is rapidly becoming untenable.’
‘I did, but it will not materialize,’ replied Geoffrey.
Galfridus stared at him. ‘But I can see at least three disinherited earls from here, plus several fanatics who have made careers of insurrection!’
‘How many of your monks will stand against them?’
Galfridus regarded him askance. ‘None.’
It was Geoffrey’s turn to stare. ‘There is not a single man here who is loyal to the King?’
‘That is not what I meant. All the Normans will be loyal – about thirty men out of fifty-five – but they have forsworn arms. None will raise so much as a stick.’
‘I will,’ came Wardard’s quiet voice from behind them. ‘I will fight, as I did before, although I would prefer peace. Perhaps we can persuade them to disband.’
‘This is too far advanced to be stopped by speeches,’ said Galfridus. ‘If help is not coming, then all we can do is lock ourselves in the church and hope they do not set it alight.’
There was a colossal cheer from the Saxons. Osbjorn had just announced that others would soon arrive at La Batailge – good, honest Saxons armed with hoes and pitchforks.
Galfridus closed his eyes in defeat, but Wardard rested a hand on his shoulder.
‘Do not pay heed to defiant words. The nobles will fight, but the peasantry will not be blinded by impossible dreams. Most will slink away at the first clash of steel.’
Geoffrey hoped he was right. Nevertheless, he estimated that the abbey already contained at least three hundred would-be warriors. He turned at the sound of running feet. A number of people were converging on the kitchens, where a fight was in progress between Ralph the sacristan and Thurkill the scullion. Ralph was brandishing a ladle, but Thurkill had his sword.