‘Just be thankful he did,’ said Geoffrey. ‘For a while, there was a very real possibility that Henry might eliminate the threat he presents by throwing him in prison – and imagine the trouble that would have caused!’
Roger blew out his lips in a sigh. ‘The Duke is a fellow Jerosolimitanus, so I owe him my respect. But the man is a damned fool! You may not like Henry’s devious ways, but England is safer with him than it ever could be with the Duke.’
It galled Geoffrey to agree with him.
He had not wanted to linger in Sussex, but Juhel pointed out that to travel to Herefordshire or Durham before explaining themselves to the King might be construed as sympathy for the Saxons. So Geoffrey and Roger kicked their heels at La Batailge, and within a few days the abbey was graced with a royal visit.
Juhel and Henry were sequestered in Galfridus’s solar for the best part of an afternoon. Almost immediately, Osbjorn and several Saxon nobles were spirited to distant castles to face lifelong imprisonment, and the abbey began to recruit new staff, all of them Norman. Before he disappeared on his next assignment, Juhel came to speak to the two knights.
‘Does the King want to see us?’ asked Roger.
Juhel shook his head. ‘But I am afraid he had every last detail out of me. He is too clever to be deceived by lies.’
Geoffrey was unimpressed. ‘You promised to say nothing about our involvement.’
‘I said I would try – and I did. I went almost an hour before he realized I had more help than Galfridus and Wardard could have supplied, and demanded names. Do not be alarmed. I told him your loyalty was beyond question.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Roger, pleased. ‘Will he reward us?’
Juhel gave a short laugh. ‘He said he expected no less of men who hold estates from him, and that you had done no more than your duty. However, I am afraid he was irritated to learn you had been leaving the country when Patrick was wrecked.’
Roger glared at Geoffrey. ‘And did you tell him it would not be happening again?’
Juhel nodded. ‘And that you had tried to warn him, by sending a message with Breme.’
‘Poor Breme,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Did you hear that Aelfwig has confessed to killing him?’
‘Yes, so now you have answers to all your questions: Magnus stabbed Paisnel; Ulf choked Vitalis; Philippa strangled Edith; and Gyrth and his men murdered the villagers of Werlinges on Ulf’s orders. And I did not kill anyone.’
‘No, you did not,’ said Geoffrey with a smile. ‘Nor are you a spy for Belleme.’
‘What will you do now?’ asked Juhel, smiling back. ‘Hope God sends you a sign saying you are free to journey to the Holy Land?’
Geoffrey shook his head. ‘I will go home to my wife.’
‘Then what about Tancred?’
‘I suppose I will never know why he took against me. And even if he does write to invite me back, I cannot break the oath I made in that damned mud hole.’
Juhel looked sympathetic. ‘Well, I have news that may amuse you. Lucian inspected another document Philippa took from Edith, and found a codicil to Vitalis’s will. It bequeaths Edith a wealthy manor, so she will not have to take another husband. It also stipulates that if Edith accepts the estates, she must undertake to look after Philippa for the rest of her life.’
Geoffrey shook his head, disgusted. ‘In other words, had Edith lived, Philippa would have been taken care of by someone who liked her. Now Edith is dead, she has nothing.’
‘Quite,’ said Juhel with satisfaction. ‘And she will spend the rest of her life regretting the spat of temper that saw her throttle a loving friend with red ribbon.’
Later that morning, Geoffrey went in search of Roger, who had disappeared. He looked in all the likely places, including the local taverns, and it was only towards the end of the afternoon that Bale came to say Roger was in the church. Geoffrey entered its cool, spacious interior, the squire at his heels, and found him at the high altar, kneeling next to Galfridus and Ralph. His expression, however, was far from devout.
‘There is the meal bell,’ Roger said as a tinny clatter rang out. ‘Surely, you both must be hungry – you have been praying here for days.’
‘We are not,’ replied Galfridus shortly. ‘And please be quiet if you want to stay. I cannot concentrate on my devotions with you chattering.’
‘I am here as penance,’ explained Roger resentfully. ‘For the Saxons I was obliged to dispatch on your behalf. I am a warrior, trained to fight, but you worried me with all your muttering about the commandments, and I feel the need for prayers.’
‘Then say them and be quiet,’ retorted Ralph. ‘You are disturbing us.’
Roger climbed to his feet, his face angry, and Geoffrey pulled him away before he could say something he might later regret.
‘I do not like it here, Geoff,’ he grumbled. ‘I never have.’
‘Then let us go home,’ said Geoffrey softly. ‘Before Henry thinks of some favour to ask, and we lose the chance.’
‘I cannot,’ said Roger sullenly. ‘Not yet.’
With a flash of understanding, so sudden it was blinding, Geoffrey knew why. ‘You should not have hidden it in such a stupid place,’ he said, smiling.
Roger regarded him coldly. ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’
‘You hid Fingar’s gold inside the high altar, but the monks have been praying here constantly since the rebellion, and you have been unable to retrieve it.’
Roger gaped at him. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because you spend a lot of time here and you are not a religious man. Moreover, it was out of character when you said you wanted to delay warning the King about the pending revolt, because you were eager to keep a vigil for St Columba.’
‘It is a good thing you are not a thief,’ said Roger ruefully, ‘or you would be able to rob me blind. You read my mind like one of your books.’
Geoffrey glanced at the praying monks. ‘I suspect you will be waiting for a long time yet. They are so grateful the King has not replaced them that they will be on their knees for the next month. Of course, you could leave it and come back later.’
‘No,’ said Roger sullenly.
‘You can have this,’ whispered Bale, pressing a purse into Roger’s hand. ‘It is not worth as much as what you stole from the pirates, but it is better than nothing.’
Roger emptied the coins into his hand. ‘This is very generous, Bale. But where is Vitalis’s ring?’
Bale looked sheepish. ‘I gave it to Brother Wardard.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Roger, not altogether approvingly. ‘I forgot he and Vitalis were friends.’
‘Actually, sir, I gave it to him because… well, I told him it belonged to Sir Geoffrey’s mother.’
‘Why would he want something of hers?’ asked Geoffrey, startled. ‘I suspect he was once enamoured of her, but it was a long time ago, and he is now in holy orders.’
Bale sighed rather wistfully. ‘He told me that he never stopped loving her, and that seeing you brought her back to him as if she was alive all over again. Especially when you went into battle.’
‘Did he?’ asked Geoffrey, feeling this was rather an unsuitable confidence for a celibate monastic to share with a squire.
Bale nodded. ‘I was telling him about my own desire for a wife, see. A good woman, who will love me for myself. And he said that if I find her, I should grab her and slit the throat of anyone who tries to stand in my way.’
Geoffrey laughed. ‘Did he now?’
‘Well, all right – he said I should fight for her and not let a lesser man have her instead of me. But he was pleased with the ring and said he would pray to God to send me a lovely lady.’
‘God help her,’ muttered Roger.
Geoffrey regarded his squire in mystification. ‘You are a strange man, Bale. You give a ring to Wardard, whom you barely know, and you donate your gold to Roger. Why?’
‘They came from corpses, sir,’ said Bale in a hushed voice. ‘And Galfridus gave such a sermon on Sunday about the perils of such goods that I have not felt comfortable since.’