‘You have no alibi, though,’ said Ulfrith, looking hard at Juhel. ‘Sir Geoffrey has one, but you were gone a long time before you joined us.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Juhel with a shudder. ‘Because I was in the sea, fighting for my life. I came to you the moment I could stand — but I certainly had no spare strength for murder. You must look for another culprit. Magnus — what do you have to say for yourself?’
‘Vitalis was a Norman,’ said Magnus in disdain. ‘One who fought at the battle that saw my father slain. It is beneath my dignity to soil my hands with his blood.’
‘Down!’ hissed Roger sharply, dropping to his belly on the damp, sandy path. Geoffrey was beside him almost before he had finished speaking; long years of campaigning had taught him that instant obedience could mean the difference between life and death. The squires were not far behind, although Magnus and Juhel stood stupidly before they were dragged from their feet.
‘How dare you!’ snarled Magnus, trying to free himself.
‘Hush!’ snapped Roger. ‘The sailors are coming! Do you want to be killed?’
The crew were indeed making their way to the path, carrying all they deemed portable. It would be only a matter of moments before they stumbled across their hiding passengers.
‘They will see us!’ squeaked Magnus in terror, indignation forgotten. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Perhaps they will leave us alone when they see we will fight,’ said Roger, drawing his sword.
‘We cannot win against so many.’ Geoffrey glanced around urgently. ‘We should hide.’
‘Too late!’ whispered Juhel. ‘They are here!’
Just as the first sailors reached the path, there was a yell from their captain, and they turned and trotted obediently back to him. They gathered in a circle, where Fingar was announcing something in a furious howl. Whatever news he imparted seemed to incense them, too, because there was a good deal of yelling. Although Geoffrey could hear them quite clearly, they spoke a language he did not understand.
‘It looks as though they have lost something,’ said Juhel. ‘My God!’
This last exclamation was in response to an action of Fingar’s. One of his crew had been edging towards the path again. The captain’s weapon flashed and the man fell.
‘That is a bad sign,’ muttered Bale. ‘We would do better to avoid them.’
‘He is right,’ said Magnus, addressing Roger. ‘We should slip away now, while they are busy with each other. Hurry! You must not dally when your king has commanded you.’
‘If I am to be in your service, I should be paid,’ said Roger, following him along the path at a rapid lick. The others were not far behind. ‘Did you save any gold or jewellery from the ship?’
‘I might have a little gold,’ hedged Magnus evasively.
‘How little?’ demanded Roger. He was not easily deceived where money was concerned. ‘Jerosolimitani do not come cheap.’
‘Well, I do not have a lot with me,’ admitted Magnus. ‘But it will not be long before I can give you whatever you like — treasure, land, even a see.’
‘A see?’ asked Roger, intrigued. ‘You mean to make me a bishop? Like my father?’
‘Yes. Then you will have tithes to enjoy, and manors and woodlands in which to hunt — although you will have to give sermons on Sundays. All you have to do is see me safely on my throne. And help me depose Henry the Usurper.’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey sharply. ‘He is not going to become involved in treason.’
‘It is treason to back the Usurper against England’s rightful king,’ flashed Magnus.
‘I might help you,’ said Roger slyly. ‘But only if you can pay me appropriately. Ulfrith, too. He is a good Saxon lad.’
‘And me,’ said Bale. ‘But I do not want gold. I want a wife — one who likes me.’
‘I will see what I can do,’ said Magnus, looking as though he thought finding a loving wife for Bale might be considerably more difficult than providing a bishopric for Roger.
Geoffrey did not waste his breath pointing out that assisting rebels against a powerful king like Henry was suicide — especially a rebel like Magnus, who was either an impostor or a madman with illusions of grandeur. He only walked faster, wanting as much distance between him and the sailors as possible. They had not gone far before they reached a junction.
‘Here is the path to the abbey,’ said Magnus, pointing to the track that wound inland. ‘It becomes a causeway that runs across the marshes, before rising to higher ground. We can be there by this afternoon.’
‘Then we should hurry,’ said Juhel. He nodded to where the thunderheads were now a good deal closer. ‘I am not keen on meeting Fingar’s crew; nor do I want to sit out here while the heavens open.’
Geoffrey would have preferred to continue along the coast, but suspected that was the route the sailors would take — no mariner liked to be too far from the sea, and they would be looking for another ship. Reluctantly, he conceded that wasting a day or two at the abbey was preferable to taking the coastal path with Fingar on his heels. Without a word, he took the abbey track, ignoring Roger’s victorious smirk as he assumed Geoffrey had yielded to the conditions of his loan.
‘The sailors are coming this way, too,’ blurted Ulfrith after a while. ‘They are following us!’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Perhaps they just want to be a little distance inland when the storm breaks.’
‘Damn this path,’ muttered Roger, glancing around uneasily. ‘We can be seen for miles! There are few trees and the bushes are low. And the mud! You can tell it is dangerous — if we leave the path, we will be sucked under.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Magnus. ‘But I know these marshes like the back of my hand. If the sailors gain on us, we shall hide in a channel. Of course, that might be a mistake if the tide comes in. .’
‘Then we should stay well ahead,’ said Geoffrey, breaking into the steady trot that he could maintain for hours, even in full armour. ‘Although they have no reason to attack us.’
The others seemed to think differently, but they were struggling to keep up and made no reply. Roger was breathing hard under the weight of his possessions, while Juhel’s chicken cackled her displeasure at the way she was being jostled. Bale began to lag behind, and Ulfrith was obliged to mutter encouragement to keep him going. Magnus was the only one who seemed happy running, and Geoffrey wondered how much of it the Saxon pretender had done in his life.
‘So,’ said Magnus, using the opportunity to talk, ‘you do not believe I have a right to my throne?’
‘I do not believe you can take it from Henry,’ corrected Geoffrey. ‘Belleme tried it last summer and failed — and he had troops and castles.’
‘I do not intend to fight him in open warfare,’ said Magnus contemptuously. ‘There are other ways to topple a tyrant. I shall-’
‘No,’ interrupted Geoffrey. ‘I do not want to know. And you can leave Roger out of it, too. I will not allow him to become embroiled in something so dangerous. We will travel with you to the abbey, but after that you are on your own.’
Magnus smiled under his silver moustache. ‘We shall see. But let us talk of other matters, since we are the only ones with the breath to do so. You have not said who you think killed Vitalis.’
‘That is because I do not know.’
‘Well, he was an aggressive Norman fool, and you should not waste your time. He had the temerity to say that I look nothing like my father.’
‘Did he?’ asked Geoffrey, uninterested.
‘He said he fought at Hastinges. So did I — well, perhaps I did not fight exactly, but I was there, at my mother’s side. However, I know what my father looked like, and I am his very image.’
‘My father said he was sturdy and strong,’ said Geoffrey pointedly.
‘Quite,’ said Magnus, preening. ‘And he had thick yellow hair, just like me.’
‘Yours is grey.’