‘Amen to that,’ agreed Magnus as Geoffrey winced, still unable to accept that a man he had loved like a brother would have written such things. ‘There is only one man who should be sitting on that throne: me. I tried to overthrow the Bastard in the years following Hastinges — I invaded with my brothers, but something always went wrong. I even begged help from my Norwegian kin, but they declined, and time passed. Now I am ready to try again.’
‘So, you have invaded England alone?’ asked Geoffrey caustically. ‘That was brave.’
Magnus scowled. ‘I have a plan. It begins at the abbey, at the high altar. It stands on the spot where my father was foully slain, you see, so Henry will never touch me there.’
‘Right,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether they had been wise to take a shortcut across treacherous bogs recommended by a man who was so patently out of his wits. ‘And how will you take Henry’s crown from there?’
‘It is not his; it is mine,’ snapped Magnus. He glared at the knight. ‘You said earlier that you did not want to know my intentions, but now you are full of questions. Why?’
‘Curiosity, I suppose,’ said Geoffrey, wishing he had remained in blissful ignorance.
Magnus pulled himself up to his considerable full height. ‘All I will say is that La Batailge will go down in history as the place where Saxon honour was restored. And you are the lucky men who will be remembered for helping to bring it about.’
Geoffrey saw the fierce blue light of the fanatic burning in Magnus’s eyes and knew he believed he would succeed. That made him dangerous. Geoffrey stopped walking abruptly.
‘I want no part of this,’ he said. ‘I have seen how the King treats traitors, and I have a wife to consider. You can go to the abbey, but we are going the other direction.’
‘I would not do that, if I were you,’ said Magnus, a crafty look stealing across his thin face. ‘Those sailors are catching up fast and they do not look friendly. Even two Jerosolimitani cannot fight thirty seamen, so we shall have to run again — all of us.’
Geoffrey had not fled from many confrontations during his life as a soldier, and it went against the grain. Besides, he saw no reason why the sailors should mean them harm — if anyone should bear a grudge, it was the passengers against Fingar, for losing the ship — and he was keen to talk to them. Roger was unwilling to let him try.
‘You put too much faith in your negotiating skills,’ he said. ‘Pirates are not reasonable beings, anyway. I am not staying here to be cut down, and Magnus knows somewhere we can hide.’
Just then there was a furious yell from behind, and Geoffrey saw the mariners coming closer, rage etched into every movement. He stared in puzzlement. They had been on the beach together the previous day, and there had been no trouble then. So what had changed?
‘I do not like this,’ gasped Juhel, bending double to catch his breath. ‘They are so determined to get us that they have abandoned their salvage. Why do that, with those scavengers still at large?’
‘Where is this refuge?’ Roger demanded of Magnus, his face red from exertion. ‘If we do not reach it soon, it will be too late.’
Magnus began flailing furiously with a stick at the side of the causeway. He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes in intense concentration, then began prodding a little farther on. He gave a triumphant yell. ‘Here!’
Geoffrey regarded the narrow track he had exposed. It looked like something made by birds, cutting raggedly between two treacherous-looking bogs. ‘I still do not understand why-’
‘Come,’ ordered Magnus urgently. ‘They will never follow us down there. Hurry!’
Geoffrey glanced behind and saw the seamen drawing steadily closer. He frowned. There was definitely something odd about their determination to catch their former passengers. Magnus seemed keen to evade them, and so did Roger. Had one of them done something to antagonize them?
‘Run!’ urged Magnus, plucking at his sleeve. ‘Stealing is a hanging crime among pirates.’
Geoffrey was puzzled. ‘We have not stolen anything.’
Roger looked defiant. ‘No, we have not. We took only what is rightfully ours.’
Geoffrey regarded him in horror. ‘What have you done?’
Roger scowled, then unclenched one of his big fists to reveal three gold coins. ‘They paid for the loss of our horses.’
‘That does not explain why they are chasing us,’ said Geoffrey. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Or did you take it without their permission?’
‘These were lying on the beach,’ said Roger defiantly. He sighed when Geoffrey looked sceptical. ‘All right — they were in that chest. But when they left it unattended, it seemed a good opportunity to claim what was our due.’
Geoffrey was disgusted. ‘No wonder they are angry! Give the money to me. I will return-’
‘No,’ said Roger shortly. ‘Those damned villains owe me a horse, so the only way they are getting this back from me is if they take it from my corpse.’
‘They will not be content with its return now anyway,’ Magnus pointed out. ‘They will kill us regardless. I have been forced to associate with Fingar for years, and he is deadly when crossed — even his own men are terrified of him.’
Geoffrey stole a glance over his shoulder and saw the captain was leading the chase. Even from a distance, Fingar’s face was slashed with a savage fury, and he suspected Magnus was right: Roger’s actions had crossed some irreversible line.
‘Your only hope for avoiding death is to come with me, but I will not wait,’ said Magnus, moving away. ‘Come now or die.’
Reluctantly, Geoffrey followed him along a narrow path that soon had them out of sight from the main track. Then he was stumbling along a barely visible trail that snaked past quicksands, through alder thickets and across muddy channels. It jigged and twisted, and Geoffrey quickly lost all sense of direction. They had not gone far when Roger, bringing up the rear, released a yell that brought Geoffrey to an abrupt standstill. Then came the sound of clashing weapons.
Ignoring Magnus, who declared that thieves should be left to their fate, Geoffrey raced back along the path. But when he reached Roger, it was to find his friend wiping the blade of his sword on the grass, two bodies lying nearby.
‘They will not be hoodwinking hapless travellers into sailing with them again,’ he said grimly. ‘I have saved countless lives by dispatching such wicked fellows.’
‘Come on,’ said Geoffrey urgently. It was no time for Roger’s contorted logic and twisted morals — the slapping of feet on mud indicated more sailors were catching up. He turned and ran, Roger’s lumbering footsteps behind him.
It was easy to retrace his steps at first — his rush to Roger’s aid had left a trail of broken twigs and bruised leaves — but then the path disappeared. Geoffrey had the uneasy sense that Magnus had abandoned them, but he blundered on, breath coming in short gasps and sweat drenching his shirt under his heavy mail. Roger was already slowing, and Geoffrey knew they could not keep up such a rapid pace for much longer.
‘Here!’ Juhel suddenly hissed from one side. ‘This way.’
He rearranged the bushes after the knights went by, to disguise their passage. It was not a moment too soon, because one of the ship’s boys appeared, carrying a dagger and clearly intending to use it. He raced past, eyes fixed on the more obvious track ahead. Four or five others followed, and then there was silence.
‘Hurry,’ said Juhel, pushing past Geoffrey so he could be in front. ‘Magnus said he would post Ulfrith at the next junction, but I do not trust him.’
‘I do,’ panted Roger. ‘He needs us as much as we need him — more, probably. And besides, there he is.’