‘Where have you been?’ demanded Magnus furiously. ‘I ordered you to stay with me, not go haring off. Here is the next junction, and we turn right. No, left.’ He reconsidered. ‘No, it is right. Hide our tracks, Ulfrith.’
‘You must have been very young when William fought Harold,’ said Geoffrey to Magnus, watching Ulfrith jump to obey. ‘When were you last here?’
Magnus started to jog along the path he had chosen. ‘I was eight when I fought at my father’s side at Hastinges, and eleven when I last tried to wrest my throne from the Normans, so it has been some thirty years. . but I know these paths well-’
The rest of the sentence was lost as he plunged head-first into a boggy pool. With some trepidation, and aware that the sounds of pursuit were coming closer again, Geoffrey tugged him out, recalling that earlier Magnus had admitted to being with his mother during the battle. The Saxons’ great hope was liberal with the truth.
‘I was just seeing how deep it was,’ snapped Magnus in embarrassment, once he was on dry land. He looked around quickly, then headed for a mud bank that stood the height of a man. Its sides were slippery with algae, and trees grew along its crest, roots twisting downwards. He scrabbled towards a dense patch of brambles. ‘This is it. Help me.’
To his surprise, Geoffrey saw a cunningly hidden refuge — a screen of woven twigs concealing a small door that led to a dank cavern. Magnus dived inside, leaving the others to follow. Ulfrith, Juhel and Bale were next, then Roger; Geoffrey brought up the rear, dragging the screen back into position as he did so.
The cave was a marvel. Not only was it so well concealed that it was invisible from outside, but it was surprisingly spacious. It comprised a single chamber, high enough at the front to allow a man to stand without stooping, and tapering off to shadowy recesses at the back. It was wide enough for several men to stand side by side without touching, and there were pots and containers attached to the walls, suggesting it was sometimes used for extended periods.
However, it was pitch black once the door was shut, and it felt close and airless. Geoffrey detested underground places of any kind, and ones that had slippery walls and water on the floor were among the worst. He felt his chest tighten when the stench of old mud clogged his nostrils, and he was sure there was not enough air for everyone to breathe. He began to cough, trying desperately to muffle the sound, which made it worse. The urge to run outside again was intense.
Roger reached past him and cracked open the door. The gap was no more than the width of a finger, but it allowed light and air to filter inside and was enough to let the panic recede. Roger clapped a gruffly comforting hand on his shoulder. Geoffrey had once been in charge of a countermine under a castle Tancred was besieging, and it had been several days before they had excavated him after its collapse. Although years had passed, the terror of his ordeal remained. He focussed his attention on the sliver of light, forcing himself not to think about where he was.
Meanwhile, the pirates had discovered the path and had reached the mud bank. It began to rain hard, so that the whole marsh seemed to hiss and sway with the force of it, and somewhere nearby a bird issued a low, undulating cry. Donan, Fingar’s rodent-faced second-in-command, muttered a prayer to ward off evil spirits.
‘Fays,’ he said. ‘They haunt bogs and come out to grab unwary souls. Unless you cross yourself and say the name of your favourite saint three times, they will get you.’
Immediately, a variety of saints were invoked in a mixture of Irish and English, some of whom Geoffrey had never heard of.
Fingar bent to inspect some footprints, and the dog began to growl. Sensing rather than seeing a movement behind him, Geoffrey became aware of Magnus holding a knife — he intended to kill the animal, to shut it up. Geoffrey crouched down and put his arm around it, reassuring it into silence.
Just when Geoffrey was sure they were going to be caught, Donan pointed across the marshes.
‘There!’ he hissed. ‘I saw a flash of movement. It must be them. Come on!’
Most of the men followed, although Fingar stood uncertainly, squinting into the rain and clearly not convinced that Donan was right. But Donan shouted something else, and, with an impatient grunt, Fingar followed. And then they were gone.
Five
Inside the cave, a collective sigh of relief was heaved. Roger sheathed his sword, and Geoffrey opened the door a little wider. The shelter might be cleverly constructed, but it stank, for some reason, of garlic, and he preferred the odour of wet vegetation from outside.
‘We have given them the slip,’ said Bale in satisfaction. He sat on a platform that was obviously intended to serve as a bed, and glanced up at Roger. ‘How much are those coins worth?’
Roger tossed him one, accompanying it with a grin that oozed wicked greed. Bale hefted it in his hand and whistled under his breath before handing it to Geoffrey, who was also astonished by its weight. He had never seen such a thick, heavy coin and was certain each would be worth a small fortune — more than ample to buy horses and travel to the Holy Land. He was not surprised Fingar was keen to have them back.
‘How many did you take?’ he asked. ‘Just three?’
‘A handful,’ replied Roger evasively. ‘I did not have time to count.’
‘How many?’ repeated Geoffrey coldly.
With considerable reluctance, Roger emptied the pouch on his belt. A dozen or so gold coins dropped out, along with a huge number of silver ones of lesser value. Geoffrey was horrified.
‘There is a king’s ransom here!’ he cried. ‘Fingar and his men will follow us to the ends of the world to get this back.’
‘You are right,’ said Juhel. He was pale, and Geoffrey saw he was equally shocked by Roger’s crime. ‘Men are willing to risk anything for this kind of money.’
‘It is paltry,’ said Roger dismissively. ‘They were lucky I did not demand their salvage, too.’
‘If I had such a fortune, England would be mine in a week,’ said Magnus, eyeing it lustfully. ‘I do not suppose you would care to donate it to the cause? I will repay it with interest when I am king. And I will make you Bishop of Ely.’
‘Not Ely,’ said Roger in distaste. ‘It is surrounded by bogs. I want Salisbury.’
‘You may be waiting some time,’ warned Juhel. ‘For your gold and your title.’
Magnus glared. ‘I will repay him tenfold before the end of summer.’
‘I shall not part with it just yet,’ said Roger, although Geoffrey was alarmed to see he was giving the offer consideration. Roger was a man for whom ‘tenfold’ was a tempting word.
‘You are wise,’ said Juhel. ‘King Henry would not be pleased to hear that the funding for a Saxon revolt came from Norman knights.’
‘How would he hear that?’ demanded Magnus, rounding on him. ‘Will you tell?’
Juhel laughed. ‘Of course I will! He and I often dine in his private chambers, and he frequently asks my advice. I shall mention it the very next time I see him.’
‘Enough,’ said Geoffrey. Magnus’s visions of Saxon rebellion were no better than smoke in the wind. ‘I am more concerned with Fingar. None of us will be safe until you give that money back.’
‘Rubbish,’ declared Roger. ‘For all Fingar knows, these are coins I carried in my personal baggage, and he will never be able to prove otherwise. Besides, he is a pirate, so this is almost certainly gold he stole from someone else.’
‘Then it is probably cursed,’ said Juhel. ‘The original owners may have asked God to avenge the crime by making dreadful things happen to the thieves. I always do, when villains wrong me.’
‘We should give it back,’ said Bale, crossing himself hurriedly. ‘I have heard that pirates are rather free and easy with curses, too.’
‘They are not,’ said Roger, with completely unwarranted confidence. ‘My father is Bishop of Durham, so you can trust that I know about such things.’