Geoffrey was beginning to feel sick, and he crawled towards the door, groping for the bar that secured it. Roger came to stand next to him, to make sure he did nothing foolish, although Geoffrey was somewhat calmed by the blasts of wind shooting through the gaps on to his hands.
‘You promised to show me a cathedral being built, sir,’ whispered Bale. ‘It is a pity I shall die without seeing one.’
He was on the verge of tears, and Geoffrey was startled. In most situations, Bale was fearless enough to be a liability, yet he was frightened now. And Roger, one of the bravest men he had ever met, was reverting to underhand tactics to make him swear vows he did not want to take. The dog whined, and Juhel shot it a reassuring smile that failed to conceal the terror that lay beneath it.
Then Roger dropped to his knees, hands clasped together. The big knight only ever prayed in churches, and then only in a very indifferent manner. The overt piety unsettled Geoffrey.
‘You must make the vow, sir,’ said Ulfrith in a low voice. ‘You must agree to bide by God’s wishes and not travel to the Holy Land.’
‘Please!’ squeaked Magnus. ‘It is unfair to kill us all for your own selfish ends.’
‘God, deliver us from small, dark, cramped, water-filled places,’ intoned Roger, one eye open to gauge his friend’s reaction. ‘Do not allow your faithful servants to perish in airless holes-’
‘All right,’ cried Geoffrey, yielding to the intolerable pressure. ‘I will not go.’
Lightning forked outside, followed by a clap of thunder so loud that Magnus flung his hands over his ears and began to wail in terror. Harold dropped to his knees, as Roger shot up from his. Bale and Ulfrith clutched each other for support, and Juhel scrambled to grab his agitated chicken.
‘You have to do it properly,’ shouted Roger. ‘Kneel and put your hands together, like King Harold, and say the words in a clear, loud voice, to make sure the Almighty can hear. You have to mean them, too. He knew you were insincere just now, which is why He sent the lightning.’
Geoffrey dropped to one knee in the icy water and placed his hands as Roger had instructed.
‘I will not go to the Holy City,’ he said, although the thunder was so loud that his voice was barely audible. ‘I will remain in England until God instructs me otherwise.’
The thunder finished its roll and died away.
‘It is easing off already,’ said Bale, relieved. ‘We are all saved. Thanks be to God!’
‘Amen,’ chorused the others, and even the hen clucked.
It did not sound as though it was easing to Geoffrey, although he supposed the next rumble might be a little farther away. His companions began an impromptu celebration, and Bale was so convinced the danger was over that he curled into a ball and fell asleep.
The storm did fizzle out eventually, and Geoffrey stood to leave, itching to be away from the cave. But Harold said the marshes were likely to have been re-sculpted, and it would be a pity to survive the gale only to drown in a newly created bog in the dark. Geoffrey spent what was left of the night outside, sleeping peacefully, if damply, under an alder, while the others stayed in the comparative comfort of the shelter.
Shortly after dawn, which was bright and clear, Geoffrey climbed to the top of the shelter to take stock of their surroundings. The marshes behind the coast were ruggedly beautiful and, now the storm was over, full of birds. But everywhere were signs of the storm: wood, branches and other debris lay thick on the ground, and Geoffrey could see at least six trees on their sides, roots clawing upwards. Nearby were two smashed boats and the sodden carcass of a sheep.
It did not take long to locate a causeway that led roughly north, although parts had been washed away or were so covered in mud that it was difficult to follow. It was a grimy, dishevelled group that finally emerged from the squelching flatlands to climb a low, oak-clad hill. Geoffrey looked back at the land they had traversed. It was dissected by channels and streams, some fringed by trees and shrubs, but most bare, and everywhere were pools of water. To his surprise, the grey walls of Pevenesel Castle were startlingly near, and they were not in the direction he had expected. Thus, it was with reservations that he followed Harold and Magnus, both of whom claimed to know where they were going.
‘I have horses nearby,’ said Harold to his half-brother, taking a bulb of garlic from his pack. ‘Well, for you and me. You did not tell me you would bring supporters, so I only arranged for two.’
‘We are not supporters,’ said Roger. ‘You should stop saying that.’
‘You should be proud to serve your rightful king,’ asserted Magnus. ‘Many men would give their right arms to be in your position.’
‘Men with no right arms would be of no use to you,’ Bale pointed out helpfully. ‘They would be unable to put up a fight, and warriors like me would slaughter them.’
‘I have decided not to accept your offer of a see, Magnus,’ said Roger. ‘On reflection, I do not think life as a bishop would suit me. So we will travel with you as far as this abbey, but there our association finishes.’
‘We shall see,’ said Magnus in a voice that made Geoffrey look at him sharply. The sense that things were not all they seemed, which had been with him since Magnus had grabbed him in the frothing waves, returned more strongly than ever, and when he saw Juhel listening carefully to the exchange, his unease intensified. He trusted none of the little party.
‘We will say prayers of deliverance in the abbey,’ determined Roger. ‘And Geoff can talk to Brother Wardard. But none of it will take long, and we shall be on the road today.’
‘The road to where?’ asked Ulfrith. He glanced uneasily at Geoffrey. ‘Not Dover, I hope.’
‘I swore a vow,’ said Geoffrey tartly, annoyed that the squire should question his integrity. ‘You are going to Durham, and I will travel west. Joan will not mind seeing me again so soon.’
‘Neither will Hilde,’ said Roger with a leering wink. ‘Unless you have put her with child already, in which case she will want you gone until it is safely delivered. She will not like you tampering with her when she is carrying — they never do.’
Geoffrey did not reply and concentrated on their surroundings. It would be a pity to be taken by Fingar now, just because they were careless. He listened intently, alert for anything that might suggest an ambush. It would be a perfect place for one — the track was narrow and hemmed in by vegetation. Roger also listened, glaring Juhel into silence when the man started to chatter.
‘Is there another way to the abbey?’ Like Geoffrey, Roger did not like the look of the path.
Harold shook his head. ‘Not from this direction. Why? What is wrong with it?’
‘Birds,’ replied Roger, looking meaningfully at his friend.
Geoffrey nodded his understanding, and they listened again.
‘What about birds?’ asked Juhel in a whisper. ‘I cannot hear any.’
‘Quite,’ said Geoffrey. ‘We should be able to, but there is nothing.’
‘Perhaps it is too early in the morning for them,’ suggested Harold, demonstrating an outrageous lack of countryside awareness.
‘More likely, they have been disturbed.’ Geoffrey drew his sword and advanced cautiously.
He had not gone far before a movement caught his eye. He shot into the undergrowth after it and was astonished to find not battle-hungry seamen or would-be wreckers from the villages, but a man in dark, sodden clothing, who climbed to his feet with an expression of pure relief.
‘Sir Geoffrey!’ he breathed. ‘Thank God! I thought you were a marsh fay!’
It took some time for Brother Lucian to explain how he came to be in the woods, because Roger, Magnus and Harold kept interrupting to give details about their own experiences. Bored, Juhel wandered off to sit alone. Eventually, though, Geoffrey understood what had happened.