‘Bear me to the shore,’ the fellow ordered imperiously. ‘I cannot swim another stroke.’
Geoffrey struggled to be free of him. ‘Your servant needs help.’
‘Take me to the shore first,’ the man snarled.
Angrily, Geoffrey prised his hands away, but when he looked to where Simon had been, there was only water.
For the second time that afternoon, Geoffrey was forced to strip off his clothes so Bale could wring them out. It was not pleasant to replace them, chilled as he was, but even sodden garments were better than none in the biting wind. He jumped up and down in an attempt to warm himself, at the same time listening to Juhel regale the Saxon with details of how the current had dragged him miles along the beach before he could break free of it. The Saxon remained haughtily aloof, although he did not object when Juhel helped him remove his clothes for wringing — now the hapless Simon was dead he seemed unsure how to make himself more comfortable.
‘You cannot go to the Holy Land, Sir Geoffrey,’ said Bale, resuming their earlier conversation as though it had never been interrupted. ‘God wants you to stay here, see.’
Roger agreed. ‘He wants us in England, and I dare not risk His wrath again. I am staying and I urge you to do the same.’
Geoffrey was relieved. Since he had no money, taking companions was out of the question anyway. He would miss Roger’s ready sword and cheerful friendship, but it could not be helped.
‘We are lucky,’ said Bale. ‘Not only are we still alive, but we are still in England. We might have ended up in Normandy.’ He crossed himself vigorously, shooting the others meaningful looks.
Ulfrith nodded sagely. ‘And with Robert de Belleme rampaging there we would have been killed within a week.’
‘Do not be ridiculous!’ said Roger. ‘How would he have known we had arrived? Belleme does not rule all Normandy, and he does not know everything that happens.’
Bale and Ulfrith exchanged a glance that said they thought differently. Geoffrey was wary of the wicked Earl of Shrewsbury’s network of informants, too. Belleme had been banished from England the previous year and was currently venting his spleen on his Norman domains, leaving behind death and destruction. Geoffrey’s decision to travel to the Holy Land the longer way through Denmark and Franconia said a good deal about his reluctance to venture into the hellish maelstrom of Belleme’s sphere of influence.
The light was fading, but with the end of the day came a respite from the storm. The wind lessened and the stinging slash of rain gave way to drizzle. The waves still crashed on to the shore, however, thrusting pieces of wreckage before them. As the locals resumed their relentless advance, Geoffrey suggested that he and his companions find somewhere safe to spend the night.
‘Which way?’ asked Roger, gathering up his possessions. Besides his armour and weapons, he had somehow contrived to save all his better clothes and a heavy pouch stuffed with coins and jewellery. Geoffrey might be penniless, but Roger remained wealthy.
Geoffrey considered. ‘Just before we left the ship I saw a tower. It was probably a church, but it looked to be made of stone, so it must belong to a settlement of some substance — not like the hamlets of these fishermen.’
‘Then why did no one come to help us?’ demanded Roger. ‘It is unchristian to sit in warm houses while we shiver out here.’
‘All the villages around here consider wrecks their personal property,’ stated Ulfrith.
Geoffrey grimaced. Ulfrith spoke with conviction, but he was miles from where he grew up, so could not know what ‘all the villages around here’ believed. Still, Geoffrey was sure about one thing: the sullen fishermen who fingered their knives and cudgels were Saxon and would certainly be happy to strike a blow against two Norman knights. The conquest thirty-seven years before was still raw in the minds of many, and Normans had done little to make themselves popular with the nation they had so ruthlessly subjugated.
‘We had better make a move before it is too dark,’ he said.
‘I think that headland we passed — the one with the beacon — lies a few miles from Pevenesel,’ said Ulfrith tentatively. ‘We cannot be very far from the castle there.’
‘Good,’ said Roger fervently. ‘I would rather lie in a cramped hall full of snoring Norman soldiers than on a Saxon feather mattress.’
‘Look!’ cried Bale suddenly. ‘Someone else is coming our way!’
Ulfrith gave a grin of unadulterated delight. ‘It is Lady Philippa and Lady Edith! They must have been washed farther down the coast, like Juhel.’
With a happy whoop, he raced away to greet them.
Two
Philippa and Edith were elegant ladies, but chalk and cheese. Edith was a tall, golden-haired beauty with a long neck, large blue eyes and haughty Norman manners; Philippa was small, dark, lively and full of opinions. Edith was older and the more dominant of the pair.
Geoffrey had spent little time in their company on Patrick due to their husband’s vehement accusations. However, what he had seen of them convinced him there was not an intelligent thought in the head of either.
‘Vitalis is dead!’ wept Philippa as Ulfrith ushered them forward. ‘He was alive when we reached the shore, but water must have swelled inside his lungs and choked him, even as he gave thanks for his deliverance. What shall I do now? He was all I had!’
‘There, there, sister,’ crooned Edith. ‘We shall look after each other. I will never leave you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Philippa, forcing a wan smile. ‘And I suppose we have two knights to protect us now. Thank God! I thought we might have to throw ourselves on the mercy of a rabble.’
She gazed distastefully at the pirates and then at Ulfrith and Bale, who, as mere squires, were too lowly to be considered genteel company. Ulfrith did not notice and continued to beam. His happy grin faded at the next comment, however.
‘Have you seen dear Brother Lucian?’ asked Edith. ‘We looked for him on the beach but saw only two drowned sailors. And Lucian’s manservant. He was dead, too.’
‘Poor man,’ said Juhel with gentle compassion.
Philippa barely glanced at him, clearly considering a mere parchmenter beneath her. Then she started to cry. ‘Actually, it is poor Vitalis! And poor Lucian!’
‘Vitalis was a good man,’ Edith agreed, also tearful. ‘We shall have masses said for his soul when we reach a place of safety.’ After a moment, she inclined her head towards the villagers. ‘Do they mean to attack us? They seem very menacing.’
‘They frighten me,’ added Philippa. ‘I do not want to stay here.’
Edith agreed. ‘No one else will come ashore alive now, and we should consider our own safety. It distresses me to leave without knowing poor Brother Lucian’s fate, but he would have understood our need to protect ourselves.’
‘He certainly would,’ muttered Ulfrith. ‘He was a selfish brute, who put himself above everyone. He was the first overboard when Fingar gave the order to abandon ship.’
‘We must stay together,’ said Juhel to Geoffrey and Roger, apparently deciding that two knights represented his best chance of staying alive. ‘At least until we reach civilization.’
‘Do you have money?’ asked Roger bluntly. ‘Or just that chicken?’
Juhel smiled and raised the cage so everyone could see the disconsolate bundle within. Geoffrey saw his dog lick its lips and leaned down to grab it before it did anything irreversible.
‘My bird is worth more than all the treasure in Jerusalem,’ Juhel declared. ‘But I have enough gold to pay my way. I saved my dagger, too, so I am not completely helpless. But the ladies are right: we should not linger here with daylight fading.’