Simon Beaufort - The Bloodstained Throne

Harold sighed in a long-suffering manner. ‘We are both irrelevant until we overthrow the Usurper. Then we shall ask our vassals to decide whom they want as king.’

‘A democracy to elect a king?’ asked Geoffrey, amused. ‘What an odd notion!’

‘Not at all,’ said Harold, smiling at him. ‘Once our subjects have made their choice, I shall revert to the autocracy that works so well.’

‘They will not choose you,’ said Magnus disdainfully. ‘You are too short.’

‘You mentioned a twin brother,’ said Juhel, as Harold looked hurt. ‘Is he to participate in this election, too? Or perhaps there are yet more siblings who would like a chance to win a crown?’

‘My two older brothers are dead, and the younger ones are happy in Norway,’ replied Magnus. ‘Ulf intends to put himself forward, but no one will choose him — he is violent and would be a tyrant. Indeed, I forbade him to come anywhere near my uprising — he will put people off.’

‘Not so,’ cried Harold, stung. ‘My brother is just misunderstood and has no patience with fools. He spent the best years of his life as the Bastard’s prisoner, so it is not surprising he is bitter.’

‘Whichever of you it is will have to dispatch England’s current king first,’ said Juhel. He was struggling to conceal his amusement at the notion that the likes of Harold and Magnus could best Henry.

‘We have a nation full of bold Saxon warriors,’ declared Magnus haughtily. ‘And when they see I have returned, they will rally to my call.’

Harold crunched loudly on a clove of garlic. Geoffrey wondered whether he had strayed into a community of madmen, because he had never heard a more ridiculous collection of claims and aspirations.

‘And when will this grand summoning take place?’ asked Juhel, smothering a smile.

‘In a while,’ said Harold, waving an airy hand. ‘Now Magnus is here we can get on with it. That is why I was waiting here for him, as we had agreed. We have signed a formal contract to be brothers-in-arms and to make no moves against each other until the Usurper is deposed.’

Juhel finally lost his self-control and roared with laughter, until Ulfrith pointed out that the sailors might hear. Geoffrey peered out of the door and detected angry voices in the distance. He frowned as something Harold had said jarred in his mind, and he turned to face him.

‘You said you were waiting here for Magnus, but Patrick was bound for Ribe. So how-’

Magnus was unrepentant. ‘I paid Fingar ten pounds to drop me off, but the storm blew up, and he said he would be unable to fulfil our arrangement. I was lucky we happened to founder here.’

‘I have been waiting here for the best part of a week,’ said Harold, looking at his surroundings in distaste. ‘A mud-hole is scarcely a suitable haunt for a future king!’

‘It was not chance that we sank here, was it?’ said Geoffrey, looking hard at Magnus. ‘ That is why the sailors were inspecting the wreckage — they suspect foul play. It also explains why you were so keen to escape. It is not just the theft of their gold that drives them after us, but the sabotage of their ship.’

Magnus shrugged. ‘What choice did I have? England awaits, and I have a destiny to fulfil. Simon took an axe to some vital timber, so we would put ashore as near to Hastinges as possible.’

Geoffrey was disgusted. ‘Is that why you let him drown? You hoped his death would appease the crew, and they would not blame you for the disaster?’

‘It did not work,’ said Magnus ruefully. ‘But I am here now, and my work can begin.’

The storm that had been approaching all day hit with breathtaking ferocity. Even from their mud refuge, Geoffrey could hear the surf pounding the beach, while the wind that screamed across the marshes ripped branches from trees and uprooted bushes. Travel was impossible, so Roger, who hated long periods of enforced inactivity, probed the Saxons relentlessly about their plans. It was not long before the whole tale emerged.

Magnus had been a child and Harold unborn when their father had been defeated near Hastinges. There had followed a few sporadic rebellions, but the Normans were efficient and ruthless and soon stamped out revolts. The Bastard was succeeded by two of his sons — first William Rufus and then Henry. The latter had been obliged to quell an uprising by his barons, led by Belleme, but had put it down with comparative ease.

Harold’s offspring had watched from afar, and when Belleme was routed, they decided to act, on the grounds that Henry’s troops would be battle-weary and the royal coffers drained. Geoffrey thought they were wrong on both counts: Henry’s soldiers were professionals who did not tire of fighting, and Henry had seized the property of the exiled barons, so was actually rather well off. He had the resources to finance a war on a scale unimagined by the dreamers in the mud cave.

‘So,’ concluded Roger, ‘you agreed to meet in this hole a week ago. .’

‘I am a little late,’ acknowledged Magnus. ‘But how was I to know the journey from Ireland would take so long?’

‘And you bribed Fingar to drop you off,’ Roger continued, ‘because you decided it was better not to disembark at a proper port, lest King Henry got wind of it.’

Magnus nodded. ‘But I sense you are not fond of the Usurper, either; my instinct is never wrong about these things. Did you fight for Belleme last summer?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Roger, offended. ‘I would never demean myself by fighting for a tyrant — well, I might, if he paid well enough. Geoff and I were engaged on important business for the King, and Henry was so grateful that he offered us posts in his household.’

‘But you did not accept?’ asked Harold. ‘That was wise. The Usurper often forgets to pay and has a nasty habit of sending his retainers on very dangerous missions.’

Geoffrey gazed at him in surprise, wondering how an exile would know. Magnus saw the look and gave a self-satisfied smile.

‘We have our spies. You think we are unprepared, but we have been watching and waiting for more than thirty years.’

‘Do you prefer Tancred to Henry, Geoffrey?’ asked Juhel, sitting on the bed next to Bale and opening the chicken’s cage.

‘I prefer the Holy Land to England,’ he replied evasively. ‘It rains too much here.’

Juhel laughed. ‘So the weather determines your allegiances? Well, why not? It is as good a reason as any.’

The chicken emerged from its cage and fixed Magnus with sharp eyes. He edged away, sitting with his long legs folded in front of him and his bony arms ready to fend off an airborne attack.

‘Keep that thing away from me, Juhel,’ he ordered. ‘I do not like it.’

‘She is not overly enamoured of you, either,’ said Juhel, laughing again. ‘What strange company I find myself in today! Two princelings who intend to start a civil war, and two knights and their squires who prefer the Holy Land to the country where they were born.’

‘Not true,’ said Roger. ‘I do not care where I am, as long as I am well paid. And I am not going to the Holy Land. I shall head north as soon as I see him safely on a ship.’

‘You will serve us , then?’ asked Harold eagerly. ‘A knight would be a good start to our army.’

‘I might,’ replied Roger. ‘But I will wait and see what happens.’

Geoffrey was relieved, thinking that if Roger was their first recruit, then the rest of their force would take a long time to assemble — by which time Roger would have grown bored and deserted.

‘Come, my love,’ said Juhel, pursing his lips and blowing a smacking kiss at his hen. ‘Show these hot rebels and tepid loyalists your beautiful feathers.’