Simon Beaufort - The Bloodstained Throne

‘Roger told me your father died by his own hand,’ came a voice. Geoffrey turned to see Wardard. ‘You must have been distressed that he should meet such an ignoble end.’

‘Goodrich is a happier place without him,’ said Geoffrey shortly, thinking of the misery Godric had inflicted on family and tenants during his violent life.

‘So I heard from Bale.’ Wardard was rueful. ‘It seems I was over-hasty when I declined to tell you of Godric’s role in the battle. Most men whose fathers fought here revere them as heroes — and some were abject cowards. But Roger tells me you are well aware of Godric’s faults.’

‘He was flawed. Like all of us.’

‘Your mother deserved better,’ said Wardard, almost to himself. ‘She was a fine woman.’

‘So I am told,’ remarked Geoffrey dryly.

Wardard grinned suddenly. ‘Perhaps I would be wise not to reminisce too freely about her. Well, we shall discuss Godric instead, then. Men fight better when they have friends around them, but Godric was not a man for friends. He was too brutal, too outspoken and too arrogant.’

‘Did he run away that day?’

Wardard nodded. ‘But he was not the first, nor even the second. And he rallied with the rest when they were given orders to attack again. He was braver than some, less than others.’

‘Truly? He did not balk at the first hurdle and call for others to flee?’

Wardard rested his hand over his heart. ‘As God is my witness. Godric fell back early, but I did not hear him calling for anyone to go with him. He was not a hero, just a man.’

‘Then why did Vitalis tell me such a tale?’

‘I told you: his illness confused his memories. There was a knight who screamed his terror at the first charge and unnerved others. But it was not Godric. You will find your recollections become hazy with age, too. It happens to us all.’

‘So why did the Conqueror give him his estates?’

‘That was in recognition of your mother’s contribution,’ replied Wardard. ‘Herleve really did fight valiantly. She was an inspiration to all who saw her. Godric never knew the truth — and would not have acknowledged it if he had.’

Geoffrey was silent for a while, wondering how his mother could have borne listening to Godric’s self-aggrandizing lies all those years. He was not generally proud of his family. With the exception of Joan, they had been acquisitive, dishonest, violent and selfish. But, for the first time, he saw his mother might have possessed qualities he could admire.

‘Fear not,’ said Wardard, seeming to read his thoughts. ‘You are more like her than him.’

Geoffrey was relieved and grateful to know Vitalis had been mistaken. He tried to imagine the formidable Herleve at Hastinges with her axe, but he could not recall her face, and the features that came to mind were those of his wife. It was dusk as he stepped outside the church, and, full of thoughts and memories, barely heard Harold, who waylaid him to say again that he would protect him from Magnus once the Saxons had triumphed. Seeing himself ignored, Harold went to talk to some of the lay-brothers instead, all of whom were delighted to see him.

Geoffrey had not gone much farther when he saw Magnus slinking away from the abbey and towards the fishponds. Intrigued by the Saxon’s almost comic furtiveness, Geoffrey followed. Magnus glanced behind frequently and stopped to listen on several occasions, but Geoffrey had no trouble staying out of sight, even on the open battle land.

Eventually, Magnus reached the trees that shielded the ponds, and Geoffrey heard him speak, his tone urgent and confidential. Cautiously, Geoffrey eased through the vegetation to see that a number of men — many of them lay-brothers — had gathered around the largest pond. There was a good deal of splashing, some grunts of exertion, the sound of metal against metal, and then a deep plop. Magnus hissed some additional instructions, and the cohort trailed back towards the abbey, chatting happily and making no attempt to disguise where they had been.

When he was sure they had gone, Geoffrey eased forward and knelt where Magnus had crouched. The edge of the pond was thick with churned mud, amid which lay a flat stone. He lifted it and saw a rope underneath. One end disappeared into the water, and he traced the other to where it was securely fastened to a tree. He noted it was carefully concealed under grass the entire distance. Back at the pond, he discovered another two rocks, a rope leading from each.

He sat for a while, thinking, then walked to the hospital to fetch what he needed. Roger was already asleep — his vigil evidently forgotten — and although he stirred when Geoffrey moved about the room, he did not wake. Geoffrey returned to the fishponds and took up station in the undergrowth again. Gradually, daylight faded to dusk and then to night.

He was perfectly relaxed, and for the first time in days his thoughts were clear. He had answers to nearly all his questions — and he understood why he had made mistakes and drawn erroneous conclusions. Perhaps more importantly, he knew how to make amends. But first he had to wait until he heard the telltale scrape of a leather boot on the wall. When the sound came, he eased forward, so that as the dark figure dropped he was ready to meet him.

‘Fingar!’ he called softly. ‘It is Geoffrey.’

The pirate captain looked around wildly, sword in his hand. ‘Come out, where we can see you,’ he snarled.

More sailors swarmed over the wall, several holding crossbows and all carrying daggers. Geoffrey sincerely hoped his assumptions were right and that he was not about to make a fatal mistake. He stepped into the open. A crescent moon dodged in and out of flimsy clouds, just bright enough to let them see him. An owl hooted nearby, low and eerie, followed by the answering call from a marsh bird that had the pirates glancing around in alarm.

‘Fays,’ muttered Donan. ‘They have not gone far since Patrick went down.’

‘I have come to offer you some gold,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I do not know how much. It may be more than you lost to Roger, it may be less. If I tell you where it is, are you prepared to forget what he took and leave us alone?’

‘That depends,’ said Fingar. ‘I do not want to leave with next to nothing, because I make some Devil’s pact with you.’

‘The Saxons are mustering a rebellion and have been raising money to fund it. I know where they have hidden it. You can have it all. But you must give me your word that you will leave Roger alone.’

‘How much gold have they gathered?’ asked Fingar.

‘I told you: I do not know.’

‘Where is it?’ demanded Donan. ‘Tell us, and we will let you live.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey. ‘That is not the bargain. I want you to swear — on your lives — that you will never trouble Roger or my squires again. You will forget about your own gold.’

‘No,’ said Donan suspiciously. ‘It sounds like a trick.’

Fingar agreed. ‘And how do you know you can trust us — that we will not take this Saxon gold and hunt Roger anyway?’

‘Because I have invoked a curse,’ replied Geoffrey calmly. ‘With those marsh fays you heard. If you break your word, the curse will follow you until they snatch away your souls.’

At that moment, the bird cried again, piercingly, so that some of the sailors crossed themselves. The moon ducked behind a thicker cloud, and the night was suddenly very dark.

‘All right,’ said Fingar, unsettled. ‘I am of a mind to be generous. Show us.’

‘Swear first,’ said Geoffrey.

‘You will tell us, and then I will thrust my sword into your gizzard, so you can thank God for a quick death!’ cried Donan, darting forward with his weapon raised. This time the bird’s cry was high and wavering. Fingar jumped forward and grabbed him.