Simon Beaufort - The Bloodstained Throne

Juhel had a sword, although it was clear he was happier fighting with knives. Ralph’s blood was up, and Geoffrey suspected he would be difficult to control. Galfridus was openly terrified and had only agreed to join them because Ralph told him he needed to set an example to his monks.

Geoffrey indicated that the door should be opened, and he rode out. He had expected more taunts when the Saxons saw that the Norman ‘cavalry’ comprised only seven horsemen, but there was only silence as they formed a line.

‘Now we shall see Norman blood!’ howled Ulf in delight. ‘We have waited almost forty years for vengeance and we begin today. We shall start by killing the monks and replacing them with Saxons. Who will accept the post of abbot of La Batailge, the first monastery to be freed?’

‘I would not refuse it,’ offered Aelfwig modestly.

‘I am sure you would not,’ yelled Ralph. ‘But you are not worthy, you Saxon pig.’

‘I am a damned sight more worthy than you or Galfridus,’ retorted Aelfwig angrily. ‘At least I do not stuff myself with carp every day and spend the abbey’s money on bad carvings. Nor do I sneak off at night for secret sessions with sheep.’

There was an uncertain smattering of laughter.

‘I was testing the quality of their wool,’ said Ralph to Galfridus, flushing scarlet. Mortified, he lashed out at Aelfwig again. ‘You are the son of a whore, and you are a terrible herbalist. Our graveyard is full of the people you have killed with your bumbling ministrations.’

‘Well, your mother was a witch and your father was a. . a Norman!’ yelled Aelfwig, drawing appreciative cheers from the Saxons.

‘Lord!’ muttered Roger to Geoffrey, unimpressed. ‘Do we sit here all day and trade insults? Is that their idea of a battle?’

‘Let us hope so,’ said Geoffrey soberly. ‘Because these men are not soldiers. What a ridiculous state of affairs! Magnus and Ulf do deserve to die for initiating this.’

‘Vile, dirty pigs!’ yelled Ralph. ‘Cowardly, stupid oafs, who cannot even read!’

‘We do not want to read,’ said Osbjorn, galled into joining in. ‘Not if it will make us like you.’

‘Lovers of goats!’ came Ralph’s shrieked response. ‘And donkey bug-’

‘Ralph!’ snapped Galfridus, deeply shocked. ‘Please! This is an abbey!’

‘All Normans are slugs!’ shouted Aelfwig. His comrades regarded him with pained expressions, unimpressed by the quality of the rejoinder, so he added, ‘Uncultured ones.’

‘Do we ignore this abuse?’ demanded Hugh, keen for action now he had gone through the discomfort of loading his ancient bones with armour and being shoved on a horse.

‘Yes, we do,’ said Geoffrey quietly. ‘I do not want to kill such people, and I cannot imagine you do either.’

‘I do, actually,’ countered Hugh testily. ‘One of them just called me a maggot. Charge!’

And he was away, riding hard into the Saxons and slashing with his sword — until it became too heavy for him and he dropped it. Not wanting a seventh of his army to be cut down without support, Geoffrey had no choice but to follow. He drove his horse at the milling mass of humanity, but did not use his sword, which he held above his head. He was vaguely aware of Roger striking out with the flat of his, mostly terrifying his opponents into flight with a series of unnerving battle cries learned from the Saracens.

Geoffrey disarmed Aelfwig, who was causing as much damage to his friends as his enemies, then knocked a pitchfork from the hand of a groom. More Saxons shrank back in alarm when his horse, which had been well trained, reared and flailed with its front hooves. Suddenly, he found himself emerging at the back of the Saxon line, having ridden clean through it with virtually no resistance. Roger and Wardard were not far behind. When Eadric saw them, his jaw dropped in horror and he raced back to Ulf’s side.

‘I do not like this,’ said Roger in distaste. ‘It is like fighting nuns.’

Geoffrey saw he had grabbed Osbjorn as he had passed, and had the man slung over his saddle. The Saxon lord screeched his fury, but his struggles were to no avail as long as Roger’s powerful hand held him down.

‘They barely know how to hold their weapons,’ said Wardard, also disgusted.

Geoffrey glanced behind and saw that Galfridus had fallen off his mare and was riding pillion on Juhel’s, sketching benedictions in all directions. This threw Ulf’s troops into even greater confusion. Some bowed their heads to accept the blessings, while others stood uncertainly.

Ralph and Hugh were doing their best to make up for their comrades’ lack of aggression, though. The sacristan slashed wildly with his weapons, occasionally cutting his own mount as well as his opponents, while Hugh jabbed here and there with a dagger.

‘Perhaps it is just as well Breme did not deliver your message,’ said Wardard softly. ‘If royal troops had arrived, Werlinges would not have been the only place to suffer a massacre.’

Geoffrey agreed. ‘Run!’ he yelled, riding the warhorse at the Saxon line again. ‘Go home, before you are all in your graves.’

‘He is right,’ said one man, ducking away from one of Hugh’s blows. ‘It is too dangerous here.’

He turned and fled, and others joined him. Roger rode at a tight, bewildered pack of lay-brothers, who scattered in all directions, and then it was a case of driving others after them, much as dogs with sheep.

Ulf was livid and tore after his men, catching one a vicious chop between the shoulder blades. It served to drive even more of his followers towards the gate, and when Geoffrey yelled in the Saxon tongue that Ulf was defeated, the rout was complete. Ulf screamed that he was nothing of the kind, but his supporters had lost the stomach for their skirmish and preferred to believe Geoffrey.

Red with fury and frustration, Ulf charged back to a knot of his horsemen, who were milling about in hopeless confusion, and ordered them to take up formation around him. Then he bellowed an order, and the little cavalcade rode at a hard pace, not towards the gate, but to the ponds.

‘Who are those men?’ Geoffrey demanded of Osbjorn, who was still in an undignified heap over Roger’s saddle.

‘Seven are his housecarls,’ replied the captured Dane miserably. ‘And the eighth is Aelfwig — he must have grabbed someone else’s horse to join them. All will fight at Ulf’s side until they die.’

‘They will die if they continue to fight,’ said Roger grimly. ‘Where are they going?’

‘To the fishponds,’ said Osbjorn, pathetically eager to cooperate. ‘There is gold hidden there, and Ulf will claim it before he leaves. The treasure we hid in the water is stolen, but more is buried under a tree. He will use it to rebel again, although he can do it without me. I would have followed Harold or even Magnus. But never him.’

‘We must stop him,’ said Wardard urgently to Geoffrey and Roger. ‘Too many Saxons have died for his foolishness already, and I will not let him destroy more. Will you help me?’

‘Me, you and Geoff against eight Saxon warriors and an inept herbalist,’ said Roger. Then he grinned. ‘The odds are good enough for me!’

Geoffrey, Roger and Wardard thundered towards the marshes, leaving Juhel, Hugh and Ralph to chase away the last of the Saxons and imprison Osbjorn. Aelfwig was already emerging from the trees with a bundle, staggering under its weight.

‘We cannot let him take it,’ shouted Geoffrey.

Wardard chuckled. ‘Ulf will not be financing anything with what is inside that sack, Geoffrey. I took the opportunity to exchange it for a few rocks after I saw you had only given half his treasure trove to your pirate friends.’