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.’
Geoffrey glanced at him. ‘You were not with Juhel, were you?’
Wardard nodded. ‘This is my abbey, my home. Do you really think men can come in and hide their loot without me knowing?’
‘What did you do with it?’ asked Roger, with more than a passing interest.
Wardard smiled. ‘It is locked in the crypt and will be used to purchase the services of a decent
medicus
. We were wrong to give Aelfwig the post and we need to make reparation. Do not worry: it will not fall into the hands of rebels.’
‘This is your fault!’ shrieked Ulf, sword at the ready when he saw the three horsemen. ‘We were poised for victory, and
you
snatched it from us.’
Geoffrey reined in his horse and studied the opposition. He, Roger and Wardard were outnumbered three to one, and their opponents were of the same calibre as the men who had fought at Hastinges, then Ulf might yet live to sow more seeds of rebellion.
‘My mother could have commanded the situation better than you did today,’ jeered Roger. ‘If your rout is anyone’s fault, it is yours.’
Ulf snatched the sack from Aelfwig and scrambled back into his saddle.
‘Finish it,’ he ordered his men. ‘No survivors and no quarter.’
The housecarls advanced quickly, while he rode a short distance away to inspect his treasure. Aelfwig followed, muttering in his ear. But there was no time to ponder what he might be saying, because Geoffrey, Roger and Wardard were suddenly facing opponents who knew what they were doing.
‘If you had fought like this earlier, you might have won,’ gasped Roger, as he fenced with Eadric, forcing the smaller man back with the ferocity of his assault.
Geoffrey urged his horse forward fast as another knight aimed to strike his friend’s unprotected back. The resulting clang of the parry rang out like a bell. He recovered more quickly than his opponent, and a left-handed slash with his dagger opened the man’s innards, before a hard chop with his sword dropped another from his saddle. Wardard had already dispatched one of his adversaries, and Geoffrey saw that although the housecarls might well have trained hard, they had little experience of real fighting.
‘Kill them!’ Ulf screamed, flinging off his helmet and hauling a green hat on his head in its place. ‘I will meet up with you later!’
‘Go!’ Eadric yelled back. ‘Save yourself. We will keep them occupied.’
Ulf needed no second invitation. He rode between the skirmish and the fishponds, and Geoffrey saw he was going to escape. He spurred forward to stop him, but two housecarls mounted a coordinated attack that forced him to retreat. He wheeled around and swung his sword in a savage arc that dispatched one of them, and there was a howl of pain as Wardard dealt with the second. Leaving Wardard to help Roger with those remaining, Geoffrey tore after the would-be king.
‘You strangled Vitalis!’ he shouted, as the last mystery became clear. ‘You saw us wrecked, and waited to see if there was anything to steal. You were with Gyrth.’
‘I killed an old man,’ sneered Ulf, turning around to face him. ‘But he had nothing worth taking – except a paltry ring that I could not wrench from his finger anyway. Neither do you, but you will be worth killing regardless!’
Geoffrey met his powerful stroke, then thrust back, intending to force Ulf from his saddle. He might have succeeded, had Ulf’s horse not skittered backwards. Geoffrey slashed again, and as Ulf ducked away, his horse skidded in the mud at the pond edge. It slipped, then fell, hurling Ulf backwards into the water. His armour caused him to sink like a stone. Aelfwig ran to the edge of the water with a cry of horror.
‘Fetch him out!’ he screamed. ‘He will drown!’
Breaking away from Wardard, the last surviving housecarl leaped off his horse to obey, but the moment his feet touched the ground, Roger knocked him on the head with the pommel of his sword. The fellow dropped, insensible, and Eadric dropped his weapon and raised his hands when he found Wardard’s sword at his throat.
Aelfwig was pointing and gibbering, beside himself with anguish. Not far under the surface was Ulf, arms flailing. Geoffrey could see his terrified eyes and the whiteness of his face against the green water.
‘Help him!’ screeched Aelfwig.
‘
You
help him,’ said Roger, unmoved. ‘He is your king.’
‘I am not strong enough,’ sobbed Aelfwig. ‘He will drown me.’
Geoffrey watched as mud billowed to obscure the agonized face, aware that he was holding his own breath. He closed his eyes tightly, then began to pull the surcoat over his head. Roger grabbed his shoulder.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
‘I cannot see a man die like this,’ said Geoffrey, struggling away from him. ‘Let me go.’
But Wardard joined Roger with a grip that was impossible to break, and Geoffrey had no choice but to watch the churning pool and the final torments of the man caught there.
Eventually the water became calm and the mud began to settle. No more than the length of an arm under the surface was Ulf, fair curls floating like a halo.
‘There they are!’ came a voice from farther up the field. It was Juhel, and with him was a stocky, dark-haired horseman whom Geoffrey recognized immediately. It was the Duke of Normandy.
‘Where is the battle?’ demanded the Duke eagerly.
‘Most of the rebels have fled, my Lord,’ replied Juhel. ‘These were all that remained.’
‘Oh,’ said the Duke, disappointed. ‘I was in the mood for a skirmish. Now, what did you say it was about?’
‘A Saxon uprising, Sire,’ explained Juhel.
‘Against my brother?’ asked the Duke keenly.
‘Only a very small one,’ explained Juhel. ‘Just a few peasants and a handful of disinherited Saxon nobles. The sight of you and your retinue was more than enough to end the last skirmishes.’
‘So, I helped to thwart a rebellion against Henry, did I?’ asked the Duke softly. ‘Damn!’
Epilogue
Henry was none too pleased to learn that his brother had arrived in his kingdom uninvited, and the Duke was sufficiently alarmed by the prospect of a hostile reunion that he asked Henry’s queen to intercede on his behalf. In the end, the two met with forced amicability, after which the Duke set off for home. When he heard the news, Roger was bemused.
‘Is that it?’ he asked as he sat with Geoffrey in the hospital. ‘After all that sailing around at sea, terrifying the life out of half of Sussex, he just turns around and goes away?’
‘Just be thankful he did,’ said Geoffrey. ‘For a while, there was a very real possibility that Henry might eliminate the threat he presents by throwing him in prison – and imagine the trouble
that
would have caused!’
Roger blew out his lips in a sigh. ‘The Duke is a fellow
Jerosolimitanus
, so I owe him my respect. But the man is a damned fool! You may not like Henry’s devious ways, but England is safer with him than it ever could be with the Duke.’
It galled Geoffrey to agree with him.
He had not wanted to linger in Sussex, but Juhel pointed out that to travel to Herefordshire or Durham before explaining themselves to the King might be construed as sympathy for the Saxons. So Geoffrey and Roger kicked their heels at La Batailge, and within a few days the abbey was graced with a royal visit.
Juhel and Henry were sequestered in Galfridus’s solar for the best part of an afternoon. Almost immediately, Osbjorn and several Saxon nobles were spirited to distant castles to face lifelong imprisonment, and the abbey began to recruit new staff, all of them Norman. Before he disappeared on his next assignment, Juhel came to speak to the two knights.
‘Does the King want to see us?’ asked Roger.
Juhel shook his head. ‘But I am afraid he had every last detail out of me. He is too clever to be deceived by lies.’
Geoffrey was unimpressed. ‘You promised to say nothing about our involvement.’
‘I said I would
try
– and I
did
. I went almost an hour before he realized I had more help than Galfridus and Wardard could have supplied, and demanded names. Do not be alarmed. I told him your loyalty was beyond question.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Roger, pleased. ‘Will he reward us?’
Juhel gave a short laugh. ‘He said he expected no less of men who hold estates from him, and that you had done no more than your duty. However, I am afraid he was irritated to learn you had been leaving the country when
Patrick
was wrecked.’
Roger glared at Geoffrey. ‘And did you tell him it would not be happening again?’
Juhel nodded. ‘And that you had tried to warn him, by sending a message with Breme.’
‘Poor Breme,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Did you hear that Aelfwig has confessed to killing him?’
‘Yes, so now you have answers to all your questions: Magnus stabbed Paisnel; Ulf choked Vitalis; Philippa strangled Edith; and Gyrth and his men murdered the villagers of Werlinges on Ulf’s orders. And I did not kill anyone.’
‘No, you did not,’ said Geoffrey with a smile. ‘Nor are you a spy for Bellême.’
‘What will you do now?’ asked Juhel, smiling back. ‘Hope God sends you a sign saying you are free to journey to the Holy Land?’
Geoffrey shook his head. ‘I will go home to my wife.’
‘Then what about Tancred?’
‘I suppose I will never know why he took against me. And even if he does write to invite me back, I cannot break the oath I made in that damned mud hole.’
Juhel looked sympathetic. ‘Well, I have news that may amuse you. Lucian inspected another document Philippa took from Edith, and found a codicil to Vitalis’s will. It bequeaths Edith a wealthy manor, so she will not have to take another husband. It also stipulates that if Edith accepts the estates, she must undertake to look after Philippa for the rest of her life.’
Geoffrey shook his head, disgusted. ‘In other words, had Edith lived, Philippa would have been taken care of by someone who liked her. Now Edith is dead, she has nothing.’
‘Quite,’ said Juhel with satisfaction. ‘And she will spend the rest of her life regretting the spat of temper that saw her throttle a loving friend with red ribbon.’
Later that morning, Geoffrey went in search of Roger, who had disappeared. He looked in all the likely places, including the local taverns, and it was only towards the end of the afternoon that Bale came to say Roger was in the church. Geoffrey entered its cool, spacious interior, the squire at his heels, and found him at the high altar, kneeling next to Galfridus and Ralph. His expression, however, was far from devout.