The Bloodstained Throne Read Free Page A

a moment that God had engineered one for his benefit. ‘I will go alone.’
    ‘How?’ demanded Roger. He nodded to the saddlebag in Bale’s hand. ‘You did not bother to save your gold, and you have no horse. How do you propose to reach the Holy Land?’
    He had a point. Geoffrey’s little manor on the Welsh borders was experiencing a lean period, but his sister – who managed the estate in his absence – had managed to scrape enough together for his journey. He could hardly go back and ask for more, especially since Joan had not wanted him to go in the first place. Neither had his wife – Geoffrey had recently been forced into a political marriage in the interests of peace. But he had a burning desire to travel east again, and it had not taken many weeks of life in the country before the yearning had become too strong to ignore.
    ‘You should return to Lady Hilde, sir,’ recommended Bale tentatively, when he saw Geoffrey had no reply to Roger’s remarks. ‘She is not yet with child.’
    Geoffrey gaped at the effrontery, but Bale suddenly lowered his bald head and vomited a gush of seawater, and the knight supposed he had spoken out of turn because he was not himself: Bale was normally diffident to the point of obsequiousness. Meanwhile, Roger was more concerned about their current predicament than his friend’s obligations in the marriage bed.
    ‘Fingar is incompetent,’ he declared. ‘His ship was a paltry, leaking basin, not fit to bob down a river. I could tell just by looking that it would sink in the first puff of wind.’
    ‘Then why did you not say so in Bristol?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘You were happy when we sailed – especially when you learned he might be a pirate. You entertained high hopes of joining him in his work, so you might share the spoils.’
    ‘Pirates!’ spat Roger. ‘He and his crew are no more pirates than my mother.’
    Geoffrey glanced at him. Roger had some very odd relations, so it was entirely possible that Roger’s mother – long-term Saxon mistress to the corrupt and treacherous Bishop of Durham – might take to the high seas for booty.
    ‘ Irish pirates,’ said Bale, looking evilly at the seamen and fingering his favourite dagger. His weapons were his most prized possessions, lovingly honed to a vicious sharpness on a daily basis. ‘And not even a Christian part of Ireland. They are infidels who worship graven images and drink the blood of babies.’
    ‘Oh, really, Bale!’ exclaimed Geoffrey irritably. ‘They are just—’
    ‘I want them to pay for my horse,’ interrupted Roger, working himself into a temper. ‘I know they have gold, because I saw it.’
    ‘Where?’ asked Bale eagerly.
    Roger pointed with a thick finger, indicating a sturdy, heavily secured box about the length of his forearm. It stood in the middle of one of the salvaged piles. ‘I saw them counting what was in it just this morning. If they had been watching their sails instead, we would still be afloat.’
    ‘It is thanks to Fingar’s fine seamanship that we survived at all,’ argued Geoffrey. ‘A lesser sailor would have lost the ship out at sea, where we would all have drowned.’
    ‘Regardless, they will pay for my horse,’ vowed Roger.
    Meanwhile, a small sailor with a pinched, mean face became aware that Roger was eyeing the chest. Donan was Fingar’s second-in-command, and he muttered something to his companions as he pushed it out of sight. Geoffrey did not like the looks that were exchanged and was about to tell Roger to be careful when Juhel suddenly cried out, jabbing his finger towards someone struggling through the waves.
    ‘It is that rude Saxon,’ said Ulfrith. ‘The one who never bothered to tell us his name.’
    ‘His servant is with him,’ said Bale. ‘Simon.’
    But the Saxons were in difficulty. Geoffrey tore down the beach and into the churning waves, fighting to stay upright as the water surged around his legs. Too late, he realized he should have removed