The Bloodstained Throne Read Free Page B

his armour and surcoat first. Then a crashing breaker tossed the pair within reaching distance.
    The Saxon was swimming strongly, so Geoffrey flailed towards Simon, but the Saxon grabbed Geoffrey around the neck as he passed. Geoffrey tried to push him away, but the Saxon’s grip was a powerful one. He glanced at the man’s face, expecting to see panic or terror, and was startled to see it calm and determined.
    ‘Bear me to the shore,’ the fellow ordered imperiously. ‘I cannot swim another stroke.’
    Geoffrey struggled to be free of him. ‘Your servant needs help.’
    ‘Take me to the shore first,’ the man snarled.
    Angrily, Geoffrey prised his hands away, but when he looked to where Simon had been, there was only water.
    For the second time that afternoon, Geoffrey was forced to strip off his clothes so Bale could wring them out. It was not pleasant to replace them, chilled as he was, but even sodden garments were better than none in the biting wind. He jumped up and down in an attempt to warm himself, at the same time listening to Juhel regale the Saxon with details of how the current had dragged him miles along the beach before he could break free of it. The Saxon remained haughtily aloof, although he did not object when Juhel helped him remove his clothes for wringing – now the hapless Simon was dead he seemed unsure how to make himself more comfortable.
    ‘You cannot go to the Holy Land, Sir Geoffrey,’ said Bale, resuming their earlier conversation as though it had never been interrupted. ‘God wants you to stay here, see.’
    Roger agreed. ‘He wants us in England, and I dare not risk His wrath again. I am staying and I urge you to do the same.’
    Geoffrey was relieved. Since he had no money, taking companions was out of the question anyway. He would miss Roger’s ready sword and cheerful friendship, but it could not be helped.
    ‘We are lucky,’ said Bale. ‘Not only are we still alive, but we are still in England. We might have ended up in Normandy.’ He crossed himself vigorously, shooting the others meaningful looks.
    Ulfrith nodded sagely. ‘And with Robert de Bellême rampaging there we would have been killed within a week.’
    ‘Do not be ridiculous!’ said Roger. ‘How would he have known we had arrived? Bellême does not rule all Normandy, and he does not know everything that happens.’
    Bale and Ulfrith exchanged a glance that said they thought differently. Geoffrey was wary of the wicked Earl of Shrewsbury’s network of informants, too. Bellême had been banished from England the previous year and was currently venting his spleen on his Norman domains, leaving behind death and destruction. Geoffrey’s decision to travel to the Holy Land the longer way through Denmark and Franconia said a good deal about his reluctance to venture into the hellish maelstrom of Bellême’s sphere of influence.
    The light was fading, but with the end of the day came a respite from the storm. The wind lessened and the stinging slash of rain gave way to drizzle. The waves still crashed on to the shore, however, thrusting pieces of wreckage before them. As the locals resumed their relentless advance, Geoffrey suggested that he and his companions find somewhere safe to spend the night.
    ‘Which way?’ asked Roger, gathering up his possessions. Besides his armour and weapons, he had somehow contrived to save all his better clothes and a heavy pouch stuffed with coins and jewellery. Geoffrey might be penniless, but Roger remained wealthy.
    Geoffrey considered. ‘Just before we left the ship I saw a tower. It was probably a church, but it looked to be made of stone, so it must belong to a settlement of some substance – not like the hamlets of these fishermen.’
    ‘Then why did no one come to help us?’ demanded Roger. ‘It is unchristian to sit in warm houses while we shiver out here.’
    ‘ All the villages around here consider wrecks their personal property,’ stated Ulfrith.
    Geoffrey