‘You were right: there is something wrong about this place,’ said Roger as Bale slipped away. ‘And Bale might be right: I think I can smell blood, too. The sooner we are gone, the better.’
Geoffrey’s reply was drowned out by a monstrous shriek, and he saw men running from the woods wielding weapons. At their head was Donan, his face a savage grimace of hatred. In the distance, Geoffrey was aware of the Saxons, Juhel and Lucian swivelling around in alarm. They scattered immediately. Magnus ran awkwardly, all knees and flailing arms, while Juhel tipped himself forward and trotted like an overweight bull. Harold and Lucian were less ungainly, and Geoffrey did not think he had ever seen a faster sprinter than the monk.
‘Death to thieves and saboteurs,’ Donan howled, sword whirling. ‘Now you will pay!’
Geoffrey’s weapon was drawn long before Donan’s cry had faded, and he stood calmly next to Roger, waiting for the onslaught. Not all the pirates were there, but Donan’s contingent numbered about a dozen, all carrying swords, daggers or cudgels.
If Geoffrey and Roger had been mounted, twelve sailors would not have caused them much trouble. The additional height, and the length of their swords, meant they could have hacked at their attackers without much risk to themselves. It was more difficult for a knight to fight on foot, but, even so, Geoffrey was not unduly worried by a dozen undisciplined mariners. He and Roger fought back to back, making it difficult for more than a few opponents to attack at a time. Roger’s long reach was especially devastating — he killed one and injured another in the first few moments.
‘That contains something of ours,’ yelled Donan when the first savage encounter was over and the surviving crew had fallen back to regroup. He pointed at the bundle near Roger’s feet. ‘Give it to me, and I shall kill you quickly. Refuse, and you will regret it.’
‘You drowned my horse,’ said Roger through clenched teeth. ‘And I took compensation. If you have any sense, you will leave while you are still in one piece.’
Geoffrey stole a quick look beyond their attackers. Ulfrith was tackling a single opponent, the two slashing at each other in a highly predictable pattern, and Bale was chasing a cabin boy around one of the houses, doggedly determined to make a kill. Their fellow passengers were nowhere to be seen.
Roger glanced at Geoffrey, passing a silent message, then, before the sailors understood what was happening, both knights launched simultaneous attacks, swords whistling in a series of vicious swipes and thrusts. The ferociousness of the offensive allowed for no rejoinder. Geoffrey dropped one man with a thrust through the chest, then twisted around and sent the dagger skittering from the grasp of another. Fingerless, the man fled, ignoring Donan’s screech to stand fast. Out of the corner of his eye, Geoffrey saw another man fall to Roger’s onslaught.
Donan faced him, spitting his fury at what was becoming a rout. Geoffrey feinted to his left, then chopped at a man’s shoulder, but before he could follow up, he felt a burning pain as a dagger slid under the mail on his right side. He whipped around and saw off the attacker with a thrust that penetrated the man’s thigh, but the sharp sting of his own cut did not encourage him to press his advantage. Swearing vilely, the sailor limped after his retreating fellows, Donan among them.
‘We should finish this,’ said Roger grimly. ‘We shall have no peace as long as they are alive.’
‘If you want peace, then give them back their gold,’ snapped Geoffrey, hand to his side.
‘I will not! It is mine, and I will kill anyone who tries to take it.’
As the sounds of the pirates’ flight receded, Geoffrey leaned against a tree to catch his breath. Roger took Ulfrith to check there were no lingerers, and Bale hurried to take his sword and clean it — a task he always enjoyed. The knight could see from the squire’s bloody hands that Bale had triumphed in his own skirmish.
‘Did you kill the cabin boy?’ he asked, disapprovingly.
‘Unfortunately, he was too nimble for me,’ said Bale unhappily. ‘I am not the hare I once was. But I slipped up behind one villain and slit his throat before he knew I was there.’
Geoffrey did a quick survey. The encounter had left six dead and several seriously wounded, and he suspected Donan would not attack again until Fingar and the remaining seamen were there to reinforce him. Then he saw the gleam in Bale’s face that always shone when there was violence.
‘Do not gloat over your victims,’ he said sharply. ‘It is not seemly.’
‘Why not, sir?’ asked Bale with genuine curiosity. ‘He would have killed me — and you. Why should I not be pleased I got him first?’
‘We treat our dead enemies with respect.’ Geoffrey’s side was burning, and he was in no mood to discuss battle etiquette with a man who was incapable of understanding.
Bale’s face was a picture of confusion. ‘William the Bastard did not treat the Saxon dead at Hastinges with respect. He left them for carrion and made no attempt to bury them.’
‘Perhaps so, but no one went around pawing their corpses and stealing their jewellery.’ Geoffrey looked pointedly at the gold earrings Bale held in one bloody paw.
‘Sir Roger took a dagger from the man he killed in Bristol last year,’ argued Bale. ‘He said the corpse no longer needed it, so it should go to a good home. I was following his example.’
Geoffrey sensed he was losing the debate and did not have the energy to regain the initiative. ‘I cannot make it any clearer except to say that you should not steal from corpses or take pleasure in your opponents’ deaths,’ he said shortly.
‘But I do enjoy it, sir,’ protested Bale. ‘There is something satisfying about dispatching a man who would have killed me, and to pretend otherwise would be dishonest.’
Geoffrey gave up. He shook his head in weary defeat and heaved himself upright as Roger and Ulfrith returned.
‘Is that a serious wound, Geoff?’ asked Roger. ‘Shall I see to it?’
Geoffrey shook his head, not wanting to be subjected to Roger’s rough and clumsy ministrations. ‘We should leave before they come back. Where are the others?’
‘Well, poor Harold is over there,’ said Roger with a vague wave. ‘He is dead.’
Geoffrey walked to where he indicated, aware of a sinking sensation in his stomach when he saw the slashed throat. Bright yellow hair tumbled across the cheerful, once-smiling face, and he crouched down to push it back.
‘Damn you, Bale,’ he said softly. ‘You have just killed a contender for the English throne.’
‘Bale killed King Harold?’ asked Roger, gaping in horror. ‘God’s blood! Now we shall have Saxon rebels baying for our blood, as well as pirates!’
‘But he was racing towards you with a sword, sir,’ objected Bale. ‘I acted from instinct.’
‘He did look fearsome,’ said Ulfrith loyally. ‘I saw him dash towards you while I was fighting that helmsman — the one I defeated.’
‘How did you know he was not aiming for the pirates?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘That he did not intend to join the fight on our side?’
Bale thought carefully before replying. ‘Well, I did not know, not for certain. But he came out of that church, and everyone else in there is dead. Obviously, he killed them all, so I thought I had better cut his throat before he slaughtered you, too.’
‘What are you talking about?’ snapped Geoffrey impatiently. ‘Who is dead in the chapel?’
‘The villagers, I suppose,’ replied Bale with a shrug. ‘Ask King Magnus.’
‘Where is Magnus?’ asked Roger.
‘Over there, being sick.’ Bale’s voice took on a note of defiant pride. ‘He does not have the stomach for massacres. You would never see me vomiting at such sights. And I told you I could smell blood. I was right — the church is drenched in it. I peeped inside it after that boy ran away.’