‘The Duke means to invade?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily.
‘He might, although I have heard nothing about him raising an army,’ replied the guard. ‘Perhaps he will challenge Henry to mortal combat and save the expense. But you cannot come in anyway, whoever you are,’ he added to Magnus.
‘Galfridus will see me, though,’ said Harold, jostling Magnus aside. He returned the guard’s welcoming smile. ‘Good afternoon, Jostin. Open up, will you? We have come with terrible news that must be carried to Richer de Laigle as soon as possible.’
The guard continued to beam. ‘Lord Harold! I did not see you there. Galfridus will be pleased to see you, I am sure. He was saying only yesterday that it has been a great while since you were last here. If you wait a moment, I will summon a novice to take you to him.’ He jerked his head at Magnus and lowered his voice. ‘Is he to be admitted, too?’
‘Yes, please, Jostin,’ said Harold cheerfully. ‘He is my half-brother, believe it or not.’
While they waited for their escort, the guard and Harold began a merry conversation about the service community that was growing up outside the abbey walls. There were smiths to make the nails and braces needed for the buildings, and there were carpenters, masons and stone-cutters and their families. There were also brewers, potters, candle-makers and bakers. Harold seemed to know them all, indicating that he had passed more time in the region than he had led them to believe. Geoffrey wondered what else the smiling Saxon had lied about.
Meanwhile, the waiting people were resentful that Harold’s party was to be admitted before them. One threw a small stone that sailed past Magnus. Then a clod of mud struck Roger square in the middle of his forehead with a resounding smack.
‘No!’ cried Geoffrey, when Roger’s sword appeared in his hand and he took several strides towards the culprit, intending to dispense a lesson that was likely to be fatal. Geoffrey staggered when he was suddenly deprived of his support; he had not realized how heavily he had been leaning on his friend. ‘Wait!’
The guilty party did not seem at all intimidated by Roger, which meant he was either very brave or a fool. He stood a little straighter under his heavy pack and looked the knight square in the eye. He was a burly fellow with wavy dark hair and a thick beard that had traces of grey. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and his nose was so round and red that it looked like a plum.
‘You do not frighten me,’ he declared. ‘Crusader knights do not strike down unarmed citizens, so do not bluster and breathe at me like an angry bull!’
Roger’s advance faltered and he regarded the man in surprise. ‘You are very sure of yourself.’
‘Roger,’ Geoffrey called, painfully aware that most Crusader knights — Roger among them — were more than happy to slaughter unarmed citizens and that the fellow’s confidence was sadly misplaced. ‘Leave him alone.’
‘I have you, sir,’ said Bale, grabbing Geoffrey’s arm when he began to list heavily to one side.
Geoffrey wondered what was wrong with him. The gash in his side was not serious, and he had suffered a good deal worse in the past without swooning like a virgin.
Harold was next to him. ‘Have some garlic,’ he suggested solicitously, pressing a ready-peeled clove into the knight’s hand. ‘It will set you up nicely.’
It was a measure of Geoffrey’s muddled wits that the thing was in his mouth before he realized what he was about to crush between his teeth. Repelled, he spat it out.
‘What is your name?’ Roger was asking the man as he sheathed his sword. ‘And how do you know about Jerosolimitani? You are right, of course: we are an honourable brotherhood.’
‘My name is Breme, and my father told me about the Crusade. He was a skilled archer and fought at the battle here — one of the men the Conqueror said was most invaluable to him.’
‘You are the son of a soldier?’ asked Roger. ‘Why did you not follow in his footsteps?’
Breme shrugged. ‘I prefer to be my own master. But that does not make me a lesser man than you, and you should wait your turn. We all have important business with the abbey.’
‘Not as important as mine,’ declared Roger. ‘I have come to tell Galfridus about a dreadful massacre. That is more urgent than selling baubles.’ He cast a disparaging glance at Breme’s pack.
‘Pens and ink,’ corrected Breme. ‘I sell writing materials, and my wares are vital to any man who produces deeds and letters. How can your news be more important than providing an abbey with the means to communicate with its King?’
Fortunately, the escort arrived at that point, and the guard ushered Roger’s party inside before an argument could break out. The knights, squires, two Saxons, Lucian and Juhel followed the guide to a hall that was filled with benches and tables. It was a pleasant room, and there were goblets and a jug of cool ale set on one table, along with a basket of honey-smeared bread. Gratefully, the travellers ate, drank and sat to rest sore feet. Geoffrey hoped Galfridus would not be long, eager that messengers be sent to de Laigle as soon as possible. His thoughts were interrupted by a high, girlish voice.
‘Brother Lucian! You are still alive! What a lovely surprise! It is me, Philippa.’
All Geoffrey wanted to do was deliver his news to Galfridus and lie down. He did not want to make polite conversation with Philippa and Edith, both of whom were sweeping through the hall, clearly intent on enjoying a warm welcome. He felt what little energy he had left drain away at the prospect of their silly, prattling company.
‘Lady Philippa!’ cried Ulfrith in delight. ‘How do you come to be here?’
‘More bloody Normans,’ muttered Magnus. ‘And women, no less, so they can breed others, until they swarm over the Earth like ravenous locals. . locusts. I am going to sit down. I have no inclination for the empty-headed clatter of benches.’
‘The clatter of benches?’ asked Juhel, bemused.
‘Wenches,’ snapped Magnus. ‘I said the chatter of wenches.’
Philippa ignored the churlish Saxon and fixed her happy grin on the others. Edith was dressed in a splendid cloak made from thick, red wool and adorned with elegant embroidery. By contrast, Philippa wore a simple black gown that looked as if it had been borrowed from a nun. Absently, Geoffrey wondered at the disparity in the standard of clothes they had been lent.
‘I came ashore a long way from anyone else,’ Lucian was explaining. ‘And was obliged to flee inland when the storm struck. I was lucky I chanced to meet these others, or I might still be wandering. It is a very dangerous part of the world, with violent weather, marauding pirates and unfriendly inhabitants. I lost all my gold.’
‘Did you?’ asked Edith sympathetically. ‘Even your cross?’
‘Everything,’ said Lucian, looking away, as though the loss was too much to bear. ‘I may be able to beg funds from La Batailge, but I doubt they will be enough to keep me in the style to which I am accustomed.’
Immediately, Edith removed a ring from her finger and pressed it into his hand. ‘Then you must take this. You can repay me when you are safely home.’
Lucian accepted it, and there were tears in his eyes when he spoke. ‘You are a dear, kind lady. I shall certainly repay you — and I shall say masses for your soul every Sunday for a month.’
‘I doubt that,’ murmured Roger to Geoffrey. ‘He would not know the words.’
‘You were very wrong to leave us with Richer de Laigle,’ said Philippa scoldingly, pouting at Geoffrey. ‘Our virtue was in grave peril, and we were in constant fear of seduction.’
‘It must have been dreadful,’ murmured Juhel. Geoffrey glanced at him and saw humour gleam in his dark eyes for the first time since Werlinges.