‘They are warm, dry and comfortable,’ Edward declared one evening, pulling a pair of pale purple gloves over his hands before stretching them towards the fire. ‘I shall wake tomorrow refreshed and happy. You, on the other hand, will wake shivering and stiff – if you sleep at all.’
‘It is not a good idea to remove your armour in a strange place,’ Geoffrey cautioned.
‘It is not a good idea to be uncomfortable all the time,’ Edward shot back. ‘Thank God I was not rash enough to have rallied to the Pope’s call for a Crusade. I would have been miserable the entire time if it involved sitting around in damp clothes for weeks on end!’
‘It involved a lot more than that,’ Bale murmured, eyes gleaming. ‘It involved killing, too.’
‘Lord!’ Edward shuddered. ‘Worse and worse!’
Meanwhile, Delwyn endeared himself to no one with his constant litany of complaints. Geoffrey was not the only one who itched to knock him off his horse. And there were Geoffrey’s saddlebags: someone rifled through them regularly. Geoffrey did not think the culprit was a fellow knight – although Roger did so on occasion – and Delwyn was the only likely culprit. The monk denied it vigorously, but Geoffrey suspected that Delwyn was looking for the letter intended for Abbot Mabon, which Pepin had inadvertently mentioned.
‘I am Mabon’s envoy!’ Delwyn whined on a daily basis. ‘What will he think when I return empty-handed, but you carry a missive from the Archbishop?’
‘I am sorry,’ said Geoffrey shortly. ‘But I am under orders to deliver it myself.’
‘Then show me the letters you carry from Bishop Maurice instead,’ wheedled Delwyn. ‘I will study his handwriting and pen one from him to Mabon. Mabon will never know it is a forgery and will reward me for securing him such a powerful friend.’
‘And what happens when Mabon replies?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘When Maurice receives the letter, he will write back in such a way that Mabon will know exactly what has happened.’
‘He will not,’ declared Delwyn, ‘because I shall deliver it myself, amended accordingly. Do not look shocked. It is a clerk’s prerogative to tamper with other men’s correspondence.’
‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey, bitterly thinking of Tancred, ‘so I have learned.’
Even Roger proved to be a mixed blessing. Geoffrey was glad of his companionship, but Roger needled Sear constantly. Geoffrey was obliged to prevent several fights with his sword, and Edward averted even more with his capacity for gentle diplomacy.
It felt like an age before the first familiar landmarks of home appeared on the horizon, and when they did, Geoffrey was so relieved that he no longer cared what Hilde and Joan would say when he rode into Goodrich’s bailey with a party of men who were unlikely to be gracious guests.
Geoffrey itched to give his horse free rein as they rode along the wooded path on the final few miles. It was raining again, his armour chafed, and he longed to don dry clothes and sit by a fire. But the track was potholed and rutted, and some of the puddles were knee-deep. It would be a pity to ruin his horse, just because he was eager to be home. He pulled the destrier to a halt at the crest of a hill and waited for the others.
‘What place is this?’ asked Sear, looking disparagingly at the village on the slope below them.
‘Rwirdin,’ replied Geoffrey, supposing it did look dismal in the drizzle. Rain had turned its thatches brown, and the road was awash with mud. Moreover, there was not an open door or window in the entire settlement, although smoke said people were home. ‘It belongs to Goodrich.’
‘Then why have you not trained them to greet you with a welcoming cup?’ demanded Sear. ‘I would not tolerate such a display of insolence in Pembroc.’
‘Because I have encouraged them to be wary of unidentified horsemen,’ said Geoffrey tartly. ‘Peace is fragile in this region, and incursions can be bloody.’
‘Then crush such insurrection,’ suggested Sear. ‘Or step aside, so a stronger man can do it for you.’
‘William fitz Baldwin would have stamped out rebellion,’ added Alberic. ‘He may have been a saint, but he was no weakling. I still miss him, even though he has been dead for seven years.’
‘His spirit is still strong,’ agreed Sear. ‘And his secret lives on.’
‘What secret?’ asked Geoffrey innocently.
‘The one that made him a great man and a powerful leader,’ replied Sear. ‘I am inclined to think it was a magical sword, like the one King Arthur owned. I think William found one just like it.’
‘Do you have any idea where it might be?’ asked Geoffrey with a sinking heart, thinking the King would certainly want to get his hands on such an object. Geoffrey would be expected to steal it, and he had never been comfortable with theft, not even on the Crusade, when looting was a way of life.
‘He never told us,’ replied Sear shortly, and Geoffrey saw that William’s failure to confide had hurt his feelings. ‘After he died, I looked in all the obvious places, but with no success. Perhaps it disappeared when William died, as these mystical objects are apt to do.’
Geoffrey wondered what Henry would say to that explanation. Feeling gloomy, he led the way through Rwirdin, towards where the River Wye was barely visible through the rain.
It was not long before Edward caught him up, flopping about in his saddle like a sack of grain, his friendly round face red from exertion.
‘How much farther?’ he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. ‘We have spent the last three nights in the open, and I hope there will not be a fourth.’
‘So do I,’ said Geoffrey fervently.
‘Well,’ said Edward with a sigh, ‘at least our journey has been blessed with a lack of trouble from outlaws. It is Henry’s doing, you know. The highways are much safer now. He is not called the Lion of Justice for nothing.’
‘Is he called the Lion of Justice?’ Geoffrey had never heard the title before, and it was certainly not one he would have chosen.
‘You might want to lower your voice,’ said Edward dryly. ‘Sear will take umbrage if he hears the doubt in your voice. His loyalty to the King is absolute – I am faithful myself, but I do not feel the need to prove it every few moments.’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey, who never felt the need at all.
‘And Delwyn does himself no favours with his incendiary remarks,’ added Edward. ‘He knows exactly how to aggravate Sear, Alberic and Roger. One of them will skewer him before long, and you and I may not be on hand to intervene.’
‘Perhaps we should not try.’ Geoffrey could hear Delwyn informing Roger that his facial hair was too long. Delwyn was playing with fire: Roger was proud of his beard.
‘It is tempting,’ said Edward wryly. ‘He is as irritating as a marsh-fly, but that does not give knights the right to run him through.’
Personally, Geoffrey felt he and his fellow knights had shown admirable restraint, proven by the fact that Delwyn was not only still alive but as recklessly garrulous as ever.
Edward was silent for a moment, then began to chatter again. ‘Talk of Delwyn reminds me of that last day at La Batailge. I heard the commotion when he came howling from the fishponds to tell us about Eudo. Who killed him, do you think?’
‘I have no idea,’ replied Geoffrey, startled by the question. ‘And with hundreds of courtiers, clerks, servants, monks and lay-brothers, Bishop Maurice will not find it an easy case to solve.’
‘Where were you when it happened?’ asked Edward.
Geoffrey regarded him in surprise, and the thought flashed through his mind that Henry might have asked Edward to assess whether the culprit was in the Kermerdyn party, given that Maurice would be unable to do so. Henry would not have approached Sear or Alberic, because they were insufficiently clever, and Geoffrey doubted the King would put much faith in Delwyn.
‘I was with Pepin and then Maurice,’ he replied. ‘And Roger was with Bale in a tavern all morning. Where were you?’
Edward smiled that the interrogation should be turned around. ‘I
was in the stables from dawn to noon, because my horse had a bout of colic. I may not be much of a soldier, but I love my faithful warhorse, and he likes me with him when he is unwell.’
Geoffrey liked horses, too, although he would not have described Edward’s nag as a ‘warhorse’ and suspected the beast was more pet than fighting animal.
‘Can anyone confirm it?’ he asked. ‘Not that there is any reason to doubt you, of course.’
Edward laughed openly. ‘About twenty of the King’s stable-boys, who were listening to me pontificate on matters equestrian. Feel free to verify my tale the next time you visit him.’
When they reached the ford, they found it swollen with rain. Geoffrey led the way across with no problem, but Edward’s horse, alarmed by the surging water, bucked suddenly, causing its rider to slide off. It was not difficult to fish him out, but there was a delay on the other side when he insisted on divesting himself of his sopping clothes and donning a gown instead.
‘You will ride into Goodrich dressed as a woman?’ demanded Sear incredulously.
Edward tossed his wet cloak to Bale for wringing. ‘Better than arriving dripping wet. I may stain the rugs, and that would be discourteous.’
‘You are expecting rugs?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily.
‘This will not take a moment,’ said Edward, shrugging out of his mail tunic, then selecting a long red kirtle with a fur trim. He began to primp fussily, which had Sear, Alberic and Roger fidgeting impatiently, all eager to be underway.
‘I heard you asking Geoffrey about Eudo’s murder earlier, Sir Edward,’ said Delwyn. ‘Are you trying to learn who murdered him?’
‘I doubt anyone here is a killer,’ said Edward. Geoffrey almost laughed. All knights were killers: it was what they were trained to do. ‘But since you mention it, why not tell each other our whereabouts? Sear, perhaps you would oblige first?’
‘What I was doing is none of your damned business,’ retorted Sear haughtily. ‘I decline to answer, and you can try to make me at your peril.’
‘I do not mind answering on his behalf,’ said Alberic. ‘He was with me.’
‘Actually, he was not,’ countered Delwyn. ‘You were with a milkmaid all morning.’
Alberic gaped at him. ‘How do you know? Were you spying on me, you little snake?’
‘No,’ replied Delwyn, although his face said he was lying. ‘I was merely concerned for her well-being. Afterwards, I went for a walk by the fishponds to—’
Sear released one of his jeering, braying laughs. ‘You cannot win a woman yourself, so you were reduced to watching others! What a miserable specimen you are!’
‘I could win them if I wanted,’ declared Delwyn angrily. ‘Women like me greatly.’
‘You are supposed to be celibate,’ said Alberic in distaste.
‘I do what I like,’ flashed Delwyn. ‘Especially when I am away from my abbey.’
‘I think that should suffice,’ said Edward loudly, straightening his finery and indicating he was ready to be helped back on to his horse. ‘It will not be long now before we are all basking in front of a roaring fire with goblets of hot wine.’
The prospect of such luxury had Roger turning in the direction of Goodrich, and Sear and Alberic were quick to follow. Edward was next, leaving Geoffrey with Delwyn at the rear.
‘Sear killed Eudo,’ muttered Delwyn resentfully. ‘He declines to tell us his whereabouts at the time of the murder, and he is jealous because the King chose you to take the Archbishop’s message to Kermerdyn.’
‘You are the only one who seems to be jealous of that,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘And why should it lead Sear to dispatch Eudo?’
‘Probably because Eudo recommended you for the task in the first place,’ replied Delwyn.
Geoffrey stared at him. ‘I doubt that! I did not know him before Henry allocated me the task.’
‘Well, you can think what you like, but it is true,’ said Delwyn. ‘Because I heard him tell Pepin so with my own ears.’
Geoffrey was thoughtful. Was it significant that Sear was unwilling to divulge his alibi? Did it mean he had killed Eudo? Or was the culprit Delwyn, eager to see someone else blamed, and who claimed he had stumbled across Eudo’s body while out for a walk? Delwyn was puny, but it took no great strength to shove a blade in a man’s back and hold his head underwater. These were sobering thoughts, and he decided he would not stay long in Goodrich – he did not want killers mingling with Hilde and Joan, no matter how warrior-like Roger claimed them to be.
When Goodrich Castle finally appeared through the trees, Geoffrey found his pleasure at seeing it went far deeper than the desire for dry clothes and a warm fire. There was something welcomingly familiar about its wooden walls, great ramparts and sturdy towers. He reined in to look at it, aware of an immediate rush of memories.
He had not been happy there as a child. His father had mocked his scholarly tendencies and his older siblings had bullied him until he had grown enough to hold his own. He had not enjoyed returning two decades later, either, when his father lay dying. But it was home, and it contained Joan and now Hilde. Goodrich had come to represent something far more pleasant than it had ever done in the past.
‘Is that it?’ asked Sear disparagingly. ‘I was expecting something better. Pembroc is by far superior – and much better sited, too.’
‘Geoffrey’s home is extremely well sited,’ argued Edward, fluffing up his hair. ‘It is placed to guard the river, and three of its sides are protected by natural slopes. When its palisades are turned into stone walls, it will be virtually impregnable. Like Kadweli.’
‘Kadweli is like Goodrich?’ asked Geoffrey, pointedly acknowledging Edward’s remark and ignoring Sear’s.
‘In many ways,’ nodded Edward. ‘My castle is also sited on a rocky bluff, although it is substantially larger, with facilities for a sizeable garrison.’
‘The one you will collect in Brechene,’ said Sear heavily. ‘The one you tell us is the best fighting force in Wales.’
‘The very same,’ said Edward happily, declining to take offence at Sear’s tone. He smiled at Geoffrey. ‘But your castle has a cosy feel, which Kadweli lacks. I like it already.’
‘Well, I do not,’ said Sear sullenly. ‘I would sooner have defensible than “cosy”.’
‘You can stay in the village, then,’ said Roger. ‘There is a rather shabby tavern that might lower itself to admit you.’
‘You had better ride ahead, Geoffrey,’ said Edward before Sear could respond. ‘It is only polite to give your sister a little time to prepare for us, and I am incapable of riding fast after my dip in the river, anyway.’
‘You had better tell her to get the rugs out, too,’ muttered Sear.
‘Go,’ said Roger. ‘I know the way from here, and I shall point out the sights as we ride. A man will want to know the whereabouts of willing lasses after such a long ride, and I doubt Joan has any at the castle.’
‘I do not need to be shown such things,’ announced Delwyn loftily. ‘I am a monk.’
‘You can find your own loose women, can you?’ asked Roger. He sniffed disdainfully. ‘Then I hope you choose better than that poxy lass you cornered last week.’
‘I did not “corner” her,’ said Delwyn stiffly. ‘We were discussing spiritual matters.’
‘You can call it what you like,’ said Roger with a wink. ‘But bear in mind that Geoffrey’s sister will not want you messing with anyone who is not willing. She runs a tight ship.’
Grateful to be away from his quarrelsome companions, Geoffrey spurred his way ahead, inhaling deeply as he went and relishing the clean scent of the forest and the river. He found himself wondering at the direction his life had taken since he had returned to the land of his birth. He had lost the master he truly respected, and was reduced to delivering letters and exploring nonsensical secrets for one he despised.
But he pushed such gloomy thoughts from his mind as he cantered through the village. People stopped to watch him p
ass, and one or two raised their hands in salute when they recognized him. Father Adrian stood from where he had been weeding his graveyard, but only crossed himself. He did not approve of warriors and firmly believed that Geoffrey was a ruthless slaughterer of unarmed women and children. Nothing Geoffrey said or did could convince him otherwise.
Geoffrey stopped to exchange greetings with Will Helbye, who had accompanied him to Normandy twenty years before and fought at his side. Helbye was too old for such antics now and had returned to Goodrich to retire with his wife and their collection of prize pigs. Delighted to meet his captain again, Helbye invited Geoffrey to share a jug of ale.
‘I cannot, Will,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I need to warn Joan that she is about to be invaded.’
‘My wife will do that,’ said Helbye, grabbing the reins of Geoffrey’s horse and indicating he should dismount. ‘She will not mind.’
‘Of course I will not,’ said the large, comfortable woman who emerged from the house, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Go inside and sit down, Sir Geoffrey. I will speak to Lady Joan.’
‘Invaded by whom?’ asked Helbye, when she had gone, and Geoffrey had given a brief explanation as to why he was not halfway to the Holy Land.
‘Two knights named Sear and Alberic, who have argued with Roger every step of the way, and another knight named Edward, who has managed to keep them from skewering each other. There is also a monk named Delwyn.’
‘That is not too bad,’ said Helbye, indicating he was to sit at the table. ‘Joan can cope with those. She already has visitors, see. There was some sort of fealty-swearing ceremony in Gloucester, and these people have stopped off on the way home. They are bound for Kermerdyn.’
‘Kermerdyn?’ asked Geoffrey, startled. ‘But that is where Henry has ordered me to go. What a curious coincidence!’
‘Not so curious,’ said Helbye soberly. ‘Those at court will know about this ceremony, and they will know that its participants would return this way.’
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