A Dead Man's Secret

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘Again, you are unlikely to secure their cooperation if you descend on them looking like a killer. You will frighten them and learn nothing.’

  ‘Then I shall start my hunt for William’s secret without their help,’ said Geoffrey, exasperated. ‘He lived in Rhydygors, so that seems a good place to begin. And if I have no luck there, I will search the abbey and the church, because William was said to be devout, and those are places he may have trusted.’

  ‘Rhydygors, then,’ said Hilde. ‘My sister spends a lot of time there, and she is sure to have hot water to hand. We shall just have to hope we do not meet Prince Hywel before I have been at you with a brush.’

  Geoffrey was not sure he liked the sound of that, but acknowledged that the skirmish had left him somewhat soiled. He followed her down the stairs, carrying the saddlebag she handed him, in which were some of his clothes, laundered and neatly folded. They met Gwgan at the door, and he smiled when Hilde informed him that she wanted to see her sister.

  ‘Good. Isabella will skin me alive if she learns you are in Kermerdyn and that I failed to take you straight to her. She will be at Rhydygors; she always stays there when I am away. There is no man I trust more than Prince Hywel to look after my wife.’

  They climbed on their horses, and Gwgan led the way back over the bridge and along a track across the marshes. The castle loomed in front of them.

  ‘Hywel will want to meet a friend of the King,’ said Gwgan as they went. ‘And I am sure His Majesty has messages for him, just as he sent one to me.’

  ‘Just verbal greetings,’ said Geoffrey, hoping Henry’s carelessness was not going to land him in trouble. ‘Besides, you said the letter he wrote to you would really have been for the Prince.’

  ‘Yes, it was, but that was all rather cold and businesslike,’ said Gwgan. ‘Pertaining to taxes and who owns the advowsons of various churches. There was nothing personal in it for Hywel.’

  ‘What about in Richard’s?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘He told me he was going to ask you to read it to him.’

  ‘His message was even briefer than mine.’ Gwgan’s rueful smile indicated that the sullen knight had not been best pleased when he had heard it. ‘It just ordered him to patrol the river, because Irish pirates have been at large.’

  ‘River patrols sound tedious,’ said Hilde. ‘Was he disappointed that the King did not ask him to do something more significant?’

  Gwgan laughed. ‘He was livid! I suspect the instruction was Eudo’s, not Henry’s. But there is not much for Richard to do in this area. Hywel is more than capable of keeping the peace and does not need Norman help. Personally, I was hoping the letter would be an order to deploy elsewhere. So was he – he is wasted here.’

  ‘No wonder he has been surly all the way from Goodrich,’ said Hilde. Then she shrugged. ‘Of course, he was surly before he had his letter.’

  ‘Let us not spoil our day with talk of that black-faced villain,’ said Gwgan, spurring his pony into a trot. ‘We are almost home, and Isabella will be delighted to see you.’

  Twelve

  Rhydygors was a typical Norman castle, with a wooden tower atop a large mound. It afforded excellent views of the river, and although Geoffrey would have located it nearer the town, the site chosen by William fitz Baldwin had its advantages. Its garrison would be able to react sooner to an invasion by water, and the marshes that surrounded it conferred their own line of defence.

  Besides the motte and bailey, there was also the usual jumble of outbuildings – halls for sleeping and eating, stables, kitchens and huts for storage. Hywel was in the process of rebuilding some of them in stone, and Geoffrey imagined that, in ten years or so, it would be as stalwart a bastion as any he had seen. He wondered how he was going to search it for William’s secret without anyone guessing what he was doing.

  Isabella’s face split into a delighted grin when she saw Hilde, and Geoffrey saw immediately the resemblance between them – both had honey-brown eyes and thick hair – although Isabella had been rather more fortunate with her looks. She was exceptionally beautiful, and Geoffrey found himself uncharacteristically tongue-tied when Gwgan introduced her.

  ‘You have made my sister very happy,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘We had all despaired of her finding a man she considered worthy.’

  ‘She was given no choice in the matter, I am afraid,’ said Geoffrey, acutely aware of his filthy surcoat, battle-stained armour and grimy hands. He wished he had followed Hilde’s suggestion and washed in the river along the way. It had been wilful obstinacy that had led him to decline – a stubborn refusal to acknowledge that she was right.

  Isabella shook his arm, releasing it quickly and surreptitiously wiping her hand on her gown. ‘You are wrong. She refused plenty of suitors before you came along, and our father could not have made her marry a man she did not like. She chose you.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Geoffrey uncomfortably.

  ‘Here is Prince Hywel,’ said Isabella, indicating with a graceful sweep of her hand a man walking down the stairs from the tower and heading towards them. ‘He will want to meet my sister and the man who captured her heart.’

  ‘Christ!’ muttered Geoffrey, wondering whether anyone would notice if he grabbed Hilde’s cloak and used it to conceal the worst of the mess.

  Hywel ap Gronw looked every inch a Welsh prince. He had jet black hair and blue eyes, and was tall, handsome and strong. He wore a plain but elegant tunic of blue, and there was gold thread in his cloak. He carried himself with a light grace, and there was none of the arrogant swagger affected by Normans. His people smiled and nodded at him as he passed, and it was clear they served him for love, not like the frightened minions in Richard’s service.

  He embraced Gwgan like a brother, his eyes shining with boyish delight at the return of his friend and most trusted counsellor.

  ‘I have missed you,’ he said in Welsh. ‘You have been gone too long. There is much we must discuss, but not now: today belongs to your wife.’

  ‘You shall come to my home tomorrow night, then,’ said Gwgan. ‘We shall prepare a feast and talk until the cockerels announce dawn. I have much to tell you.’

  ‘You have brought guests,’ said Hywel, turning his smile on Geoffrey and Hilde, and speaking Norman-French. ‘Your wife’s sister, I believe? And a Jerosolimitanus?’

  ‘Sir Geoffrey Mappestone,’ explained Gwgan. His eyes gleamed with wry humour as he continued to speak Welsh, knowing perfectly well Hilde would not understand a word of it. ‘He went to some trouble to make himself presentable, as you can see. But do not judge him by his surcoat. He speaks passable Welsh, which more than compensates for his wild appearance.’

  Hywel laughed. ‘I hope you do not mind Gwgan’s mordant sense of humour, Sir Geoffrey. But he is your kin now, so you will have to forgive his liberties.’

  He indicated they were to follow him to the hall, where food had been prepared. He led, his arm thrown around Gwgan’s shoulders, and Isabella and Hilde followed. Geoffrey brought up the rear, a little chagrined when a servant stepped forward to offer him a bowl of water. Once he had scrubbed his face and hands and had exchanged his stained surcoat for a clean one Hilde had to hand, he felt considerably more presentable.

  The food was plain, but fresh and plentiful, and it was not long before someone began to play a harp. Isabella and Hilde sat together at one end of the table, talking incessantly, while the men took the other. Politely, Hywel enquired after their journey.

  ‘You might not have seen me, had Geoffrey not been with us,’ said Gwgan soberly. ‘He saved me this morning. We were ambushed constantly by outlaws after Brechene, and we are fortunate to reach Kermerdyn alive.’

  ‘Outlaws?’ asked Hywel, frowning. ‘But we have had no such trouble since Bellême’s louts were ousted last year.’

  ‘Well, we were plagued by them,’ said Gwgan firmly. ‘Alberic was killed today, and another knight wounded. Edward was injured just outside Brechene, and Geoffrey was knocked half-senseless la
st night in Lanothni. I have never known a journey like it; there was no trouble on the way to Gloucester.’

  ‘This is worrying news,’ said Hywel sombrely. ‘I had better send some patrols to find them. I cannot have my territories infected by law-breakers.’

  ‘They stole money from the taverner in Lanothni, too,’ Gwgan went on. ‘He is famous locally for having a lot of it, apparently. Foolish man! He should have kept it quiet.’

  ‘There should have been no need to keep it quiet,’ said Hywel sternly. ‘Every man has the right to keep what he has honestly earned. I shall see to it immediately.’

  He started to rise, but Gwgan waved him back down. ‘I will do it. You can entertain our guests.’

  After Gwgan left, Hywel began to tell Geoffrey about his plans for the region. The knight found him easy company, and he had an engaging, infectious laugh that made it impossible not to like him. How different it would be, Geoffrey thought, if Hywel, not Henry, had been King. Geoffrey would not have minded serving a man like the Prince.

  After a while, Hywel stood and indicated Geoffrey was to walk with him outside. Like many military men, the Prince quickly grew restless sitting and preferred to be active.

  ‘Gwgan tells me you carried a letter to him from the King, about taxes and advowsons,’ he said. ‘I assume there is a personal message for me, too?’

  He held out his hand.

  ‘It was a verbal one, My Lord,’ said Geoffrey, silently cursing Henry for his shabby manners. ‘He sends you his felicitations as a fellow prince and trusts he finds you well and strong.’

  Hywel smiled wryly. ‘I suspect he forgot, and you are being tactful. But I appreciate your thoughtfulness in not wanting me to feel neglected. However, whereas other men might feel slighted, peace is important to me – to this region – and I shall not let Henry’s lack of grace spoil it.’

  It was an admirable stance, and Geoffrey thought Henry could learn much from Hywel.

  ‘This is a fine castle,’ he said, trying to decide how best to assess it for William’s secret without making Rhydygors’ residents think him unacceptably nosy – or that Isabella’s sister had married a man not quite in control of his wits.

  Hywel glanced around. ‘It will be, once it is finished in stone, although I wish William fitz Baldwin had sited it nearer the town. But I am always pleased to show guests my domain. Come. I shall take you around every nook and cranny.’

  He was as good as his word, and, as he was willing to provide detailed information, it was easy for Geoffrey to identify which buildings had been extant in William’s time and which had been raised since. Hywel was proud of his little fortress, and Geoffrey might have found the extensive tour tedious had he not been assessing every inch of it for potential hiding places.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing to find, because William’s buildings had been simple and functional, and there was little storage space. Geoffrey assessed the walls for hidden recesses, looked up the chimneys, and stamped across the floors to assess whether something might be buried underneath, but it was all to no avail. Moreover, it was obvious that William’s retainers would have noticed if their master had started digging holes or hacking at the walls.

  Geoffrey suppressed a sigh when, once finished with the buildings, Hywel led him on an exhaustive expedition around the grounds. Again, there was nowhere William could have buried something he did not want anyone else to find, and Geoffrey was forced to conclude that whatever he was looking for was not in Rhydygors. He would have to look in the abbey and church.

  When Gwgan had finished briefing Hywel’s troops about the outlaws, the Prince excused himself from Geoffrey to spend time with his counsellor. Geoffrey retrieved his horse from the stables and mounted up, intending to return to Kermerdyn to check on Roger. Hilde and Isabella came to intercept him.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Hilde worriedly. ‘It will be dark soon, and it is not wise to ride out alone, given what happened earlier today.’

  ‘Please stay,’ begged Isabella. ‘I have not thanked you for saving my husband’s life. He told me how you knocked away the knife that would have killed him today.’

  ‘There is no need to thank me,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But I have a letter for you, as it happens. From Bishop Maurice.’

  ‘Bishop Maurice?’ asked Isabella, startled. ‘Why would he write to me? I barely know him.’

  Geoffrey could hardly say it was in order to disguise the fact that he was delivering more contentious letters from the King, so he said nothing and merely held it out to her, along with the now battered packet that contained the raisins.

  ‘Read it to her,’ instructed Hilde, taking the raisins and opening them. She began to eat them. ‘Or Isabella will have to wait for a clerk to become available, and I imagine she is impatient to know what it says.’

  ‘I am curious,’ admitted Isabella.

  Geoffrey did not want to do it. ‘It might be personal,’ he hedged, suspecting they would all be embarrassed by its sentiments. Maurice had an unerring eye for beautiful women, and he would certainly have noticed Isabella.

  ‘It will not!’ laughed Isabella. ‘I did not help him with his unbalanced humours, if that is what you are thinking, so it can contain nothing to shock us. Besides, I am a married woman.’

  Geoffrey broke the seal, forbearing to remark that a woman’s marital status was neither here nor there to Maurice when his humours were awry. He scanned the letter quickly, ready to omit anything indelicate. The first section contained some rather bald and inappropriate statements about her fine figure and alluring eyes, but the rest was, as Maurice had claimed, information about a place where good raisins might be bought. Geoffrey paraphrased the first part to render it innocuous, and read the second verbatim, while Hilde made inroads into the raisins.

  ‘Well,’ said Isabella, bemused. ‘It is good of him to remember me, but I am not sure why I should warrant such attention. Perhaps you will help me compose a suitable reply, Geoffrey?’

  ‘He did not send many of these raisins,’ said Hilde, shaking the packet to see whether there were any left. ‘You would think he would have been a little more generous. They cannot be easy to come by here.’

  ‘Oh, you can buy them readily in Kermerdyn,’ said Isabella. ‘We shall purchase some tomorrow, and Geoffrey will take them to Maurice as a gift when he returns to the court.’

  ‘So I am a raisin courier now?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering to what depths he would have to plummet before his duties to the King were complete.

  ‘We will buy you some, too,’ promised Isabella. ‘As payment.’

  ‘Please do not,’ said Geoffrey with a shudder. He took up his reins and prepared to leave, thinking he had abandoned Roger quite long enough.

  ‘Wait – I will come with you,’ said Hilde. She sounded disappointed that her reunion with her sister was going to be cut short.

  Geoffrey smiled. ‘Stay. You and Isabella will have much to discuss.’ And, he thought but did not say, Hilde would be considerably safer in Hywel’s stronghold than in town.

  He rode to Kermerdyn alone, alert for trouble. He thought about Hywel as he went, and decided it was not surprising that there was speculation that he had discovered William’s secret, because the man certainly possessed abilities and virtues in abundance. In fact, Geoffrey wondered whether that in itself would work against Hywel. There were men who would be jealous of such easy amiability, including King Henry.

  When he arrived at the Trout, Geoffrey found Roger much improved and in the middle of consuming a gargantuan meal with Bale. He laughed when Geoffrey told him how Hywel had helped him search Rhydygors for William’s secret.

  ‘Let us hope he never learns the real reason for your interest in his domain,’ he said. ‘Incidentally, I have not been totally useless while you have been gone. I have done some investigating on your behalf.’

  ‘Have you?’ asked Geoffrey in alarm.

  Roger grinned at his reaction. ‘Nothing to cause you trouble, so
do not worry. I asked the landlord whether he knew where the Bishop might be, and he said we are fortunate, because Wilfred is in Kermerdyn this month. He spends a lot of time travelling, apparently.’

  ‘A few days’ rest will put Sir Roger back on his feet,’ said Bale, although Geoffrey could see the big knight would not need that long and suspected it was self-interest that prompted Bale’s remark. Pulchria lived in Kermerdyn, and Bale did not find it easy to recruit female admirers.

  They talked a while longer, but Roger was tired and sleep soon claimed him again. Geoffrey lay on a pallet that he had placed against the door – anyone invading would have to move him first – and stared at the ceiling as he thought of all he would have to do the following day. At first light, he would visit the abbey, and deliver the Archbishop’s letter to Mabon’s successor. He would have to apologize for the fact that Mabon had died in his home, too, and then assess the new abbot for his report to Henry. He would also try to search the place for William’s secret.

  When he finished that, he would deliver Henry’s letter to Bishop Wilfred and hope to spend long enough in his company to gather sufficient information for the second half of his report. That done, he would set about exploring the church. And if those places did not reveal William’s secret – and he had scant hope they would – he decided that he would tell Henry that a religious vision had turned William into a saint.

  And William’s murderer? Geoffrey would just have to tell His Majesty that too much time had passed to allow him to investigate the matter properly. He was loath to pass on his list of suspects – now down to Delwyn, Sear, Gwgan, Cornald and Pulchria – lest royal retribution followed and four innocents paid the price for one guilty party. He would also admit that there was insufficient evidence to trap Mabon’s killer, and hoped the King would overlook the matter on the grounds that Mabon’s successor was likely to be more malleable and less likely to fight with the Bishop.