‘Tell me about the day William was taken ill. You were talking to the Bishop in the kitchens where the rancid butter was. Why? I thought your abbey was at war with Wilfred.’
‘ Mabon was at war with the Bishop,’ replied Delwyn. ‘If you must know, I was offering Wilfred information about the abbey in an attempt to bring Mabon down. It is not healthy for the Church to indulge in internal squabbles. I acted as my conscience dictated.’
‘You betrayed the man you said you loved as a father?’ asked Geoffrey.
Delwyn’s face creased into a sneer. ‘I did love him like a father – it just so happens that I hated my sire, damn his evil soul.’
‘Go away, Delwyn,’ said Geoffrey in distaste. ‘You cannot speak without lying and scheming, and I am sick of it. Stand back!’
‘I stand where I like,’ declared Delwyn. ‘It is not for you to-’
The rest of his sentence was lost as Geoffrey shoved him in the chest, bowling him from his feet and dropping into a fighting stance as he did so, sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Seeing him, Roger kicked out his fire and flew to his side. Sear and Alberic were not far behind, and Edward leapt to his feet with an uneasy whimper. Cornald grabbed his bow.
‘What is it?’ whispered Roger, silencing Delwyn’s outraged spluttering with a glare.
‘Someone is out there,’ replied Geoffrey softly.
Sear relaxed. ‘It will be one of the villagers checking on their animals – or checking we are not stealing their wretched pigs. You saw how unwilling they were to house us-’
He stopped speaking when an arrow thudded into the door above his head.
With a wild cry, Sear launched himself into the night, Roger and Alberic at his heels. Geoffrey was more concerned with defence than attack: the arrow was alight, and the intention was clearly to set the barn ablaze and incinerate everyone within. He raced for the bucket of water the villagers had provided, and dashed it over the flames, but they had no more sizzled out before another fire-arrow took its place.
‘There!’ said Hilde, stabbing a finger in the direction from which the missile had sailed. ‘Go and stop him, Geoff. I will deal with the fire.’
Geoffrey did not waste time arguing. He sped across the darkened yard, jerking back when another flaming arrow passed so close to him that he felt its heat sear his face. Then he was among a pile of broken barrels, and two shadows, both carrying bows, were running away. He hared after them, but they were fleet-footed and terrified, and mail-clad Norman knights were not built for speed. He managed to jab one with his outstretched sword, but his companion whipped around with his bow. Geoffrey staggered as it caught him in the face, and lost momentum, which was just enough time for the pair to escape into the surrounding woods.
‘They were too fast for us,’ said Roger, coming to join him a moment later. ‘But they were soldiers of a sort – they wore leather jerkins, or at least two of them would be dead.’
‘Three,’ said Geoffrey. Armour explained why his jab had done so little damage.
‘Sear and Alberic are scouting the woods,’ said Roger. ‘We should help them.’
Geoffrey obliged, and by the time they converged to report that the attackers had gone, Hilde had doused the flames and was kneeling next to Edward, whose face was contorted with pain.
‘It is not serious,’ she was saying. ‘The arrow has just scored a furrow in your arm. Clean water and a little salve will see it right in a day or two.’
‘Well, it hurts,’ said Edward weakly. ‘I was not built for this kind of thing.’
‘And I was not built to be knocked around by bullying knights,’ said Delwyn to Geoffrey. ‘You did not have to shove me quite so hard. I shall have another bruise tomorrow.’
‘He should not have shoved you at all,’ said Cornald, his face uncharacteristically cool. ‘And then you might be lying here instead of Edward.’
‘This would not have happened if my troops had been here,’ said Edward. ‘We would have posted guards, and robbers would have come nowhere near us.’
‘Your rabble?’ asked Richard unpleasantly. ‘I doubt they would have made any difference. They are not as good as my men.’
‘You were very brave, Edward,’ said Pulchria kindly. ‘Your quick thinking in shutting the door saved us all; those archers would have had arrows in us otherwise.’
‘It is true, sir,’ said Bale to Geoffrey. ‘Several bowmen appeared near the door when you dashed after the others, and I ran towards them, but Sir Edward shoved the door closed, so they could not fire in on us. They would have killed me, Richard, Gwgan and the ladies, and he took an arrow protecting us.’
‘Were they the same ones who ambushed us earlier?’ asked Cornald.
‘I could not tell,’ said Gwgan. His face was white, and he looked as though he might be sick. ‘They were just shadows. I am sorry I was useless, Geoffrey. These pains in my innards make it difficult to stand, let alone fight.’
‘What did they want?’ asked Edward shakily. ‘Burning down the barn was not sensible; anything of value would have been consumed in the flames, along with us.’
‘Not if we dashed outside to escape, carrying our fortunes with us,’ Roger pointed out. ‘I imagine the aim was to have us all silhouetted by the flames, so we could be picked off.’
‘Strange,’ mused Gwgan. ‘Surely, they would have questioned the villagers first and learned that we carry a dead abbot in the coffin, not treasure. Unless they are interested in the butter-making equipment Cornald bought in Brechene.’
‘They might be,’ said Cornald. ‘It was expensive. And do not deceive yourself that robbers are only interested in gold and jewellery. Our country is poor, and even a decent cloak is a worthy prize to many men.’
‘ Were they the same men?’ asked Roger in an undertone to Geoffrey.
Geoffrey nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’
‘I was bored travelling between La Batailge and Brechene,’ said Roger with a rather diabolical grin. ‘But things are definitely picking up. I love a decent skirmish.’
‘Well, I hope it is not going to happen every few hours,’ said Geoffrey tiredly. ‘Because it will be a very long journey, if so.’
‘Aye lad,’ said Roger. ‘But what fun!’
Nine
Lanothni, Near Kermerdyn, Late October 1103
It was the end of another glorious day. The setting sun was a glowing amber ball in a haze of blue sky and salmon-tinged clouds, which presaged well for the morning. A blackbird sang somewhere in the forest, its voice a clear, clean trill above the lower murmur of the river, and the air was rich with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. Geoffrey breathed in deeply, feeling the satisfaction of having travelled a decent distance that day.
It had been two days since the last attack, although he was too experienced a traveller to assume their assailants had given up. He still had no idea what led the motley band to harry them with such dogged determination – another six skirmishes ensued after the incident in the barn – and he could only conclude that one of his companions had done something seriously wrong in Brechene. But no one would admit it, and he had other matters to occupy his thoughts.
He had concluded that William fitz Baldwin had been murdered seven years before, and the poison had almost certainly been in the butter. Despite Delwyn’s efforts to make him think otherwise, he strongly suspected that the killer was from a pool of Delwyn, Sear, Gwgan, Cornald and Pulchria. He had discounted Edward, Alberic, Leah and Richard – the first three because they had either been away or confined to bed when William had become ill, and Richard because it was clear he had loved his brother far too deeply to have harmed him.
Geoffrey had reached no firm conclusions about William’s secret, however. Sear and Alberic thought it was a mystical weapon; Mabon had believed it was something that had happened in the river, perhaps a vision; Pulchria still maintained William had discovered a potent herb; and Delwyn said it was a gift from the Virgin Mary. Richard also thought the Bles
sed Virgin was involved, and Cornald continued to claim that William had learned how to eat himself happy. Edward was firm in his conviction that there was no secret, and Gwgan laughingly asserted that William’s saintliness was all to do with him being in Wales.
As regards Mabon’s murder, Geoffrey’s suspects were Sear, Gwgan, Cornald, Pulchria and Alberic. He was inclined to dismiss Richard, Edward and Leah on the grounds of Father Adrian’s testimony, and Delwyn had too much to lose by his abbot’s death.
He was also convinced that Eudo had indeed tampered with his letters to Tancred, and he was now even more determined to travel to the Holy Land and set matters right – the moment Maurice released him from his vow. He had mulled over Eudo’s untimely demise, too, and thought it not entirely impossible that Eudo’s killer was among his travelling companions. One of them had killed William and Mabon, so why not Eudo?
The party was quiet that day, each longing for the journey to end. Roger, riding at the front next to him, had enjoyed a late night in a brothel and was still suffering from an excess of wine. So were Sear and Alberic, who were bringing up the rear.
In the middle, Edward was entertaining Pulchria and Leah with an amusing story, while Richard slouched next to him. Gwgan was with Hilde, listening to embarrassing revelations about Isabella’s childhood with an indulgent smile. Behind them, Delwyn was gabbling at Cornald, who was pretending to be asleep.
‘I have enjoyed the journey from Brechene,’ said Roger eventually. ‘I like a decent skirmish.’
‘I do not – not when my wife is with me.’
‘Eight separate incidents,’ said Roger. ‘Each one fiercer and more determined than the last.’
‘It is a pity Edward’s soldiers were ill,’ said Geoffrey. ‘They would have been useful.’
‘Not if they fight like him,’ said Roger scathingly. ‘Although I suppose his quick thinking did prevent Hilde and the others from being cut down in the barn.’
‘And he saved her in the first attack,’ added Geoffrey. ‘He may not be a warrior, but there is no question of his courage.’
‘Aye,’ acknowledged Roger reluctantly. ‘And Sear, Alberic and Richard cannot be faulted in that respect, either. Gwgan has proved himself useful, too. He may not be a knight, but he is better in a fight than any other politician I have met.’
‘He might not have survived the journey, had he not been,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Every one of the ambushes has concentrated on dispatching anyone in a white surcoat first.’
‘I noticed that, too. So I told him to wear something else, but he pointed out that it would be mean more arrows for the rest of us – that it would be numerically safer if the attacks were aimed at seven men, rather than six.’
‘I hope they do not harry us on the way home,’ said Geoffrey.
‘There will be no trouble going home,’ said Roger with utter conviction. ‘Because you will not have the letters. I have been thinking about it for several days now, and I am sure I am right.’
Geoffrey blinked. ‘What are you talking about? Robbers are not interested in what Henry has to say to vassals. Or do you think they are interested in preventing Maurice from telling Isabella where to buy raisins?’
Roger shot him an unpleasant look. ‘It is obvious from our baggage that we carry little of value – unless you happen to have a penchant for rotting corpses.’
‘I told you – they probably see the coffin as a ruse.’
‘But they have been nowhere near the coffin – they aimed for us. Besides, how many robbers do you know who wear armour? They are soldiers, not outlaws, and they were after the letters.’
‘That is not possible, Roger. No one but you and Hilde knows I have them.’
‘Delwyn found out about the one to his abbot, and you gave missives to Gwgan and Richard in Goodrich. I would say it is obvious that you have more. Why else would you be going to Kermerdyn?’
Geoffrey gazed at him. Was he right? But ambushing a cavalcade of six knights seemed an extreme way to prevent them from being delivered – and they had had no trouble at all between La Batailge and Brechene. Or did that explain why the attacks had concentrated on the knights, rather than the baggage cart; the intention was to kill the King’s messenger, but all knights tended to look alike, so the villains were obliged to target them all?
‘Do you still have them?’ asked Roger. ‘They have not fallen out?’
‘No,’ replied Geoffrey shortly.
It was not the first time Roger had posed the question, and it was beginning to make him nervous: he found himself constantly checking they were still there. He was not overly concerned about the one to Mabon’s successor, but he suspected Henry would be furious if Wilfred’s was lost, given that it involved money. And he was beginning to suspect that Sear’s was important, too, or Henry would not have issued such peculiar instructions for its delivery.
‘Good,’ said Roger. ‘The moment you have handed them over, we shall take the first ship we can find. Tancred will forgive you for any misunderstandings and will welcome us into his service. And then you will never have to accept a commission from Henry again.’
‘And what about my wife?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Do I abandon her in Kermerdyn?’
Roger shrugged. ‘From our experiences so far, I would suggest she is safer without you. Or perhaps Tancred will find her a post. With a few women like Hilde in his army, he would not need the likes of us.’
It was not long before the forest track emerged into more open countryside, where farmers had cleared away trees for crops. It was good land, made fertile by the meandering River Tywi, and the stubble indicated the harvest had been good that year.
‘Lanothni,’ said Hilde, pointing along the track to where a huddle of houses clustered around a simple little church. ‘I remember it from when I last visited my sister. The beds were clean, although the food left something to be desired.’
She urged her horse forward to lead the way. People came out of their houses to stare, unused to such large parties. Geoffrey saw recognition flash in the eyes of several when they settled on Hilde, and supposed she had said or done something to be remembered. He braced himself for trouble – she could be sharp-tongued when something displeased her. Unerringly, she rode towards the handsome building that stood next to the church. It was neat, clean, and had a tiled roof. A man emerged to see what was going on.
‘Lady Hilde,’ he said, his face falling. He swallowed audibly. ‘What a… a nice surprise.’
Hilde inclined her head. ‘And your name is Fychan.’
‘Yes,’ said the man uneasily. ‘Landlord of this fine inn. Will you be wanting to stay again? Despite all the complaints you levied last time?’
‘I imagine you have rectified those,’ said Hilde loftily. ‘You have had two years.’
Fychan gulped again, then shouted for boys to come and tend to the horses. The travellers dismounted and followed him into a low-ceilinged chamber, full of wood-smoke and the scent of roasting meat. There were fresh rushes on the floor, and the dogs that lounged near the fire were clean and sleek. It was far nicer than anywhere else they had stopped, and Geoffrey felt hopeful it would meet his wife’s exacting demands.
Hilde looked around appraisingly. ‘Yes,’ she said eventually. ‘It will suffice.’
Villagers were ousted from the tables nearest the hearth to make room for the newcomers, although Geoffrey would have preferred a seat by the door. It was warm in the room, and he knew he would quickly become uncomfortable in armour and padded surcoat. Politely, Edward saw the ladies and Delwyn settled, then claimed the next best seat for himself, quickly divesting himself of what little armour he wore and exchanging it for a long robe that matched his gloves.
‘You have been here before, too, sir,’ said Fychan, addressing Sear as he served his guests with a platter of roasted meat, bread and a peculiar mash of boiled vegetables that Geoffrey suspected had been prepared for the pigs. ‘I recognize your fine warhorse.’
‘The King gave i
t to me,’ replied Sear smugly. ‘I am one of his favourites. Which is why it is strange that Geoffrey was entrusted with the business His Majesty wanted done in Kermerdyn. There was no need for him to have made this journey.’
‘Well, I am glad he did,’ said Hilde mildly. ‘It has been two years since I saw Isabella, and I am eager to know how she fares.’
‘Is she anything like you?’ asked Roger, a little warily.
‘No,’ replied Hilde shortly. ‘She is thinner.’
‘She shares your love of cleanliness, though,’ said Alberic. ‘Gwgan’s home is always spotless. And your love of water has certainly rendered Geoffrey more congenial company, Lady Hilde. He let himself grow filthy between La Batailge and Goodrich, but now he wears clean clothes, shaves, and even washes on occasion.’
This was certainly true – Hilde’s fastidiousness extended to her husband as well as taverns – but Geoffrey did not think it was polite of Alberic to remark on it.
‘Then you could do with a wife, too,’ said Hilde frostily, before her husband could respond. ‘Do not criticize Geoffrey when you leave rather a lot to be desired yourself.’
‘Nonsense!’ cried Alberic, stung. ‘I washed just a week ago. Geoffrey, on the other hand, would probably not have seen a bowl of water since he left the Holy Land, were it not for you.’
‘Well, he is perfectly tidy now, and we should say no more on the matter,’ said Edward, ever tactful. ‘I should like to visit the Holy Land. Will you tell us about it, Geoffrey?’
‘ I will,’ offered Roger eagerly. ‘It is a lovely place, full of willing whores and fabulous brothels. What are the brothels like in Kermerdyn? Are they worth visiting?’
‘I would not know,’ said Edward in distaste. ‘I do not frequent such places.’
‘I do,’ said Sear. ‘The one by the church is better than the one in the market.’
‘Is it?’ asked Richard, startled. ‘I always thought it was the other way around. Of course, I have not visited a brothel in years – not since I was married. You should take a wife, Roger. You will find they are cheaper than whores. I would not be without mine.’
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