A Dead Man's secret m-8

by Simon Beaufort

  Then there was another yell, and Geoffrey glanced up to see more horsemen racing to join the affray. It was Sear’s party. Geoffrey’s little force was already retreating, forced back by sheer weight of numbers, and Sear’s arrival would eliminate any small chance they might have had. Sure enough, the man who had been fighting at his side turned and fled. Others followed. Geoffrey battled on, his muscles burning with fatigue as he desperately tried to reach Richard in the hope that the plan would falter when deprived of its leader.

  It was difficult to see who was who in the darkness, and Geoffrey was sure some of Sear’s men were battling Richard’s. It was a pitiful business. Only a handful of Edward’s men stood between Richard and Gwgan’s door now, and Geoffrey was aware of soldiers slipping around him. He could not prevent them from entering the house while on horseback, so he leapt off. He slapped the animal hard, driving it forward into the advancing men.

  But it was only a temporary respite, and they soon came forward again. Richard, also on foot, put three men in front of him and ordered them to advance as a unit.

  ‘Give up,’ shouted Richard from behind them. ‘You cannot win. You are virtually alone.’

  It was true, but Geoffrey was not about to surrender. He fought on, but then became aware of another danger. Sear had seen what Geoffrey was doing, and was bearing down on him. The knight stood in his saddle and aimed blow after blow at Geoffrey, who, having no shield, was obliged to parry them with his sword. The clangs as metal met metal made his ears ring.

  He could not fight Sear and guard the door at the same time, and he knew soldiers were cutting around behind him, Richard one of them. Geoffrey aimed a vicious jab at Sear that scored a deep cut in the man’s thigh, then turned, aiming to stop Richard, but Sear did not baulk at a wound that would have made most men swoon. He came at Geoffrey in earnest, sword whirling, forcing him to retreat.

  Geoffrey ducked under one blow intended to decapitate him, and, when Sear was off-balance, threw his dagger. It was an unorthodox move, but effective. Sear made a curious gagging sound, scrabbling at his throat. Geoffrey did not wait to see his end, but barged into Gwgan’s house.

  He had taken no more than a few steps before Gwgan stepped in front of him. The counsellor was wearing a rich tunic and no armour, and there was blood from a cut on his left arm. He was holding a dagger, and Geoffrey suspected he had wounded himself, so he could later claim he had been injured in the attack, thereby denying complicity in the murder of his friend.

  ‘Geoffrey, stop,’ he said quietly in Welsh. ‘What has been set in motion cannot be stopped. Stand back and do not interfere.’

  Breathing hard, Geoffrey thrust past Gwgan, lest Edward had not managed to spirit Hywel away, and was besieged inside. Gwgan lashed out with his dagger, and Geoffrey felt pain blaze through his shoulder.

  ‘I do not want to fight you,’ Gwgan said, although he grabbed a sword. ‘Stand down, Geoffrey. This is not your concern.’

  Geoffrey tried to pass him a second time, parrying the next slash with his sword. When he saw the knight was not going to do as he was asked, Gwgan began to fight in earnest.

  ‘I did my best to keep you out of it,’ he hissed. ‘But you would not listen, so now you must pay the price for your meddling.’

  ‘I suppose you would have killed me, had I ridden into the marshes with you this afternoon,’ snarled Geoffrey, backing away. ‘And I imagine it was you who told Richard to send drugged wine to the tavern, too. He is too stupid to have thought of it himself.’

  ‘I wanted you and Roger sound asleep until morning,’ snapped Gwgan. ‘And if you had come with me to the marshes, I would have knocked you out and blamed it on outlaws. You are kin. I never intended to kill you.’

  ‘Then stop fighting me and do what is right,’ shouted Geoffrey. ‘End this mad scheme. No one else has to die.’

  ‘You do, I am afraid,’ said Gwgan, coming at Geoffrey with another series of slashes. ‘Which is a damned shame, because I like you. But you will tell everyone about my role in this affair, and I cannot allow that.’

  Geoffrey gaped at him. ‘You think you can keep this secret? When Sear, Edward and Richard and their men know what you have done? You will be branded as a traitor.’

  Gwgan launched himself at Geoffrey, who normally would have had no trouble defeating the man, but the wound in his shoulder hurt enough to make him dizzy and was sapping his strength. Nevertheless, he outlasted the counsellor’s offensive, and then, drawing on his own last reserves, went after Gwgan with a series of vicious swipes, determined that if he was to die that night, then Gwgan was going to perish with him. He pressed his advantage relentlessly, driving the man back and into the main chamber.

  Richard was already there with three other men, and he reacted instinctively to the sounds of a skirmish behind him. He whipped his sword around fast, catching Gwgan in the neck and killing him instantly.

  ‘Damn!’ muttered Richard. Then he shrugged. ‘Well, we would have had to dispatch him anyway. He was a traitor, and his people would have taken his life. I have saved them the trouble.’

  ‘Hywel,’ demanded Geoffrey. ‘Where is he?’

  Richard stepped aside, and Geoffrey closed his eyes when he saw the prince’s body. The attack had been ruthless and determined, and there were dozens of wounds.

  At that moment, Edward entered the room at a run, his three men at his heels. All were dishevelled and two were bleeding, indicating they had at least tried to carry out their orders. Edward faltered when he saw Hywel.

  ‘Richard had posted men at the back of the house, too,’ he explained to Geoffrey. ‘We could not reach…’

  ‘You have lost this battle,’ said Richard. ‘I am lord of Rhydygors now. My appointment will be confirmed as soon as news of Hywel’s death reaches the King. It was in the letter you brought me, Geoffrey.’

  ‘Then I suppose we shall have to work together,’ said Edward with a sigh of resignation. ‘Kadweli will support you, should there be any unpleasantness arising from this incident.’

  ‘That is it?’ breathed Geoffrey, aghast. ‘You will transfer your allegiance to this-’

  ‘Be careful what you say, Geoffrey,’ interrupted Richard sharply. ‘I am the King’s appointed representative. If you malign me, you malign him.’

  ‘He is right,’ said Edward. ‘What is done is done, and we must all make the best of it.’

  He left without another word. Geoffrey watched helplessly as Richard ordered his men to carry Hywel’s body to the castle. Gwgan was left like so much rubbish.

  ‘Your brother would not have condoned this,’ said Geoffrey.

  ‘No,’ agreed Richard. ‘But we cannot choose the way that power comes to us – he had holy visions, and I have letters from court. I am tempted to kill you, too, and nothing would give me greater pleasure, I assure you, but the letter also said I was to send you back with a report of what happened. So I cannot stab you – not now Edward has seen you alive.’

  ‘Why would the King want a report from me?’

  ‘I do not know. But an order is an order, and I know better than to flout one. You will tell the King what happened here.’

  ‘How? I do not understand any of it.’

  Richard smiled. ‘I suspect none of us does – not me, you, Edward, Gwgan or Sear. And probably not Eudo, either. Between you and me, I suspect the only man who really knows is the King, but I would not advise quizzing him about it.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey softly. ‘I doubt that would be wise.’

  Epilogue

  Reddinges, November 1103

  It did not take Geoffrey long to recover from the skirmish, and he set off towards England the moment he was able to ride. Hilde insisted it was too soon, but Geoffrey wanted his interview with the King concluded as soon as possible. There were no ambushes as they rode, and Hilde was safely deposited at Goodrich, along with her widowed sister.

  Then Geoffrey, Roger and Bale rode fast and hard to Reddinges, a place for which
Henry held an unaccountable affection. There were rumours that he intended to found an abbey there, to atone for his sins. Geoffrey wondered whether Hywel’s murder would be among them, because as he travelled and had time to reflect on all that had happened, he decided it would have been all but impossible for the King not to have known what was in Eudo’s letters.

  Before leaving Kermerdyn, Bishop Wilfred had given him William’s statue, claiming he did not want a pagan goddess in his church. It was, he said, a gift to the King.

  When they arrived at Reddinges, they found it full of the customary bustle associated with the royal presence, with clerks and scribes everywhere. They met Pepin, who informed them that he had been promoted to Eudo’s post, but was finding it a trial, and Geoffrey suspected he would soon be relieved of the position. Pepin was no Eudo, and Henry would be looking for someone more devious.

  While they waited to be summoned, Geoffrey sat in the parish church, reading. It was not long before Roger came to sit next to him. He rarely strayed far from his friend’s side now, mortified that he had missed a battle that had nearly claimed Geoffrey’s life.

  ‘What is that?’ he asked.

  ‘A letter from Giffard,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I told him about William’s secret, and he writes that we are wrong to assume that a statue, or even a vision, can turn a man into a saint. He says goodness comes from within and is ignited by the hand of God.’

  ‘Well, he is a bishop,’ said Roger dismissively. ‘He would claim that sort of thing.’

  ‘What do you believe?’ asked Geoffrey, although he suspected he would be better not knowing.

  Roger shook his head. ‘Not that the statue has any particular powers. I touched it several times, but it did not make me feel holy. But perhaps I am holy enough already, what with having been on the Crusade.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But William believed it.’

  They were silent for a moment, listening to the coo of a dove somewhere in the rafters.

  ‘Tell me again what happened,’ said Roger. ‘I did not pay much attention back in Kermerdyn, and the King might ask for my views. I will look foolish if I do not understand it all.’

  ‘I am not sure I understand it,’ said Geoffrey, amused by the notion that Henry would ask Roger’s opinion on so complex a matter.

  Roger cleared his throat. ‘It began when Eudo decided it would be better for Henry if a Norman held the castle in Kermerdyn, because Hywel was too popular. He was afraid Hywel would think he had better things to do than swear allegiance to a Norman king and might make trouble.’

  Geoffrey nodded. ‘He thought Richard fitz Baldwin would be a better choice, and told me himself that he thought Henry was wrong to have given Rhydygors to Hywel.’

  ‘So Eudo wrote letters to Richard and Gwgan arranging Hywel’s murder,’ said Roger. ‘And he hoped that the “secret” that made William and Hywel decent would act on the surly Richard, too.’

  ‘Yes. But Edward overheard Eudo and managed to gain access to his strongbox, where his suspicions were confirmed. He tackled Eudo by the pond at La Batailge. Eudo told him that no letters had been written, and, rather stupidly, Edward believed him.’

  ‘And then Edward killed him,’ said Roger.

  ‘Edward thought that Hywel was safe, but Eudo had already written the letters.’

  ‘And Henry gave them to you,’ said Roger.

  ‘Yes, he did, and refused to let Maurice rewrite them. That may imply Henry knew what they contained and thought he had nothing to lose by letting the plot run its course – he could always deny culpability, and Eudo could not contradict him. But, equally, he might have not thought it worth the bother of inspecting the work of a trusted scribe.’

  ‘Which do you think?’ asked Roger.

  ‘That Henry is innocent,’ lied Geoffrey, unwilling for his friend to know the truth, lest he blurted it out at some inopportune moment.

  Roger continued the tale. ‘So Edward rode west, thinking the plot was thwarted, and was appalled when he saw you deliver a message to Richard. He tried to kill you before you gave Gwgan his, then tried to kill Richard with poison, but Abbot Mabon took it by mistake.’

  ‘It horrified him, so he left the business of dispatching Gwgan and Richard to his troops after that, telling them that they should not reach Kermerdyn alive.’

  ‘But their efforts failed, and Richard and Gwgan murdered Hywel. Delwyn had already been hired, too, ready to step in and deliver the letters, should anything happen to you.’

  ‘Delwyn lost more than his life,’ said Geoffrey. ‘His abbey will soon be under a Norman.’

  ‘That is a pity, because you had brokered a sort of peace between Wilfred and the abbey.’

  ‘Giffard’s prayer of kindness, compassion and forgiveness did that; it had nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Well, at least you forced Edward’s men to return the money they stole from Fychan at Lanothni. However, it was unkind to insist that a portion went directly towards a new church. It was Fychan’s money; you had no right to tell him what he could do with it.’

  Geoffrey shrugged. ‘I liked Lanothni’s priest, and the money will do more good with him than with Fychan, who would just sit counting it until someone else decided to rob him.’

  ‘Incidentally, did I tell you that I spoke to Pepin about the two letters that were confused?’ asked Roger. ‘Mabon’s epistle sent to Wilfred, and vice versa?’

  ‘What did he say,’ asked Geoffrey.

  Roger smirked. ‘That he was very, very careful about what went where, because he had made mistakes before. He is certain he made no errors. But he left them for the King to seal.’

  ‘It was Henry who exchanged them?’ asked Geoffrey, shocked.

  Of course it was, he thought. Henry wanted a report on the two churchmen, and what better way to test them than to arrange a ‘mistake’? He would not need Geoffrey’s report, because their reactions would tell him all he needed to know. La Batailge would receive St Peter’s tithes if Ywain was trustworthy and passed the letter to its intended recipient, and if Wilfred was honest, Ywain would write to Henry to claim the promised hundred marks.

  ‘But La Batailge did get the tithes,’ said Roger in confusion, when Geoffrey explained it to him. ‘And Ywain did not get the hundred marks. So why suppress the abbey? It was Ywain who was honest, not Wilfred.’

  ‘Quite. And an honest man is likely to lose in the long run. Or perhaps Henry appreciated the fact that Wilfred ensured a claim was not made on the treasury. Regardless, he prefers Wilfred, and my recommendation to let them find their own resolution was ignored.’

  ‘Leah will not be pleased,’ said Roger. ‘She vowed to stay in that abbey until she received a sign from God to say she is forgiven for murdering William.’

  ‘Perhaps she will think that is the sign,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Richard has agreed to take her back, so I imagine she will be looking for the first portent that appears. And she might pass Pulchria going the other way when she leaves the protection of the Church, because I understand that Cornald has finally been forced to recognize his wife’s illicit behaviour and is considering sending her to a nunnery. It would be appropriate justice.’

  Roger nodded, then looked at Geoffrey’s dog lying contentedly at his feet. ‘Are you really pleased to have that thing back?’

  ‘Of course I am pleased,’ said Geoffrey, leaning down to ruffle the animal’s fur. It growled softly. ‘I missed him – more than you missed Ulfrith, I suspect.’

  ‘The King has a lot to answer for,’ said Roger grimly. ‘He had no right to poach Ulfrith from me, or to steal your dog. Still, he soon learned he made a mistake, because neither suited his plans – Ulfrith looks strong and competent, but he is too stupid to be a decent soldier, and your dog did rather a lot of damage to several prize bitches.’

  Geoffrey laughed. The failure of Ulfrith and the dog to live up to Henry’s expectations had been one small gleam of victory in a dark and murky affair.

  ‘W
ell,’ sighed Roger, nodding to where the box with the statue was sitting with some of the King’s other recently acquired possessions. ‘Perhaps we should hope that goddess does bring out the goodness in people, because if there is one man who could do with some, it is Henry.’

  The meeting with the King went better than Geoffrey had anticipated. News had come of trouble in Normandy, and Henry was little interested in events in Wales. He listened absently while Geoffrey gave a carefully worded account of all that had happened.

  ‘Pity,’ he said, when the knight had finished. ‘Hywel was a good man.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey quietly. ‘He was a good man. And a good ruler, too.’

  ‘But justice has been served,’ Henry went on. ‘Gwgan is dead.’

  ‘Richard is not,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He has won himself Rhydygors.’

  ‘He should have had it anyway,’ said Henry. ‘Seven years ago, when his brother was killed. I do not know what Eudo was thinking when he advised me to hand the place to a Welshman. Rhydygors was built by a Norman and should have stayed in Norman hands.’

  ‘Yes, sire,’ said Geoffrey, deciding not to point out that this interpretation of events was somewhat at variance with the facts.

  ‘I shall need you to stay here for a few days, by the way,’ said Henry, as Geoffrey bowed and prepared to leave. ‘One of my ministers has been murdered, and I want you to find the culprit. But I shall tell you about it some other time, because I am busy now. You are dismissed.’

  Seething, both at the King’s manners and because his departure for Tancred was going to be delayed yet again, Geoffrey went in search of Maurice. He had raisins to deliver from Hilde. He found the Bishop ushering a giggling serving wench from his rooms. Maurice looked well, and Geoffrey saw he was enjoying life as one of the most powerful men in the court.

  ‘So I was right,’ said Maurice, indicating that Geoffrey was to enter and sit by the fire. It was a cold day, and rain was pattering against the window shutters. ‘Those letters were evil, although there is nothing to say the King knew what was included in them.’