‘The last letter is to Bishop Wilfred. The second task is to assess whether Mabon or Wilfred is more deserving of the King’s approbation. They dislike each other apparently, but he wants to know who will emerge victorious, so he can be sure of supporting the winning side.’
Hilde laughed without humour. ‘And the last task?’
‘To investigate a suspicious death that occurred seven years ago.’
Hilde sat up. ‘Not William fitz Baldwin’s?’
‘You know about it?’ asked Geoffrey, surprised.
‘Yes, from Isabella. Apparently, he was just some sullen Norman when he arrived in Kermerdyn, but by the time he finished building Rhydygors, he had become good, kind and saintly. His luck improved, too, and everything he did was successful.’
‘Except for the fact that he died before his time.’
‘People were jealous of him, even his friends – Sear, Alberic, Mabon, Cornald, his brother. It was common knowledge that he had discovered a secret, which accounted for his transformation, but he would never say what it was to anyone, until he raved about it on his deathbed.’
‘Did he rave enough to let anyone guess what it might be?’
‘He gave snatches to different people. He told Isabella it was something to do with water.’
‘He told Mabon it occurred in the river,’ mused Geoffrey. ‘A vision perhaps. Mabon is a curious man, do you not think? Rather irreligious for a monastic.’
Hilde laughed again. ‘He has startled us all with his pagan remarks, and Joan will be glad to be rid of him.’
‘What else do you know about William? Were there rumours regarding culprits for his murder?’
‘Oh, yes. Isabella said everyone who attended his deathbed should be considered a suspect, because they were all so keen to have his secret – Sear, Alberic, Cornald and Pulchria, Bishop Wilfred and Abbot Mabon, Hywel, Gwgan, Richard and Leah, Edward, Delwyn. It will not be an easy case to solve, because none of them is likely to confess.’
‘Mabon says he, Edward and Leah are innocent, because they had no contact with the butter that he believes killed William.’
‘Isabella also mentioned the possibility that the butter was to blame, but she said it could not be substantiated, because the stuff was thrown away before it could be inspected. However, William had been eating it over several days.’
‘Have any of these suspects inherited William’s success? In other words did anyone acquire his secret?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Lord!’ muttered Geoffrey, thinking again that Henry had burdened him with an impossible task. He said as much to Hilde and then he told her about Tancred’s letters and Eudo’s murder, and about the shipwreck and his vow never to return to the Holy Land.
‘I am sorry,’ he said eventually, realizing he had been speaking for a long time. ‘You do not want to know all this.’
‘Of course, I do,’ said Hilde softly. ‘Because now I will be able to help you when we travel to Kermerdyn – and I am going with you, Geoffrey. We shall discuss what you learn and make sense of it together. But we have talked enough today, and there are other matters to attend.’
She moved towards him with grim purpose.
It was late afternoon by the time Olivier brought his guests home, and, judging from the laughter around the bailey, a good time had been had by all, even Sear and Alberic, who gushed about Olivier’s birds. Geoffrey tried to manoeuvre Richard and Gwgan into a position where he could speak to them alone, but there were too many people, and it would have looked suspicious had he persisted. Reluctantly, he decided to wait.
The party trooped into the hall, where Joan had prepared a feast fit for kings, with plenty of roasted meat, fresh bread, boiled eggs, fish, custard and even a small dish of cabbage for the rare few who liked a little greenery on their platters.
There was a raised table near the hearth, where the most important guests were seated. As lord of the manor, Geoffrey sat in the middle, with Hilde on one side, and Joan and Olivier on the other. Cornald and Pulchria sat next to Hilde, and Gwgan by Joan. Mabon, Sear, Alberic, Edward, Roger, Richard and Leah were opposite. Delwyn was relegated to the servants’ table, much to his indignation.
‘Ignore him,’ boomed Mabon irritably, as the monk’s whine buzzed around their ears like an annoying insect. ‘He has ideas above his station.’
‘Did you do much looting in the Holy Land, Sir Geoffrey?’ asked Cornald conversationally. He looked exactly as a butterer should – portly, with a greasy face and soft hands. He smiled a lot and had rosy cheeks and shining eyes. Geoffrey immediately liked him and was sorry he was saddled with such a wanton wife. ‘We heard great riches were there for the taking.’
‘I did plenty,’ said Roger, before Geoffrey could reply. ‘I returned a wealthy man.’
‘It is easy to take from the weak,’ declared Sear challengingly. ‘But I have always considered it more noble to tackle those better able to defend themselves.’
‘It is certainly more fun to remove treasure from a man who puts up a decent fight,’ agreed Abbot Mabon amiably. ‘I have never enjoyed raiding peasants.’
‘I am glad to hear it, My Lord Abbot,’ said Gwgan softly. His intelligent face was alight with amusement, and it was clear he was enjoying himself. ‘I doubt Prince Hywel would approve of you marauding those of his subjects who are helpless.’
‘Not his subjects,’ snapped Richard. ‘The King’s.’
‘Hear, hear,’ echoed Sear, while Alberic raised his cup in salute at the sentiment. Leah put a calming hand on her husband’s arm, and he shot her what Geoffrey supposed was a smile.
‘I would not have enjoyed the Crusade,’ said Edward. ‘I understand there were flies. I do not like flies.’
‘You mean Saracens?’ asked Roger, puzzled. ‘There were plenty of those.’
‘I mean flies,’ said Edward with a fastidious shudder. ‘Creatures that land on rotting meat and then buzz around your head afterwards. Dreadful things!’
‘I kill them by the hundred,’ said Richard. ‘My brother made me a gift of a special implement with which to swat them. That was before his change, of course. Afterwards, he told me they are God’s creations and so worthy of mercy. I ignored him.’
‘Flies are not God’s creations,’ proclaimed Mabon authoritatively. ‘They are the Devil’s. So swat away.’
‘Tell us more about your loot, Sir Roger,’ invited Cornald. ‘Did anyone try to stop you, or were you given free rein to take what you liked?’
‘People did try to stop me,’ admitted Roger. ‘But I usually killed them.’
Hilde regarded him coolly. ‘You had better not try to kill Geoffrey, should he ever attempt to instil a sense of honesty into you.’
‘He knows better than to try,’ said Roger carelessly. He turned to Sear. ‘Why did you not volunteer for the Crusade? Was it beyond your martial skills?’
‘Not everyone can jaunt off for pleasure when there is work to be done,’ replied Sear tartly. ‘I remained to tend to my responsibilities, like any decent man.’
‘Tell us about your adventures in battle, Abbot Mabon,’ said Olivier quickly.
‘Later, perhaps.’ Mabon raised a small phial and shook it jovially at the little knight. ‘It is time to take my tonic, you see. This miraculous substance is what makes me the man I am.’
‘Really?’ asked Pulchria. She shot a speculative glance at her husband. ‘Where do you buy it?’
‘In Kermerdyn,’ replied Mabon. ‘The apothecary makes it for me.’
‘It contains mandrake juice,’ said Gwgan. ‘And other ingredients to make a man feel invincible.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Edward. ‘I appreciate that a counsellor is obliged to amass a wealth of knowledge if he is to serve his prince, but I would not have thought an intimacy with the contents of Abbot Mabon’s medicine would be necessary.’
Gwgan laughed. ‘My wife told me – she is interested in herb lore.’
‘My si
ster Isabella,’ nodded Hilde. ‘She has always been fascinated by the medicinal properties of plants.’
‘Well, I do not care what is in it, only that it does me a power of good,’ declared Mabon. ‘And not just me, either. Richard swears by it, too.’
Richard produced an identical pot. ‘Three sips a day. But this expedition has taken longer than I expected, and I have run out. Give me some of yours, Mabon.’
‘I certainly shall not,’ said Mabon fervently. ‘Because then I will not have enough to see me home, and I do not want to be found lacking by the ladies.’
Richard scowled, and Geoffrey braced himself to intervene when it looked as though he might take the potion by force. Roger’s hand went to his dagger, giving the impression that he thought a brawl would round the evening off very nicely.
‘Music!’ declared Olivier quickly. ‘Where is my lute?’
Without further ado, he began to sing a popular ballad about a lovelorn maiden. He had a beautiful voice and played well. Richard’s scowl faded, Gwgan’s mocking smile was replaced by something softer, Edward clapped his hands in girlish delight, and Mabon closed his eyes to listen.
‘Look at Richard,’ murmured Hilde in Geoffrey’s ear. ‘He will have Mabon’s potion later, no doubt about it. I only hope they do not kill each other over it.’
So did Geoffrey – at least, not before he had given them the King’s letters.
Warm and dry for the first time in weeks, Geoffrey allowed himself to relax. It was a mistake, because Hilde plied him with wine on one side and Joan from the other. By the time people began to withdraw to their sleeping quarters, he was decidedly unsteady on his feet. It also encouraged him to be reckless, and he decided he would deliver the letters to Richard and Gwgan that night.
He cornered Richard first, withdrawing the missive from inside his shirt, and checking that Richard’s name and Pepin’s diamond were on it before following him outside. It was a clear night, with masses of stars pricking the black sky. Had he been sober, he would have waited longer before grabbing Richard’s shoulder and shoving the letter in his hand. Fortunately, Richard was drunk, too, and did not understand that it was Geoffrey’s fault that he reeled and almost fell.
‘That is from King Henry,’ said Geoffrey in response to the questioning glance.
Richard regarded it warily. ‘Does it contain orders? Or is it just from Eudo, telling me how much meat to feed my garrison? He is constantly pressing me with stupid instructions.’
‘I am afraid neither of them confided its contents to me.’
Richard started to break the seal, but then stopped. ‘I shall ask Gwgan to read it tomorrow. I doubt it is urgent.’
‘I was sorry to learn about your brother,’ said Geoffrey, taking the opportunity to question him. Then he winced. William had been dead seven years, so condolences were late, to say the least, and he realized he should leave his investigations until his wits were not floating in wine. Fortunately, Richard was drunker than he was, and it did not occur to him that sympathy for the death of a man so long in his grave was peculiar.
‘Everyone liked William.’ Richard’s expression grew pained. ‘I would have liked his secret, because I would not mind being popular myself.’
‘You think his secret made him popular?’
Richard nodded so earnestly that he almost toppled over. ‘He was like me before he found it – he had a temper and was disinclined to laugh at frivolous things. Then along came his secret, and he changed. He became kindly and tolerant, just and wise. And people loved him for it. I still grieve for him.’
‘What was his secret?’ asked Geoffrey tipsily.
‘I wish I knew, but it was something to do with the Blessed Virgin. Mabon thinks it was connected to William’s swims in the river, but he is wrong. It does not matter any more, though, because the secret is gone. He did not tell any of us enough on his deathbed to allow us to find it.’
‘Are you sure?’
Richard nodded again. ‘Yes. My brother was a saint, and no one else fits that description in Kermerdyn. If anyone did find his secret, then it did not have the same effect.’
‘Was he murdered?’ asked Geoffrey. The question was out before he realized he should have phrased it more tactfully.
Richard’s scowl was back. ‘No one would have killed William, although there were tales to the contrary. It was probably because his fingers turned black, but the physician said that can happen with many ailments. He was not murdered, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.’
‘I was only asking,’ said Geoffrey, backing away with his hands in the air when Richard’s dagger started to come out of its sheath. ‘I meant no disrespect.’
‘Good,’ snarled Richard. ‘Because I will kill anyone who speaks dishonourably about William. He was the best man who ever lived.’
‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, startled to see tears begin to flow.
He watched Richard stagger away and was inclined to believe his grief was genuine. It was difficult to feign emotions after swallowing so much wine, and there was no doubt that Richard had loved his brother dearly. Did that mean he would not have killed him? Geoffrey found he was not yet ready to say.
Six
When Richard had gone, Geoffrey looked for Gwgan, but the counsellor was in neither the hall nor the bailey. Then he remembered that he had letters from Maurice to deliver, as well as the ones from the King, and one of them was to Cornald. The others – to Bishop Wilfred, Isabella and Robert the steward – would have to wait until he reached Kermerdyn, but he could be rid of the one.
‘Cornald went to the kitchen,’ supplied Sear, when Geoffrey asked whether anyone had seen him. ‘The ample feast your sister provided was not enough for him, so he has gone to see what more he can scavenge.’
Sear was dicing with Alberic and Roger by the fire. Edward was nearby, strumming Olivier’s lute, and Geoffrey hoped he would suppress the inevitable quarrel that would arise when Roger’s loaded dice came into play. Mabon lounged in Joan’s favourite chair, while Delwyn sat at his feet, dozing restlessly.
‘What about Gwgan?’ Geoffrey asked. ‘Where is he?’
‘Probably with his horse,’ replied Edward. ‘It was lame earlier. But it is late and I am tired. We should all sleep now if you will insist on riding for Kermerdyn at dawn. Put up your dice, Roger.’
Geoffrey was surprised when Roger did as he was told, but supposed the big knight did look weary. So did Sear, Alberic and Edward, and Geoffrey saw the journey from La Batailge had taken its toll on them, too. Perhaps he was unreasonable to force them on so soon. Mulling over the notion of a respite, he walked to the kitchen block – a separate building to reduce the risk of fire.
Cornald was indeed raiding the pantries, and his cheeks bulged as he browsed along the shelves with a candle in hand. Pulchria was with him, and the unfriendly look she cast Geoffrey indicated she had not liked her advances being repelled earlier. He handed over the letter, with the brief explanation that it had been entrusted to him by the Bishop of London.
‘From Maurice?’ Pulchria asked wistfully, leaving Geoffrey in no doubt that she had helped the lecherous prelate with his medicine. ‘How nice.’
Cornald scanned it quickly, his face alight with pleasure. ‘He hopes we are both well, and confers blessings on us. What a lovely man! And he has included a recipe for cheese that he thinks might work well with Welsh milk. How thoughtful! Is he a friend of yours, Sir Geoffrey?’
Geoffrey nodded, then promptly forgot his resolve to leave his enquiries until his wits were sharper. ‘He told me a lot about Kermerdyn, including an account of the death of William fitz Baldwin, whom he admired.’
‘Everyone admired William,’ said Cornald sadly. ‘He was a wonderful man.’
‘I preferred him when he was a sinner,’ muttered Pulchria.
‘You were at his deathbed,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And—’
‘Not this again!’ sighed Pulchria. ‘I thought I had answered these questions already
.’
‘You did?’ asked Cornald. ‘When? You told me you spent all afternoon praying in the chapel.’
‘I am about to go there again,’ said Pulchria. The sultry look was back as she addressed Geoffrey. ‘A night vigil always leaves me so refreshed. Perhaps you would care to join me?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But I imagine Roger and Sear will oblige.’
‘She is a pious lady,’ said Cornald, placing an affectionate arm around her shoulders. ‘She spends most nights and much of the day in prayer. Is that not true, dearest?’
‘Yes,’ said Pulchria. Geoffrey wondered how the butterer could be so blind.
‘To return to William,’ said Cornald, ‘Pulchria and I were at his deathbed, and so was anyone of note in Kermerdyn. He had a secret, you see, and we all hoped he would reveal it. Not for our personal use, but so we could send it to His Majesty. Or even to the Archbishop, to be used for the glory of God.’
‘Right,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Maurice told me a tale of poisoned butter—’
‘No!’ Cornald’s voice was sharp and angry. ‘There was a tale, but it was a lie. My butter is made from the finest ingredients, and even if it was a little past its best, it would not kill a man by turning his fingers black. It might drive him to the latrines, but nothing worse. William was not poisoned, Sir Geoffrey.’
‘As I told you earlier,’ added Pulchria irritably.
‘You mentioned a secret,’ said Geoffrey. ‘What was—’
‘William talked about it often,’ said Cornald. ‘He called it his “recipe for happiness”. He was fond of fine food, and I believe he had stumbled across the perfect diet. That was his secret.’
Geoffrey regarded him warily. ‘What?’
‘A man is what he eats,’ explained Cornald. ‘I am in the business of creating victuals, so I know what I am talking about. Too much of one food or too little of another will cause imbalances in the body and lead to unhappiness. But I think William discovered the perfect harmony, and it was that which made him so good and kindly.’
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