The Coiner's Quarrel

by Simon Beaufort

  Next, Geoffrey looked at Rodbert and his followers. They could have killed Alwold, too, secure in the knowledge that Sendi’s mob would be the obvious suspects. Their own steward’s murder could only help their cause, because who would believe accusations levelled by men who murdered their opponents in the King’s own hall?

  Geoffrey was not the only one who thought the moneyers were the most likely candidates for the murder. Other courtiers had also weighed the evidence and found it pointed to the Saxons. They edged away, so that both factions soon stood alone.

  ‘I saw nothing of relevance,’ said Giffard in the silence that followed. ‘But Geoffrey is wrong: God did not reveal the Two Suns as a sign that He disapproves of murder. Rather, the killer used them as a diversion – they were already in the sky when he committed his wicked sin. Perhaps that is why God did not let us see them for very long.’

  If there was a wide berth around the moneyers, then there was an even larger one around Alwold. No one had gone to inspect him or to offer prayers for his soul. Geoffrey moved forward, and was somewhat startled when the man’s eyes fluttered open. Alwold was not dead, although the amount of blood and the location of the wound indicated he would not live for long. Geoffrey knelt and pressed one hand over the injury, to stem the bleeding and give him a chance to make a final confession.

  Meanwhile, Henry snapped his fingers at the watching crowd. ‘Fetch the Court physicians. Clarembald assures me he can cure anything, while the Bishop of Bath claims his skills are superior. We shall see whether their boasts are justified.’

  But Geoffrey knew a fatal injury when he saw one; physicians, talented or no, could not save Alwold. He leaned close to the dying man, sensing he had something to say. ‘Do you want a priest?’

  Alwold shook his head and his gaze fell on Maude, Rodbert and Tasso, who were still shooting accusing glances at Sendi. Sendi glowered back, while Adelise was informing Maurice in a strident voice that her people were innocent.

  ‘Do you want Rodbert?’ Geoffrey asked. Alwold shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on Barcwit’s sensual wife. ‘Maude?’

  Alwold nodded, so Geoffrey beckoned to her. Careful not to trail her clothes in the growing pool of gore that seeped from the steward, she knelt and took one of his limp hands.

  ‘What is it, Alwold?’ she asked softly. ‘What did you want to say?’

  Tasso and Rodbert stepped closer, too, but when Alwold’s mouth clamped shut, she indicated they were to move away. They obliged willingly enough, and went back to their conspiratorial muttering. Geoffrey was under the impression that neither liked Alwold, and were more indignant than grieved by his mortal wounding.

  ‘He must go, too,’ breathed Alwold, looking at Geoffrey. ‘He may be Sendi’s man.’

  Geoffrey started to oblige, having no desire to hear whatever deathbed secret Alwold was about to impart, but blood arced from the man’s injury and made a lacy pattern on the floor.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ ordered Henry, who was watching. ‘It would be a pity to have the poor fellow bleed to death, just because you cannot wait a few moments for my physicians to arrive.’

  ‘Speak softly,’ said Maude to Alwold. ‘This knight will not hear if you whisper.’

  Alwold seemed to know he had no time to argue. He began to speak in a low voice that had Maude straining to catch his words. Geoffrey, who cradled the man in his arms, heard him a lot better.

  ‘Tell Barcwit the silver is with Piers,’ Alwold breathed.

  ‘What?’ asked Maude, suddenly a lot more interested.

  The smile that parted Alwold’s bloodstained lips was not a pleasant one. ‘The silver,’ he repeated. ‘Give Barcwit my message, no one else. He will be angry if you betray him. You do not know what he can be like when he is angry.’

  ‘Who is Piers?’ demanded Maude. ‘Where can I … where can Barcwit find him?’

  ‘Tell Barcwit I am sorry, but I was loyal to the last. His silver is with Piers. He will understand.’

  ‘Who is Piers?’ pressed Maude again. ‘I know of no one by that name. Where does he live? And why did you leave the silver with him, when you should have brought it to Barcwit? We believed you when you said it had been stolen by outlaws. Are you now saying it was not?’

  ‘No,’ whispered Alwold. ‘Outlaws.’

  ‘Piers is an outlaw?’ Maude spoke urgently. ‘Is that what you are saying? Piers is the villain who robbed us? For God’s sake, man, tell me! This is important!’

  ‘Tell Barcwit,’ insisted Alwold, while Geoffrey thought he was deluded if he believed Maude would be a trustworthy messenger. It was obvious, even to him, that she had plans of her own. ‘You must …’

  ‘Where does Piers live?’ interrupted Maude frantically, seeing Alwold beginning to slip away. ‘I cannot help you, if you do not tell me who—’

  ‘Move out of my way,’ came an important voice that drowned any reply Alwold might have made. Maude glanced up in surprise.

  A portly, fussy man with bristling ginger eyebrows shoved through the crowd and came to crouch at Alwold’s side. Maude was almost knocked over, and only a timely lunge by Maurice prevented her from taking a tumble.

  ‘That is Clarembald,’ said Henry for her benefit. ‘One of my Court physicians.’

  ‘I am here, too,’ announced a second voice. Geoffrey saw a tall, lean cleric approach. ‘I am also a medicus – and a better one than Clarembald. My name is John de Villula, Bishop of Bath.’

  ‘This man has been stabbed,’ said Henry, while Geoffrey thought that if either physician needed that pointed out to them – the knife was still embedded in the steward’s stomach and he was drenched in blood – then Alwold was doomed indeed. ‘I want you to save his life.’

  ‘That is not possible,’ said Clarembald. ‘The wound is fatal, and only God can heal him.’

  ‘Then I shall ask Him to do so,’ said John, dropping to his knees. ‘He always listens to the supplications of His bishops, although He does not bother much with lay physicians.’

  ‘I heal with the gifts God gave me,’ retorted Clarembald, displaying his hands as though they were something of significant value. ‘I do more than order Him to make my patients better.’

  John opened his mouth to reply, but Henry intervened. ‘Yes, yes, we know what you think of each other. But a patient needs you, and I want you to rescue him, because I heard him mention silver.’

  ‘Clarembald will not succeed,’ said John disdainfully. ‘That man is beyond his meagre skills.’

  ‘You do it, then,’ invited Clarembald. He stood, and indicated John was to take his place.

  But John was no fool; he also knew Alwold was a lost cause. ‘I can do nothing now – not because the patient is beyond my skills, but because Clarembald has touched him and done his damage.’

  Clarembald was aghast. ‘Are you accusing me of killing him?’ His voice dropped to a furious whisper. ‘This is Barcwit’s steward, man! Do you want Barcwit to murder me, because you have made some false and wicked accusation?’

  The expression on John’s face indicated that he thought it would be a very good idea indeed. ‘You should avoid Bristol in the future, then,’ he said smoothly.

  Henry made an impatient noise and stepped between them, while Geoffrey, thinking it was poor form for healers to squabble when a man lay dying, turned his attention to Alwold. The steward was grey-faced and needed a priest, not physicians.

  ‘The secret lies with the priest at St John’s,’ Alwold whispered in a voice so low Geoffrey was not sure he had heard him. His eyes were open, but they were glazed, and the knight suspected he thought Maude was still with him. ‘The King knows about it, and so do Bloet and William de Warel …’

  His voice trailed off, and the only sounds came from the quarrelling medics. Then Alwold stopped breathing, and Geoffrey had a sudden uncomfortable sense of something slipping away from the man’s body. Alwold was dead.

  When Geoffrey saw he was holding a corpse, he laid Alwold on the floor and
stood up. Giffard moved into the spot he had vacated, and began to recite prayers for the man’s soul. Maude hovered with Rodbert and Tasso to Bishop Maurice’s left, while Sendi and his followers were to his right. Geoffrey suspected the burly prelate had positioned himself deliberately, to prevent the two parties from coming in contact with each other and committing more murders.

  ‘What did Alwold say?’ asked Henry of Maude.

  ‘Nothing that made sense,’ she replied, while Geoffrey struggled not to gape at the lie. ‘He wanted me to pass a message to my husband – something of a personal nature.’

  ‘What?’ asked Henry. He regarded her through narrowed eyes: Geoffrey was not the only one who had noticed how eagerly she had leaned forward to catch Alwold’s words. ‘Nothing in my Court is secret from me. What did he say?’

  Maude held his gaze as she replied. ‘It was a message about a man called Piers, sire. He must be a friend of my husband’s. As I said, it made no sense.’

  Geoffrey glanced at her companions. Tasso maintained a professional indifference, but Rodbert’s eyes darted between the King and Maude as he listened to the discussion. Geoffrey strongly suspected that Maude intended to keep Alwold’s confession from Barcwit, and wondered whether she planned to do the same with Tasso and Rodbert, too.

  He recalled Alwold’s very last words – which Maude had not heard – about the secret lying with the priest of St John’s, the King, Bloet and William de Warel. He supposed he should repeat them, but decided to hold his tongue. The wisest course of action was to forget about the whole business, and have no more to do with the moneyers or their silver – or with the King, whose greedy instincts were already alert.

  ‘Tell me exactly what he said,’ invited Henry, treating Maude to one of his most winning smiles. ‘I might be able to help you understand what he was trying to communicate.’

  ‘It was of no significance,’ replied Maude evasively. ‘He said this Piers has something to tell Barcwit. When I return home, I shall suggest that my husband visits the man.’

  ‘I heard Alwold mention silver,’ said Henry, and the smile was gone. He knew Maude was trying to mislead him.

  ‘He was rambling,’ objected Maude uneasily. ‘He did mention silver, but he was a moneyer’s steward, and his whole life revolved around it – we use silver for making coins.’

  ‘Is that all?’ asked Henry. His face was expressionless, but his voice oozed danger.

  Maude glanced at him and evidently realized she was playing with fire. ‘Normally, I would not bother you with our petty troubles, sire, but since you ask, I shall confide. About three weeks ago, on the Feast of St Michael and All Angels, Barcwit had a large amount of silver stolen. I suppose the matter was on Alwold’s mind as he died.’

  ‘And why would that be?’ asked Henry casually.

  Maude relented further, and Geoffrey was under the impression that her story held no surprises for the King: he already knew it. ‘Alwold had been escorting that particular consignment from a mine in Devon, but the carts were attacked just outside Bristol and the silver was taken. It was not Alwold’s fault, but he doubtless felt guilty about losing such a valuable load.’

  ‘I know about the robbery.’ Henry smiled at her surprise. ‘Precious metals do not go missing on my highways without my knowing.’

  ‘My husband says the roads are safer now you are King,’ said Maude with an ingratiating smile. ‘So, we were surprised when the convoy was attacked.’

  ‘Shocked, too,’ added Rodbert. ‘There was a lot of silver on those carts, and its loss was a serious blow to our business.’ He shot a glance at Sendi, making it clear whom he held responsible. Sendi bristled and glowered back, but Adelise was pinching his arm, so he said nothing.

  ‘All this puts a rather different complexion on Alwold’s death,’ said Giffard, standing as he finished his prayers. ‘He may have been killed because of the silver. Did anyone see who stabbed him?’

  ‘I was near Bishop Maurice,’ replied Maude, smiling coyly at the fat prelate, ‘so I saw nothing.’

  ‘I was aware of very little once I had set eyes on the Two Suns,’ said Maurice apologetically. ‘I think you were behind me, but I cannot be certain.’

  ‘I was next to her,’ declared Rodbert loyally. He glared at Maurice. ‘Some prelates show too much interest in their flock, and I wanted to ensure she came to no harm. Tasso will attest that we were all together when Alwold was so foully slain.’

  Geoffrey was unimpressed; their willingness to give each other alibis meant nothing. Henry turned his gaze from Barcwit’s supporters to Sendi’s mob. Sendi stepped forward immediately.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sire,’ he said, ‘but we have nothing to do with Alwold’s death, either. We came here for one purpose: to report that Barcwit cheats you. He strikes underweight coins and—’

  Henry waved him to silence. ‘I have already told you I will hear your case later. I do not want your grievances aired now.’

  ‘They are lies anyway,’ said Rodbert sullenly. ‘Sendi is jealous because Barcwit is more successful than him – but that is because we work harder and produce better coins.’

  Sendi raised a finger that shook with rage. ‘Lies!’ He appealed to Henry. ‘They murdered Fardin today, and now they have killed Alwold, too. They hope you will see Alwold as a revenge killing – so we will be blamed and our case dismissed.’

  Rodbert sneered his disdain. ‘Why would we kill our own man? We—’

  ‘Enough!’ roared Henry. ‘I said I do not want to hear your squabble today. Do you dare defy your monarch? All I am interested in now is Alwold, and in anyone who might have seen his killer.’ He glowered at his courtiers in a way that had many of them shuffling uncomfortably.

  ‘We were all looking at the Two Suns,’ said the red-headed man with whom Durand had been giggling earlier. His eyes sat too close together at the top of his long nose, lending him a sly expression. ‘But none of us courtiers are killers, so you must look to strangers for your culprit.’

  ‘Must I, indeed?’ asked Henry archly.

  The man included the moneyers and Geoffrey in a wide sweep of his arm. ‘These Saxons bear grudges against each other, while I have heard about the kind of men who rallied to the Pope’s call for Crusaders. They are a dangerous and unruly brood.’

  ‘Is that true, Geoffrey?’ asked Henry, amused. ‘Are Jerosolimitani dangerous and unruly?’

  ‘Yes, sire,’ replied Geoffrey, knowing that to claim otherwise would be untrue. Most of the men who had cut a bloody trail through the civilized world to ‘liberate’ Jerusalem were as far from the popular vision of saintly gentleness as it was possible to be.

  ‘Geoffrey did not kill Alwold, Bloet,’ said Giffard irritably. ‘He was with me when it happened, and I would have noticed had he taken out his dagger and stuck it in some passer-by.’

  ‘My agents will look into the matter,’ said the King, in a way that was vaguely threatening. ‘And I will find out if anyone has lied to me.’

  ‘We have not lied, sire,’ said Maude quickly. ‘Alwold would not have summoned me to hear his dying words if I had killed him. And no one should set too much store by his ramblings over silver, either. He just felt guilty that he had been in charge of the convoy when it was seized by outlaws.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said Henry vaguely. He clapped his hands to indicate the matter was closed, and his gaze settled on Geoffrey. ‘I will see you now. In my private chamber.’

  Without waiting for a reply, he stalked away. Immediately, an excited babbling broke out, as people began to chatter about the Two Suns and the simultaneous murder. As Geoffrey turned to follow him, he felt his arm caught in a powerful grip. Annoyed, he shrugged it off, prepared to follow it with a punch if the fellow did not let go. His clenched fist relaxed when he saw Maude. Her eyes blazed as she leaned towards him.

  ‘Well?’ she hissed. ‘What did you hear?’

  He was unwilling to admit that he had heard more of Alwold’s final testimony
than she had done, sensing that to do so would certainly embroil him in the coiners’ feud. However, he did not want to arouse her suspicions by saying he had heard nothing at all, when she knew for a fact that he had.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ he asked, side-stepping the question.

  ‘You heard nothing to contradict what I told the King,’ she said, as if teaching him what to say to anyone who asked. ‘Besides, Alwold spoke English, which very few Normans understand.’

  ‘Henry does,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘That is why he picked out the word “silver”.’

  ‘He probably knows the words “silver”, “gold” and “money” in every language under the sun,’ retorted Maude caustically. ‘But you will say nothing to anyone about Alwold’s last words. If you go against my advice, you will put yourself in grave danger.’

  ‘From you?’ asked Geoffrey coldly. He disliked being threatened, even by attractive women.

  ‘From the King,’ replied Maude, as if surprised he should think otherwise. ‘This silver is worth a good deal of money, and Henry seems far more interested in its whereabouts than is appropriate for something that does not belong to him.’

  Geoffrey followed the King to a spiral staircase, where two soldiers stood aside to let him pass. When Sendi tried to go too, evidently keen to press his case, their lances blocked his way and a captain stepped out of the shadows with a sword. The Saxon backed away quickly.

  At the top of the stairs was a sumptuously furnished room. A servant knelt by the hearth, blowing on a fire to make it burn, while another hurried to close the window shutters. Geoffrey glimpsed trees flailing in the wind outside, while a nasty drizzle swept around them. Inside, wall hangings covered every scrap of masonry and thick rugs lay on the floor, so soft that Geoffrey’s feet sank into them, like fresh manure. Brimming wine jugs stood on the window sill, along with dishes containing nuts, imported at considerable expense. Dominating one side of the room was a mattress strewn with furs, and Geoffrey realized he had been invited, not to an office, but to the King’s bedchamber. These were private places, open only to his most trusted advisers, and the knight’s heart sank: he did not want to be considered an intimate by Henry, or to be seen as such by a palace full of jealous courtiers.