The Coiner's Quarrel

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘I will not!’ said Geoffrey, laughing. ‘That would have us hanged for certain.’

  That evening, Geoffrey did not want company, and opted to spend some time alone. In the gathering dusk, he sat on the sea wall that fringed the River Thames, and thought about Joan and Olivier, and the last time he had seen them. He had received regular letters from Goodrich over the past twenty years, and had come to look forward to the banal chatter about his family’s estates, the animals, the amount of corn grown and the happenings in the nearby villages. None were subjects that would have interested most knights, but Geoffrey enjoyed the insights into rural life, and considered them a spark of sanity in the violence and bloodshed that so often surrounded him.

  He had not always seen eye to eye with Joan, but she was the only surviving member of his family for whom he felt any affection. He was less fond of her cowardly husband, but Olivier was devoted to Joan, which redeemed him somewhat. But what were they thinking of, to make dubious financial deals with a moneyer? Had Olivier done something that had allowed Barcwit to blackmail him, so the investments were made unwillingly? But Joan was not the kind of woman to submit to extortion, so Geoffrey dismissed that particular solution.

  Had she made the investments to strike at the King, whom she considered a usurper? Geoffrey assumed she had put politics behind her, after an unpleasant escapade involving Bellême the previous year. But Joan was a woman with brave opinions and the strength of character to act on them. Perhaps she had found it too difficult to remain mute on issues she found morally unacceptable.

  He rubbed his eyes and stared into the gloom, knowing he would have to speak to her if he wanted answers. He listened to the slap of water and reeds hissing in the wind, and turned his mind to his investigation. Barcwit was accused of dishonesty, and of encouraging others to break the law with him. His steward had been stabbed. Why and by whom? Was it Sendi, so Alwold would not add his voice to Maude’s when she defended her husband against the charges? Was it someone from Maude’s clan, in the hope that Sendi would be blamed and the case against Barcwit discredited? Or was it some sensitive soul in the royal household, whom Alwold had offended?

  Durand’s point had been interesting: Alwold could have spent his dying breath denouncing the man who had killed him, but he had not. He had talked about missing silver, and was desperate that Maude took his message to Barcwit. Was it a guilty conscience – that he had been in charge of the silver when it had been stolen – as Maude claimed? Or was the theft a ruse and he had taken it himself, passing it to his accomplice Piers for safe keeping? And what was ‘the secret’ the King knew, along with Bloet, Warelwast and the unidentified priest?

  The damp late-autumn evening was growing colder, so Geoffrey decided to beg some ale from the kitchens, preferably warmed, before retiring for the night. He stood stiffly; he had been still too long. His left leg was numb from where he had been sitting on it, and when he put his weight on it, it buckled, making him stagger. It was this which saved his life.

  The crossbow quarrel clattered harmlessly into the wall next to him. He reacted instinctively, hurling himself to the ground and rolling towards the reeds, where he hoped he would be more difficult to spot. It was a dark night, because clouds covered the moon and the lamplight that blazed from the hall did not reach the beach; the blackness was Geoffrey’s friend, because it made it difficult for his attackers to see him. His manoeuvre did not deceive them for long, however, because another missile smacked into the mud near his hand. He clambered to his knees, and scrambled deeper into the rushes. He heard voices, low and angry, which told him he had more than one assailant to worry about.

  He edged through the undergrowth and strained his eyes, looking for moving shadows. Then his dagger clanked against a stone, and he heard someone move towards him. The reeds near his head shivered and there was a swishing sound. Someone was scything through them with a sword, blindly slashing in an attempt to hit something. Geoffrey launched himself forward, aiming to knock the person from his feet. But his dead leg let him down, and he did not dive as far as he had anticipated. He succeeded in bowling into the man, but not in pushing him over.

  He deflected the blow aimed at his head, then countered it with one of his own. He heard his assailant grunt, and knew from the way the swipe was parried that he was fighting a poor swordsman. He went on the offensive, striking out with clean, controlled swings until he felt the blade connect with something soft. There was a gasp of shock.

  ‘Put up your weapon,’ he ordered. ‘Or I will kill you.’

  There was no reply, so he lunged again, but encountered nothing but air. He stood still and listened. He could hear ragged breathing coming from his right, and a sound to his left, too. Then something struck his chest. Someone was throwing stones. Another missile followed the first, but they made little impact through his armour and surcoat. He charged at the stone-thrower, and heard the satisfying sound of someone running for his life.

  ‘Come on,’ shouted a voice to his right. ‘We have done all we can. Leave him!’

  Two more sets of footsteps followed the first, but Geoffrey did not feel like running through the night in pursuit. He was unlikely to catch them, and did not want the inconvenience of strained or broken limbs if he fell. They were not worth the effort. He sat on the wall again, this time with his back to the river, and wondered who would want to kill him before his investigation had properly begun.

  Four

  None of Geoffrey’s companions were particularly concerned the following morning when he told them he had been attacked. Roger and Ulfrith were unimpressed, because he had no wounds to show and no corpse to prove his story. Helbye was a little worried, but the damp weather was making his hip ache, and the tale did not keep his attention for long. Durand merely pointed out that was what happened when one paraded around palaces wearing the insignia of Jerosolimitani; other knights saw it as a challenge, and Geoffrey should anticipate such attacks and be ready for them.

  Even Henry’s soldiers were not bothered by the fact that a royal guest had been assaulted, and claimed their job was to protect the King; everyone else could fend for himself. Bishop Maurice was more interested in explaining how he had entertained some hapless wench in his bedchamber from dusk to dawn, while Giffard listened politely, then began a diatribe against courtiers who ate too much.

  Geoffrey looked in vain for men who limped or were bloodstained, but everyone seemed hale and hearty. He paid particular attention to the Saxons, but none sported injuries, nor did they regard him with the kind of nervous resentment he would have expected, had they been the culprits. Rodbert looked tired and out of sorts, but he imagined the Saxon would be a better fighter than the three of the previous night, while Tasso would have been formidable.

  Eventually, with no suspects to question, he decided he was reading too much into the attack, and there was no more to it than an opportunistic ambush. They had tried to rob him and had failed, and their leader had ordered their retreat when he saw they would not succeed. Geoffrey comforted himself with the knowledge that they would think twice before attacking anyone else.

  Geoffrey had hoped Henry would hear Sendi’s case that morning, so they could start the journey to Bristol immediately, but dawn was gloriously clear and Henry wanted to hunt, so it was well into the afternoon before a messenger came to announce that the Court was getting ready to sit. Geoffrey and Durand walked to the hall, while Roger, Helbye and Ulfrith claimed they had no interest in tedious legal proceedings, and elected to remain outside.

  Sendi’s hearing took place in a quiet aisle away from the main hall, where a wooden chair had been set for the King, and stools and tables prepared for the scribes who would take notes. Only a small group was present, comprising the rival moneyers and a few of the King’s advisers. Bishop Maurice was among them, and as soon as Durand caught sight of the portly prelate, he hid behind a pillar. Geoffrey noticed he was immediately joined by the friend he had made the previous day: Bloet, who furnished
him with gossip. Bloet looked uneasy, and Geoffrey did not blame him. He would have been uneasy himself, had he been accused of treason, regardless of whether he was innocent.

  Also present were the squabbling physicians. Clarembald’s ginger eyebrows twitched and trembled anxiously, while John’s face was pale and impassive. Geoffrey was not sure whether he would trust either with his own health, and was thankful he was never ill. And finally, there was Giffard, muttering to the scribes in a low voice. It told Geoffrey that he had already been warned of his impending visit to Bristol, and was making his own record of the proceedings.

  ‘Who is that near Clarembald?’ Geoffrey asked of Maurice, pointing to a haughty Norman with flowing black hair and piercing blue eyes. His clothes were plain, but they were well made and fashioned from the finest cloth.

  ‘William de Warelwast, soon to be Bishop of Exeter,’ Maurice replied. ‘I am not sure it is a good appointment, personally. He is rather worldly.’

  ‘Unlike you,’ said Geoffrey. There were few men more interested in pleasures of the flesh than Maurice.

  ‘I have a medical condition that obliges me to relieve myself with ladies,’ said Maurice stiffly. ‘Warelwast, however, chooses to be secular.’

  Before Geoffrey could respond, the King arrived and began the hearing without further ado. Henry ordered Sendi and his supporters to stand on one side, while Maude waited on the other with Rodbert and Tasso. It was clear she intended to argue Barcwit’s case, which Geoffrey thought was wise: Tasso was not sufficiently eloquent, while Rodbert was inclined to lose his temper. There was an expectant hush, and Henry began to speak.

  ‘Before we start, we express our sympathy to Mistress Maude for Alwold’s untimely death, and to Master Sendi for the demise of Fardin.’

  Rodbert glared at Sendi. ‘Alwold’s murder means there is one fewer voice to protest Barcwit’s innocence, but justice will be done, and—’

  ‘Barcwit is not innocent,’ shouted Sendi, incensed. ‘He is a bullying, evil—’

  ‘Silence!’ roared Henry. The vast building went so quiet that Geoffrey could hear Maurice’s soft breathing next to him. ‘This is an official legal proceeding with rules – which means you do not yell across me and contradict each other. You will each have an opportunity to present your case, then you will go home and await my decision. Do I make myself clear?’ Everyone nodded. ‘Good. First we shall hear Sendi, Master Coiner of Bristol – and do be brief. I am hungry.’

  Sendi was wearing his best clothes for the occasion, flaunting his non-Norman ancestry. His golden mane was tied in a tail at the back of his head, and he was covered in jewellery that bore Saxon motifs. When he spoke, his voice was confident, and he immediately transcended the status of uncultured, argumentative petitioner and looked more the part of the wealthy and influential merchant.

  ‘I own a mint near St John the Baptist’s Church in Bristol. This is my wife Adelise, and my silversmith Edric. Lifwine is our “exchange” or cambium – the independent agent who assesses each coin to ensure it is the correct size, weight and quality.’

  Each stepped forward to make his obeisance to the King, and Geoffrey thought Lifwine was a long way from being independent. The diminutive cambium was most definitely Sendi’s man, and the knight wondered to what lengths he would go to see Sendi win his case. Would he lie about the quality of Barcwit’s pennies, or turn a blind eye to inferior coins produced by Sendi?

  Sendi continued. ‘Barcwit is also a moneyer. His mint is next to the Church of St Ewen.’

  ‘We do not need to know the names of churches,’ said Henry impatiently. ‘They are not relevant.’

  Sendi inclined his head, although Geoffrey saw he was angry at the rebuke. ‘Barcwit has been minting coins longer than me. He also owns the best site – which was my point in telling you its location. It stands in the centre of the town.’

  It was beginning to sound like sour grapes. Sendi was jealous of Barcwit’s long-established business and good position. Geoffrey began to feel more hopeful about Joan’s predicament, but Adelise quickly realized her husband was not making a good impression, and began to speak herself.

  ‘You know that every English mint is monitored by a cambium and you have met Lifwine. But Barcwit’s cambium is a drunk who has not assayed a coin in three years. That is our first complaint: we ask that Barcwit’s cambium be replaced by a sober, trustworthy man who will not cheat Your Majesty of the revenues rightfully his.’

  Clever Adelise, thought Geoffrey. She had gone straight for Henry’s weakness: the possibility that he might be losing money. He saw she had the King’s complete attention.

  ‘I can suggest some suitable candidates,’ offered Lifwine. Geoffrey grinned, seeing Henry turn sceptical again. Lifwine’s ‘helpful’ proposal had just lost any advantage Adelise might have won.

  ‘Our second complaint,’ she said quickly, ‘is that Barcwit makes more than the requisite two hundred and forty coins per pound of silver. Also, his silver is less than the required ninety-two per cent pure. We brought samples.’

  Sendi handed Henry a small bag. The King opened it and passed a penny to Giffard, who gave it the most disinterested of glances before tossing it to Geoffrey. It looked much like the ones in the knight’s own purse. It bore the King’s head on the front, and a cross and Barcwit’s name on the back. If it was lighter or contained too much tin, then the difference was invisible to Geoffrey.

  When the coins had been inspected – and Geoffrey noticed Henry did not give them back – the King indicated that Adelise was to continue.

  ‘Our third complaint is that a large number of people have been investing funds with Barcwit of late. This is not unusual: silver pennies are a stable commodity, and men like to know where they stand with their finances. The price of silver has been set for some years now, and people would rather invest in it than in wool or grain, which is dependent on demand, weather and so on.’

  ‘Why do these people choose Barcwit over you?’ asked Henry.

  Adelise stepped closer, clasping her hands. Geoffrey was reminded of a nun, and saw that was exactly the image she intended to project. Nuns were honest and upright, and that was how Adelise wanted to appear before the King.

  ‘That is what concerns us, sire. We offer the same returns on investments, so there is no reason for anyone to select Barcwit over us. But we have evidence that he offers some of them a better rate.’

  ‘What is wrong with that?’ asked Maurice, who was captivated by Adelise. His eyes glistened, and he ran a red-tipped tongue around his lips to moisten them.

  Henry raised his eyes heavenward that the prelate should ask such a question, while Giffard started to explain, presumably to demonstrate that not all bishops were so blinded by lust that they did not understand their country’s fiscal policies.

  ‘It is illegal,’ he said dryly. ‘And probably means the King is getting less profit than he should. Let me explain: if you had a hundred pennies and you invested them with me at an annual rate of ten per cent, you would have a hundred and ten pennies after a year.’

  ‘But you must make a profit, too,’ said Maurice, his eyes fixed on Adelise’s chest. ‘Or messing around with my money would not be worth the bother.’

  ‘Your investment would allow me to buy more silver and dies, which I would use to make more coins,’ agreed Giffard patiently. ‘And, at the rates currently set by the treasury, my profit would also be ten pennies – five for me and five for the King. But, if I offered you twelve per cent, instead of ten, your profit would be an additional two pennies. Those two pence must come from somewhere, and no moneyer is going to give up his own share.’

  Adelise smiled at Maurice, who made a peculiar noise at the back of his throat. ‘Bishop Giffard understands perfectly: the two pence will be taken from the revenue that should go to the treasury.’

  ‘But what advantage is this to the moneyer?’ asked Maurice, not using the sharp wits Geoffrey knew he had while the distraction of Adelise paraded be
fore him.

  Henry sighed. ‘Think! Your hundred pennies will allow him to earn twenty pennies more. But if he offers you twelve pennies instead of ten, it only leaves eight, and he will not be content with taking three while I have five. He will keep all eight for himself. That is why we set interest rates – to remove such temptation.’

  ‘But it is not unknown for some moneyers to make private arrangements, and so cheat the treasury of its dues,’ said Giffard. He looked at Adelise. ‘And this is what you accuse Barcwit of doing?’

  She nodded. ‘We have compiled a list of those we suspect of helping him. Some are here today.’

  ‘We shall ask them for their defence later,’ said Henry. ‘Continue.’

  ‘Our fourth and final complaint relates to Barcwit’s behaviour,’ said Sendi. ‘The whole town of Bristol is under his control. It is not fair and it should be stopped.’

  Henry was not very interested in this particular charge, because it did not impact on the far more important issue of money. He turned to Maude, who had listened to the accusations with a dignified silence. ‘Well, madam? Here is your chance to respond.’

  Taking a leaf from Adelise’s book, Maude stepped towards the King and turned the full force of her personality on him. Compared to her, Adelise was a novice in the art of allurement, and Henry was immediately captivated by her grace and eyes full of mysterious promise. Poor Maurice was almost beside himself, and repeatedly wiped his face with a piece of linen. Rodbert was none too impressed, however, and Geoffrey noticed Tasso gripping his friend’s arm, silently encouraging him to let her deploy her magic for their cause.

  ‘These charges are wicked lies, intended to harm one of your most loyal subjects,’ she proclaimed in a low, husky voice. She walked closer, fingering a cross that hung around her neck and thus drawing Henry’s attention to the vicinity of her bosom. ‘My husband would lay down his life for his King, and would never deprive him of funds.’