‘You are not,’ said Geoffrey gently. ‘Whatever has happened, we can find a way through it.’
‘Not this time. I am well and truly ensnared.’
Geoffrey sat back. ‘Then we must see what we can do to untangle you, but you will need to answer my questions first. Sendi claims you have invested money with Barcwit. Is it true?’
‘We made our first payment in March. Olivier and I often visit Bristol, because he buys horses from a village near here. Peter told us Barcwit is a safe and reliable merchant – that his investors make handsome profits, which are always paid on time. We had some spare funds, because Olivier had sold a valuable horse, so we decided to test Barcwit. Our investment doubled in weeks, and money has continued to flood to us ever since. It has transformed Goodrich.’
It sounded unlikely to Geoffrey. He knew little about economics, but he was aware that profits tended to be slow in accumulating and did not materialize into grand sums all of a sudden. There was something odd about the whole affair. ‘Did Barcwit offer you a higher rate of interest than that set by the Exchequer?’ he asked.
‘No, that would be illegal, and I am not a lunatic, whatever you might think. Barcwit’s clerks told us this is just a good time to invest in coins, because there is a demand for them.’
‘Barcwit’s clerks? You do not deal with Barcwit himself?’
Joan allowed herself a grim smile. ‘Barcwit only deals with important customers, which we are not. I have never met him, although I saw him once and he deigned to nod at me. He made me shudder. He is not a good man, and I wish we had never heard of him or his mint.’
Geoffrey was bemused. ‘So, you were presented with what appeared to be a legal investment scheme that provided huge returns. Surely you were suspicious?’
‘No,’ said Joan, gazing down the hall. Geoffrey wondered if she would not meet his eyes because she was lying. ‘Not then.’
‘And now?’ Geoffrey sighed when she did not reply. ‘You must tell me, or I will be fighting with one hand tied behind my back, and that might harm both of us. What happened to make you realize Barcwit’s business is not all it seems, and why are you so distressed? It is not like you to be afraid.’
She sighed in resignation. ‘Very well, I will tell you. But do not come crying to me when you are mixed up with something dark and dangerous, and can see no way out.’
‘I can look after myself.’
She gave a snort of disdain. ‘Your Holy Land experiences will not help you here, and neither will the strong arm of your dim-witted friend or the crafty mind of your squire.’
‘Henry thinks Barcwit may be debasing his coinage. That is tantamount to treason. How much worse can it be?’
She gazed at him sadly. ‘I would not be so concerned if it was mere economics that drives Barcwit. But he has ambitions on a far grander scale.’
‘What are they?’ pressed Geoffrey, when she did not elaborate.
‘He is accruing funds to have Henry murdered and the Duke of Normandy placed on the throne.’
Geoffrey listened in horror as Joan confessed how she had been delighted with the returns on her first investment and, like the gullible men Roger cheated with his loaded dice, was soon giving Barcwit all she had in the expectation of even greater dividends. It was only later that she learnt some profits were being channelled into a fund ‘to serve England’. When she had finished, he sat in silence, deeply unsettled. It was not the notion of someone raising money to kill a king that upset him – removing Henry by murder and ousting him through his economy were both treason – but the fact that he had never seen Joan in such low spirits. Even when Goodrich was at its poorest, she was indomitable and ready to battle on. Now she was cowed and resigned to her fate. She tried again to make Geoffrey leave, and even asked if he would take Olivier with him, claiming it was her fault that they were embroiled in a plot to kill Henry, and that she should take the consequences alone.
Geoffrey escaped from breakfast and left the castle on foot, wanting time alone to think about what she had said. He walked through the gate that led to the town, but stopped when someone called his name. Durand was hurrying to catch up, to ascertain what was required of him that day. Geoffrey sent him to tell Sendi he would visit later that morning, then assessed the street, to decide which way would afford him some peace. To his left lay the River Avon, alive with the sounds of a busy port, so he turned right, towards the smaller, quieter Frome.
It started to rain, lightly at first, then in a drenching downpour, so he trotted to some stalls at the foot of the town wall, intending to take cover until the shower was over. Others had the same idea and, because the shops offered the only public shelter in a fairly large area, they were packed. Bloet slouched in one that sold ribbons, while Barcwit’s clerk Colblac poked around another that specialized in pots. Given Bishop John’s predilection for markets, Geoffrey was not surprised to see him there, but he was mystified to see Warelwast hurrying through the deluge to join them. John greeted the bishop-elect loudly, making him wince; Warelwast’s head was evidently still sore after his night of debauchery, and Geoffrey wondered why he should be out dodging showers when he would have done better to remain in bed. It was odd to encounter him in a cobbler’s shop so early in the morning, and Geoffrey had the uneasy sense that he had been followed.
‘Wild thyme,’ he said coolly, recalling what he had read in Bath while waiting for Helbye to recover. ‘It is supposed to be good for your condition.’
‘Do you have any with you?’ asked Warelwast weakly.
‘If you learnt that from Clarembald, it will not work,’ predicted John loftily. ‘However, I shall say a prayer for you, and by this evening you will be well again.’
Geoffrey was unimpressed. ‘He will have recovered by then, anyway. Wine-induced headaches seldom last beyond noon.’
But John did not want to argue about medicine when there were more interesting matters to discuss. He gestured around him gleefully. ‘This is Bristol’s best cobbler, and you will not find a finer pair of shoes in the county. Take my advice and buy these.’ He held up a pair that had been dyed a lurid pink, and which boasted pointed toes, highly decorated straps and ostentatious silver buckles.
‘They would not look right with my armour,’ replied Geoffrey.
John regarded him wearily. ‘I was thinking of your sister, man! She is sure to be irked when she finds out you are here to investigate her business transactions with Barcwit. These will appease her.’ He pushed them into Geoffrey’s hands.
Geoffrey tucked them under his arm and smiled at him, thinking it was as good a time as any to ask a few questions. ‘When you made your payments to Barcwit, did he tell you some of your profits were being kept in a fund to be used for something else?’
John seemed surprised. ‘Of course not! Supposing I did not agree with the purpose of that fund?’
‘My sister was given no choice.’
John was unimpressed. ‘Then she must learn to be firm. The customer is always right, and if any tradesman – no matter how influential – tries to tell me otherwise, I withdraw my patronage.’
‘Even from Barcwit? The man whom everyone fears?’
‘The issue has not arisen with Barcwit,’ replied John shortly.
‘Why do you ask?’ Warelwast regarded Geoffrey curiously. ‘Has Barcwit been using his ill-gotten gains to invest in matters better left alone? Like sending money to fund an invasion by Bellême or the Duke of Normandy, for example?’
‘Not that I am aware,’ said Geoffrey, not wanting to tell Warelwast there was a plan afoot to murder his royal cousin.
‘Look at that!’ exclaimed John suddenly, gazing outside. ‘I have never seen a rainbow so bright!’
‘Not one, but three,’ said Warelwast, squinting as the light hurt his eyes. ‘Three rainbows, one on top of the other. It is a sign from God!’
‘Another one,’ muttered Geoffrey, thinking it meant that either God had a lot to say or people kept misunderstanding, so He
was obliged to repeat Himself.
‘It is a sign that God will protect Barcwit from these accusations,’ said Colblac, as he pushed past to see better. ‘And it is a warning for you, too: I saw the way you looked at his wife yesterday and he has killed men for less. And be warned about finding him guilty of anything, too. He will not like it.’
Geoffrey was amused. ‘Most felons object when they are caught, but that is a risk they take when they commit their crimes.’
Colblac sighed. ‘Barcwit is no felon – you must look to Sendi for that sort of thing. He is occasionally hard on wicked men, but those charges of dishonest coining are a nonsense.’
‘I will bear it in mind. If you are right, then Barcwit has nothing to fear.’
Colblac seemed satisfied. He looked at the shoes in Geoffrey’s hand. ‘Those will clash with the red in your surcoat and you will look like that.’ He pointed to the shimmering rainbows.
They had intensified since Geoffrey had last looked, and he was amazed by their brightness and clarity. He had often seen two, but never three, and certainly not so vividly. They blazed like celestial bridges, and people in the street were shouting to each other and running, foolishly trying to locate the ends, where treasure was believed to lie. Warelwast and Colblac were among those who joined them.
‘How is your hunt for the silver?’ Geoffrey asked of Bloet, who was staring at the arches in dismay.
Bloet’s face was haggard and his breath was sweet with the scent of the previous night’s ale. He indicated the rainbows with an unsteady hand. ‘Is that a good sign, or one that foretells disaster?’
‘It means the clouds are dark, the sun is at an unusual angle, and it is raining.’
Bloet shook his head. ‘You are a strange man. You risk your life on God’s holy Crusade, but you refuse to recognize His omens.’
‘Did Barcwit ever tell you he was using his profits to invest in something else?’ asked Geoffrey, wanting to know whether Bloet had been caught in the same mire as Joan. ‘Something treasonous?’
‘If he did, I would not tell you,’ said Bloet, not unreasonably. ‘That would be stupid.’
‘You have a royal pardon,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You can tell me what you like.’
Bloet laughed mirthlessly. ‘It is not that simple, as well you know – and I will not be pardoned for anything if I do not locate this silver. But I have been listening to rumours, and there is something odd going on with these moneyers and their clients. You should speak to some of the other investors, not just me and the physicians. There are important Bristol officials who are more deeply involved with Barcwit than is wise.’
‘Who?’
Bloet looked shifty. ‘I could not say. But, I have just given you a clue, so how about you helping me? Have you heard any whispers about the silver since you arrived?’
‘Nothing,’ said Geoffrey. He wondered whether to mention Alwold’s final words about ‘the secret’ being known by the King, Warelwast, the priest of St John’s and Bloet himself, but decided against it. Clearly, the secret was not the location of the silver, or Bloet would not be looking for it, and Geoffrey did not want to compound the man’s misery by giving him a riddle that was irrelevant and perhaps insoluble. He held up the pink shoes. ‘But there is a lot of silver in these buckles.’
It was unfortunate that Bloet had no sense of humour, because he immediately started an ugly argument with the cobbler about the source of the metal used in his shoes. Insults and curses flew back and forth, where they were overheard by John, who declared he would never again buy shoes from a man who knew such foul language. Bloet, not wanting similar censure, slunk away, heading for another vigil at Sendi’s workshop. When the cobbler wailed that he would starve without the bishop’s patronage, Geoffrey felt so guilty that he bought the pink shoes, waving away the man’s concerns that one did not purchase display footwear: one usually had them specially made so they would be the right size. Geoffrey did not care, suspecting Joan was unlikely to wear the things anyway. Durand arrived soon after, to say Sendi was expecting him.
‘Did you see the Three Rainbows?’ the squire asked excitedly. ‘God is definitely trying to tell us something. I was dragged from my monastery against my will, so perhaps He is suggesting that I take the cowl again. I am someone He would want in His service, after all.’ He noticed the pink shoes and fingered them admiringly. ‘Those are nice.’
‘They are for Roger,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Do you think he will like them?’
Durand’s jaw fell open in shock, and Geoffrey started to laugh. Durand pulled a face when he saw he was being teased, and snatched the shoes from Geoffrey to inspect them more closely, running covetous fingers across them. Geoffrey indicated he was to lead the way to Sendi’s mint, then listened with half an ear as Durand told him in embarrassing detail about the loving relationship he enjoyed with Bloet, and how deeply he would miss the man when their paths diverged. He did not sound at all like the kind of man who was worthy of a celestial phenomenon created to entice him to a monastery.
Sendi’s mint did not occupy a prime position like Barcwit’s, and it was located in the northern part of the town, near the Church of St John the Baptist. It was something of a backwater, and Geoffrey suspected Barcwit’s central location had a good deal to do with why he had the lion’s share of investors. His premises were convenient and visible, and exuded an aura of permanence and strength. Sendi’s, on the other hand, comprised a sprawling complex of sheds and outbuildings, all enclosed by a fence of sharpened spikes. They looked seedy and uninviting, and Geoffrey would not have felt compelled to leave his money there.
Sendi was waiting for them and, as he ushered them inside, both he and Durand turned to wave to a shadow that lurked in a doorway opposite. Durand’s greeting was friendly, Sendi’s insulting. The object of their attention was Bloet, who had gone straight from the stalls to his observation point. He returned their greeting, then slipped deeper into the shadows, as if he hoped Sendi might forget he was there if he concealed himself more carefully.
Once inside, Geoffrey detected the same sharp, metallic odour he had noticed in Barcwit’s mint – hot silver and the fierce fires that were required to melt it. Like Barcwit, Sendi had an office where records were kept. Lifwine the cambium was in it, but he leapt to his feet and followed when he saw Sendi conducting the King’s agent past him, muttering that they needed as many watchful eyes as possible when such men invaded their property.
The centre of Sendi’s operations was much the same as the one in Bath. It was a large room built entirely of stone – to reduce the risk of fire – and was full of benches where men hammered, pounded, clipped and swore. The noise abated when Sendi entered, and Geoffrey had the impression that his workforce was keen to hear what was being said. Adelise emerged from another room, where she had been sewing leather aprons, and she, Lifwine and the man called Edric stood close behind Geoffrey, determined to watch his every move. Durand edged away, giving the impression that if the Saxons united to attack the knight, then he did not want to be in the way when it happened.
‘It looks busy,’ said Geoffrey politely, when Sendi seemed to be waiting for a favourable comment.
‘We are striking coins with the new dies from London,’ said Adelise, cutting across her husband’s more pleasant reply. ‘Of course we are busy. And you are interrupting us. Why?’
‘The King told me to look into your affairs, as well as Barcwit’s.’
‘That is unnecessary,’ said Sendi. ‘You can see for yourself that this is an honest operation.’
Geoffrey smiled. ‘You know it is not possible to tell just by looking.’
‘Well, it is not our fault Henry appointed a stupid agent,’ said Adelise nastily. ‘And we should not have to suffer for it. So, say what you must, and leave us to our work.’
Geoffrey recalled what he had learnt from Osmaer and turned to Lifwine. ‘Show me how you assess the coins that are produced here.’
Lifwine grimaced in annoyance,
but led the knight to a table where an array of equipment stood. There were guidelines for examining both blanks and finished coins, and methods to assay the quality of the silver from which they were made. Geoffrey was shown scroll after scroll of records, all of which ‘proved’ Sendi’s coins were uniform and the appropriate quality. Then he was presented with details of sales and accounts, which were gleefully piled high in front of him, so he suspected they intended to overwhelm him with parchment as a way to drive him off. He shoved the documents away and began an inspection of his own devising, picking up coins randomly and weighing them in his hand – although any shortcomings would be far too subtle for him to discern. Edric and Adelise studied him intently, as if they thought he might steal some, while Lifwine tottered behind, his heeled shoes tapping the floor like a horse on cobbles.
It was not long before he noticed he was not the only one under scrutiny. Sendi watched the workmen, and the workmen watched each other, and it was clear that although they had presented a united front to Henry, the reality was that they did not trust each other at all. He wondered whether the charges levelled against Barcwit had created an atmosphere of suspicion, or whether working in an environment that dripped silver – literally – brought out the worst in people. Eventually, his aimless wanderings led him to a cupboard that was secured by several bulky locks.
‘What is this?’
‘It is where we keep our old dies,’ replied Sendi. He opened the door, revealing a row of cylindrical trussels on an upper shelf, and a line of spiked piles below. ‘We always keep them safe. Even old dies are valuable – and vulnerable.’
‘The ones on the top shelf look more worn than those underneath,’ remarked Geoffrey.
Sendi’s expression was smugly amused, while the workmen sniggered that anyone should make such a stupid observation. Geoffrey sometimes took the same attitude when people made silly comments about weapons or battle tactics, and resolved to be more understanding in the future. It was annoying to be mocked for not having specialist knowledge.
The Coiner's Quarrel Page 19