‘Ours are rotten and unstable,’ elaborated Wido.
Suddenly, all was clear to Geoffrey, and he wondered why he had not seen it before. He looked at Giffard. ‘When Alwold said the silver was with Piers, he did not mean the shepherd. I think he meant the quay – the piers.’
‘Alwold did not expect to be murdered,’ mused Giffard. ‘So, it is not surprising his clues have been difficult to interpret. He expected to return here and retrieve the silver himself, and did not see the need to take precautions against dying before he could tell Barcwit what he had done.’
‘Two people have known all along, though,’ said Geoffrey. He nodded at the child who still sobbed into his shoulder. ‘One was Rowise, who watched what he did. The other was Wido, whom Alwold told – presumably lest anything went wrong – but who did not understand.’
‘Damn!’ muttered Wido, angry with himself. ‘My one chance to be rich, and I bungle it!’
‘We all assumed Rowise was making it up,’ said Kea, stunned. ‘But she wanders alone in the woods, so I suppose it is possible she saw Alwold with his cart.’
Geoffrey gently prised Rowise away from him. ‘Tell me about the men who killed Piers,’ he said softly. ‘Have you seen them before? What did they look like?’
‘He had a big yellow beard,’ wept Rowise. ‘And a wife and plenty of friends.’
‘Sendi!’ exclaimed Giffard and Roger at the same time.
Roger and Giffard were keen to begin the search for the silver before Sendi also unravelled the clue left by Alwold, while Ulfrith was never averse to looking for treasure. Helbye was uncharacteristically uninterested, claiming that the hoard had remained hidden for weeks, so a few more moments would not matter. He walked next to Geoffrey, who felt they made a sorry sight as they limped along together. The knight thought about Clarembald’s prognosis for Helbye’s hip, and wondered when he would muster the courage to tell him his soldiering days were over.
‘These damned boots!’ Helbye muttered, glowering at the offending footwear. ‘I will never see Jerusalem as long as they cripple every step I take.’
‘None of us will see Jerusalem unless I have something to give the King,’ said Geoffrey, knowing it was a perfect opportunity to break the news to Helbye, but too weary to grasp it.
‘All along, we thought Barcwit was the dangerous one,’ mused Helbye. ‘But we were wrong: it was Sendi who was more corrupt and devious.’
Geoffrey agreed. ‘Slow down!’ he called to the others, who were forging ahead into the woods. ‘Sendi may be nearer than you think.’
Roger made a dismissive gesture, and indicated his sword was at the ready. ‘They will be miles away by now. All they know is that the silver is near the river, and will be scouring the banks for a cart. It is only us who know about the piers.’
‘We will retrieve the silver first, then go after Sendi,’ declared Giffard ambitiously, buoyed up by his recent successes. ‘We will appease Henry after all.’
Geoffrey’s ribs were aching, and he was not sure how good he would be in another set-to. He felt bruised all over, and all he wanted was to find some quiet spot and rest. Helbye, lurching along next to him, clearly felt the same. He hoped Roger was right, and that Sendi was looking for the silver some distance away. Then, with luck, the moneyer would give up when he saw he was not going to succeed and escape, leaving the King’s spies to track him. Geoffrey heard a sound behind him and spun around, sword in his hand. It was Kea.
‘I told you to stay at home,’ said Geoffrey sharply.
‘I would rather be with you. I want to help.’
‘Then you can take my horse and put him somewhere safe. I do not want him stolen by the likes of Sendi, if he decides to ransack Beiminstre in lieu of silver.’
‘We did that ages ago,’ said Kea scornfully. ‘As soon as we heard Barcwit was on the loose. He was not nearly as big as I thought he was, but he was still not nice.’
‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey, smiling at the understatement. ‘He was not nice.’
A sudden yell from Roger made him start in alarm. There followed the sounds of fighting: the clang of metal as swords met, the thump as they pounded shields, and the grunts of men struggling hard against each other. Giffard shouted something Geoffrey did not understand, while Ulfrith made the kind of noise that suggested he had already been overpowered and was struggling to free himself.
‘Not again!’ groaned Helbye in despair. ‘Neither you nor I are in a fit state to fight again today.’
‘Take the boy,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And tell his family to hide in the marshes until it is safe.’
‘My place is with you,’ said Helbye doggedly. ‘I cannot—’
‘You can save a village, which is a lot more useful than crossing swords with men who will have us outnumbered.’ Geoffrey saw Helbye was not going to do it. ‘That is an order!’ he barked.
Helbye still hesitated, so Geoffrey pushed him hard, and the older man reluctantly hobbled back the way they had come. When he turned the corner, he raised his hand and saluted Geoffrey in a way that suggested he did not expect them to meet again.
The gesture saved Geoffrey’s life. He trusted Helbye, and if Helbye thought he was in no condition to win a fight, then he knew he should try to avoid one. He had intended to rush headlong into the skirmish and do battle at Roger’s side, but instead he moved off the path and eased into the undergrowth, edging forward cautiously. The sounds of fighting stopped as quickly as they had started, and he sensed he had been wise not to plunge blindly into the affray.
Within moments, he arrived at the edge of a clearing, where he crouched behind a holly bush to assess what had happened. The green-brown glitter of the River Avon lay in front of him, while an ancient and disused wharf stood to one side. It comprised a platform that jutted into the river, which was held up – but only just – by two crumbling wooden posts that were black with rot. It was obviously on the brink of collapse, and would not survive the winter.
Roger, Giffard and Ulfrith were lying face down in the clearing, while Sendi stood over them with a sword. They seemed unharmed, although Geoffrey suspected they would not be alive for long once the moneyer had his answers. Others milled around them, poking in the undergrowth with sticks and swords, as if they expected the silver to be hidden among the leaf litter.
‘Roger was wrong,’ said a voice in his ear, making him jump in alarm. ‘He said Sendi would be miles away, but he is here.’
‘I told you to hide, Kea,’ whispered Geoffrey angrily. ‘Now go. This is no place for you.’
‘Master Helbye will lead the others to safety,’ said Kea. ‘But this is near where I hid the horses, so I have come to put them somewhere else.’ He cringed when one of them released a piercing whinny. ‘They will give themselves away!’
‘What was that?’ demanded Adelise from the far side of the clearing.
‘The villagers hid their nags nearby,’ replied Sendi. ‘It is nothing to worry about.’
‘We should not linger, regardless,’ said Adelise. ‘We escaped by the skin of our teeth last time – thanks to a particularly gullible bishop.’ She glanced at Giffard, who winced.
Sendi studied all three prisoners, assessing who was the weakest. He chose Giffard, and came to stand over him, pressing his sword into the back of the prelate’s neck. ‘Where is the silver?’
‘I do not know,’ said Giffard, keeping his voice steady, even though Geoffrey could tell by the rigid way he was lying that he was deeply afraid.
‘You do,’ countered Adelise. ‘You were heading somewhere with great purpose when you ran into us, and I think you knew exactly where you were going. Now, either you tell me where it is, or I shall round up the villagers, put them in the church and set it alight. You do not want their blood on your hands, My Lord Bishop.’
‘Master Helbye has taken everyone away,’ whispered Kea gleefully. ‘So she cannot do it.’
‘But Giffard does not know that,’ Geoffrey muttered back.
‘
It is on the pier,’ said Giffard softly. ‘Do not harm those people. It would be a terrible sin.’
‘Then tell us the truth,’ said Adelise. ‘Where on the pier? It looks empty to me.’
‘I do not know,’ replied Giffard. ‘Inside the mooring posts, perhaps, or under the planks. You will have to explore.’
Adelise walked on to the jetty and poked the boards with the toe of her shoe. She moved carefully, but even though she was small and light, the planks still bowed under her weight. Geoffrey thought Alwold was lucky the whole thing had not disintegrated and taken the silver with it.
‘I think he is right,’ Adelise called. ‘A number of the boards are loose, and something may well be stored under them. The whole thing is rotten, which has resulted in a number of hollows.’
‘Hurry, then,’ ordered Sendi. ‘We do not have all day.’
‘I cannot do it alone,’ snapped Adelise impatiently. ‘Some of the holes are deep, and we shall need ropes and axes. Fetch them.’
Sendi sighed at her brusque commands, but did as he was told. He dispatched six men to the village, and they dribbled back in ones and twos, laden down with the items she wanted, muttering resentfully that there were no villagers to use as pack horses. One man was so angry that he hurled his coil of rope near Geoffrey’s holly bush before stalking on to the pier.
Geoffrey rubbed his chin and wondered what he could do. There were about ten men including Sendi, and he could not tackle them alone. An archer stood over Roger and the others, and he knew they would be shot the moment he did anything rash. While no one was looking, he reached forward and grabbed the rope, for no other reason than that he thought it might inconvenience them and delay their plans until he could think of something else. He and Kea watched helplessly as Sendi and the others began to lay into the crumbling wood with axes, hammers and even branches torn from nearby trees.
‘I see something!’ cried Adelise, prodding the hollow she had made. She lay flat on her stomach and inserted her arm, withdrawing it moments later with something clasped in her hand. There were gasps of avaricious delight when a silver ingot was revealed.
‘It is here!’ shouted Sendi, delighted. ‘The bishop was telling the truth!’
‘Fetch the others,’ Adelise ordered one of the men. ‘Tell them we have found it, and that we need their help if we are to gather it all and take it with us.’
Dutifully, the man slipped away, leaving Geoffrey horrified. How many more were there? Should he try to do something now, while they were only ten men and Adelise, or wait to see who else came, so he would know exactly what he was facing?
The find had a remarkable effect on the moneyers. They redoubled their efforts, hacking and sawing ferociously at the rotten wood, thrusting their hands into cavities, oblivious to the splinters that tore at their skin. Geoffrey saw it would not be long before they had what they wanted, at which point they would kill his friends. They could not let them live to raise the alarm, and there was nothing to be gained from taking hostages. He did not have long to formulate a plan.
‘How did you find it?’ asked someone who was striding down the path. Geoffrey gasped in shock. It was Idonea, with Peter behind her. Stomach churning, he tried to see whether Joan was there, too.
‘Luck,’ said Sendi, breathless from his exertions. ‘Come and help us. We should get as much as we can and then leave this place. I do not feel safe here.’
‘You are right to be concerned,’ said Peter. ‘Giffard killed Barcwit and most of his followers after you left, and he will not hesitate to do the same to you. That is the extent of the King’s justice.’ He almost spat the last word.
‘We do not need to worry about Giffard,’ said Adelise, nodding at the unhappy bishop. ‘We will kill him and toss his body in the river when we have finished here. That is Saxon justice.’
‘Where is Geoffrey?’ demanded Idonea. ‘He will not be far, if Roger is here. He was difficult to deceive, and I do not want him at large.’
‘We even had to enlist the help of that stupid Feoc to mislead him,’ added Peter. ‘We told the priest what Barcwit had “forced” us to do in the hope that his terrified babbling would frighten the wretched man off. But it did not work: Geoffrey became even more determined to destroy us, just as his sister predicted.’
‘I am going to kill him before we leave here,’ vowed Idonea. She grabbed a sword and jabbed it into the hapless Giffard. ‘Where is he?’
‘He is behind that holly bush,’ said Ulfrith, to Geoffrey’s horror. ‘He is watching every move you make, and will soon come to rescue us.’
Sendi started to laugh. ‘That means he is nowhere near. These three villains came to see what they could find without him. They do not want him telling that greedy King about the treasure.’
‘We can talk later,’ said Adelise. ‘But now we must concentrate on retrieving the silver.’
Idonea rolled up her sleeves and moved purposefully on to the pier, which groaned under her weight. ‘It would be a pity to miss some, for want of willing labour. Come on, Peter; we do not have all day.’
Peter sighed. ‘Very well. But this is the last time I am doing anything like this. You have no idea how difficult it was to persuade Geoffrey that I was under Barcwit’s sway. I am no good at lying.’
‘On the contrary,’ murmured Geoffrey to himself. ‘You are very good indeed.’
Geoffrey continued to gaze at the constable and his wife with his thoughts in turmoil. Where was Joan? Was she involved in the conspiracy, too? Was that why she had been so reluctant to answer his questions, and tell him the truth? He knew she had lied to him, because there was no plot to kill the King – by Barcwit, Sendi, Peter or anyone else. He supposed she was waiting somewhere with Olivier and the horses, ready to ride away with her accomplices. But at least he had answers to some of the questions that had been dogging him for the past five days.
First, he knew why Peter and Idonea had tried so hard to persuade him to abandon his investigation. Barcwit had denied killing Nauntel, which implied that Peter had used the death of his friend to further his own ends – to “prove” what happened when people were difficult in Bristol. Joan had done the same, using their brother’s stabbing to make her point. And they had all painted a vivid picture of Barcwit’s evil ways, simply to deflect Geoffrey’s attention away from Sendi. Second, he understood why Idonea had picked such poor troops to fight Sendi. It was not because she was reserving the best ones to bring down Barcwit, but to give her ally a better chance. And third, Peter had not been trying to escape from the castle to avoid fighting the previous day: he had been going to warn his accomplices.
The notion that he had been so completely fooled by their protestations of frightened innocence infuriated Geoffrey, and he was determined they would not escape, even if it meant Joan fell with them. He looked at the rope in his hand, then back to where Idonea hacked viciously at the ancient wood, and a plan began to take form in his mind.
‘How far away are these horses?’ he asked Kea.
‘Too near. They will want to use them to carry this silver away.’
Geoffrey was sure he was right. ‘Show me.’
With the stolen rope over his shoulder, he eased away from the clearing and followed the boy through the undergrowth. Kea was right: the horses were uncomfortably close. Geoffrey walked the few paces to the riverbank, which dropped away sharply.
‘I am going to tie one end of this rope around the pillars supporting the jetty. I want you to put the other end around my horse, and when I shout, make him pull as hard as he can. Can you do it?’
‘Of course,’ said Kea. ‘I will fashion a harness, and will be ready the moment you yell. Do you think it will work? The whole thing will collapse with all those men on it?’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘If not, then we will both be in trouble.’
He struggled out of his surcoat and armour, tearing impatiently at the buckles and damaging one or two in his haste. A scream of delight from Idonea, quickly foll
owed by a joyous yell from Peter, indicated that another bundle had been found. Geoffrey did not know how many ingots there were, but he knew he did not have time to speculate. Clad in leggings and tunic, he knotted one end of the rope around his waist and skidded down the muddy bank, wincing as the icy water touched his skin.
The tide was coming in, which meant Geoffrey was obliged to swim upstream in order to reach his objective, and he was appalled by the power of the current. It occurred to him that he might not have the strength to carry out his plan. He began to swim, trying to ignore the ache in his side. The pier was fairly close, and he hoped no one would happen to look into the water and spot him: his clothes were far from clean, but they were still bright against the dark water.
When he saw one man straighten and rub his back, taking a respite from his labours, he ducked under the surface, striking deep and hoping he would not be spotted. When his lungs felt as if they would explode from lack of air, he drifted up again, dismayed to find he had not gone as far as he had hoped. Aware that he was near enough to be seen by even the most casual of glances from the people on the wharf, he took another breath and swam underwater a second time. When he surfaced, he was a little closer to the pillars, but it was still not enough.
He heard a shout and ducked again, hoping he had not been spotted. He surfaced only to snatch quick gulps of air, knowing his best chance of success depended on him being invisible for as long as possible. It was only when he surfaced for the sixth time, so breathless he felt dizzy, that he was finally under the pier. He could hear feet tapping on the timbers above, and saw the rope trailing in the water behind him. People were yelling in a way that made him certain they suspected something was amiss. He wrapped his legs around the closer of the pillars, and untied the rope from his waist.
His cold hands were infuriatingly clumsy as he dragged the rope around the pillar, wrapping it once, then twice. But there were shellfish clinging to the wood, and he saw their sharp edges cut into the twine. He tore off a piece of his tunic and pressed it under the knot, hoping it would protect the fibres for the short time needed to bring about the jetty’s collapse. Then he began to question whether the rope was thick enough – or whether it might simply snap under what would be considerable strain.
The Coiner's Quarrel Page 36