‘A soldier’s answer,’ she said, sounding amused. ‘Well, perhaps we should introduce ourselves, then. I am Matilda de Mortain. Who are you?’
‘Geoffrey Mappestone.’ Her name rang a distant bell in Geoffrey’s memory, and he tried to recall where he had heard the name Mortain before. He was certain the answer would have sprung more readily to mind had his wits not been pickled in poppy juice. ‘So, now we know each other, you can tell me what you think was on that parchment. And then I will release you.’
‘A map or some directions,’ Matilda replied. ‘There is something I need to find, and I think Hugh knew where it was.’
‘Where what was?’
‘No more questions,’ she snapped. ‘I have kept my part of the bargain, so let me go.’
‘You replied so vaguely that it is no answer at all.’ Geoffrey was not so sluggish that he did not see she was attempting to mislead him. ‘What were you hoping to find?’
‘Something belonging to my mother,’ she replied shortly. ‘Something personal.’
Geoffrey frowned in puzzlement, wondering how the terse letter from the King could possibly reveal the location of lost property. It did not make sense, and he realized that either the letter was not what she expected, or she was lying.
‘It said nothing about property,’ he said. ‘It informed the recipient that King Henry declines to negotiate with anyone from the House of Montgomery-Bellême without the knowledge of the Earl of Shrewsbury.’
As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his wits, and wondered what other stupid things he might say before the soporific wore off.
‘You said it went into the river,’ said Matilda accusingly. ‘How do you know what it said?’
‘I read it.’ There was no point in being coy now, he thought.
‘Reading is an odd skill for a Crusader knight.’
He said nothing.
‘And it was from the King?’ she asked, sounding bemused. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It was signed with his name.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘And there was nothing about where a particular object might be located? Perhaps a drawing or a set of directions?’
‘If there had been a drawing, then Oswin would have kept it,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘He threw it away because what he saw made no sense to him.’
‘You are telling the truth about that,’ conceded Matilda. ‘Oswin would have kept the parchment had he understood it. He would think he could sell it.’
‘The parchment I saw gave no details about any property,’ said Geoffrey, supposing there must have been more than one missive concealed on Hugh’s corpse. ‘Unless it was in code.’
‘It would not have been in code,’ she said. ‘Damn! What sort of game was Hugh playing? Are you sure you do not still have it?’
‘You are welcome to search my bags, but you will find I am telling the truth.’
Matilda thought for a moment, then pushed away the hand that held the dagger. ‘I believe you. Now you can return to your slumbers, and I will be about my own business.’
Geoffrey considered his options. There were two: he could release her or kill her. She no longer sounded hostile, and he had always disliked cold-blooded slaughter, so moved away and sheathed his dagger – although he kept his hand on its hilt just in case he had misjudged the situation. She would not ambush him a second time and live to tell the tale.
‘Go, then,’ he said, gesturing to the door.
Matilda did not leave, but studied him intently in the candlelight. ‘You are a strange fellow, Geoffrey Mappestone. What is stopping you from cutting my throat to repay me for invading your chamber?’
‘Because I have an audience with the King tomorrow, and I do not want it to begin with a discussion about a murder in the tavern where I spent the night. So go, and continue your search elsewhere.’
‘Hugh was my nephew,’ said Matilda softly. She went, uninvited, to sit on the side of the fur-strewn bed, where Roger did not so much as flicker an eyelid. Geoffrey knew he would be sorely disappointed to learn there had been a woman on his bed and he had slept through the invasion. Matilda frowned in thought for a moment, then continued. ‘He was running an errand for me when he was killed. I should not have used him, because he was short of wits.’
Geoffrey opened the door for her to leave. There was a corridor outside, and he was startled to see Roger’s two women there, lying in a jumble of limbs and discarded wigs. He wondered again how much soporific had been used to reduce them to such a state.
‘You do not understand,’ said Matilda, gesturing he was to close the door and sit next to her. ‘My brother will not be pleased when he hears what happened to Hugh – and he will not be amused when he learns we still do not know the location of our mother’s … property.’
Geoffrey tried to force his mind to work, and hoped his wits would clear before his audience with the King, because he was certain he would need them. King Henry would detect any such weakness, and would be sure to turn it to his advantage.
‘Did Henry send you?’ he asked, wondering whether the poppy juice was his idea.
‘Henry?’ she asked, startled. ‘The King? Of course not! I imagine he has armies of agents to perform his dirty work, while I am obliged to do my own. Do you think I enjoy this kind of thing? Dosing strange men with sleeping potions and breaking into their chambers in the dead of night?’
‘I have no idea,’ he replied, thinking that he had met plenty of women who would relish such an idea.
‘Well, I do not,’ she said. ‘My brother would not approve, and it is always wise not to offend him.’
‘Your brother?’ said Geoffrey, sensing this information was important, but unable to see why.
‘My brother,’ she said impatiently. ‘Surely you know the man who is uncle to Hugh, son of Hugh?’
‘Robert de Bellême? You are the Earl of Shrewsbury’s sister?’ He stepped away in horror, appalled one of Bellême’s female kin was lounging on his bed at such an hour. He could imagine what the Earl would make of that, and was certain he would not believe they had been talking about missing documents. Gradually, it also occurred to him that if Matilda was Bellême’s sister, then she was a formidable character in her own right. Bellême had five living siblings, all of whom were powerful and wealthy, especially his three sisters: Emma, Matilda and Sybilla. Then he knew why the name Matilda de Mortain had been familiar. The wealthy Count of Mortain, dead twelve years, had been Matilda’s husband, and had left her with a lot of property.
‘You have heard of my family.’ She smiled faintly, acknowledging that there were few who had not. Mothers used the spectre of the Bellêmes to frighten children into obedience, and, since arriving in England five days earlier, Geoffrey had heard several brats being informed that, if they did not behave, the Earl of Shrewsbury would get them.
‘I know your brother,’ said Geoffrey, wanting her gone from his room. ‘He tried to cheat my family with a forged will two years ago, and we did not see eye to eye over the matter.’
‘I imagine not. Robert does have a weakness for other people’s belongings.’
But it was not just Robert, Geoffrey thought. The rest of the family had an equally dubious reputation, and their mother – whose property Matilda was determined to locate – was regarded as the worst of them all. Although the terrifying Mabel de Bellême was long dead, she was still feared. During her violent lifetime she had amassed vast riches by murder, deception, threats and war. She had not been pleasant, and her death was generally considered to have been a very good thing.
‘Will you help me?’ she asked, somewhat abruptly.
‘Help you do what?’ he asked uneasily. ‘I have already told you that the message in Hugh’s mouth is gone. I doubt we will find it – and even if we did, it would be illegible. The ink will have run.’
‘His mouth?’ she echoed in disgust. ‘You did not mention that before. What was it doing
there?’
‘Perhaps Hugh’s killer wanted people to know what happens to those who try to betray your brother. Or perhaps he wanted to show what Henry will do to any Bellême who expects leniency. Who can say?’
‘The note is irrelevant,’ she said, after a moment of considering its implications. ‘I am more concerned with my mother’s property than messages purporting to be from Henry. Robert will not be pleased when he hears we have lost our legacy again.’
‘He has more to worry about than missing property at the moment. His attention should be focussed on saving his wealth from confiscation by the King. The matter of a dead nephew and a peculiar message will pale into insignificance compared to his other problems.’
Her eyes flashed, and Geoffrey saw the family resemblance. Like the Earl, she possessed thick black hair, coal-dark eyes and a strong, determined face. He knew she was telling the truth about her heritage, because the similarity between her and her brother was uncanny.
‘You do not know Robert,’ she snapped. ‘He is an intelligent man, and details are important to him. He wants this property very badly.’
‘Well, I am sorry,’ said Geoffrey, who had little sympathy for a family that possessed unimaginable riches and yet was determined to have more. ‘I cannot help you find your wealth.’
‘It is not wealth,’ she said impatiently. ‘But I want you to help me with something else, as it happens. It concerns the message you did read—’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘I do not want to become embroiled in anything that places me between your brother and the King, thank you very much.’
She ignored him. ‘There were two tasks Hugh agreed to complete on my behalf. The first – and most important – was to gather information about the whereabouts of my mother’s legacy. And the second was to act as messenger between me and King Henry. I wanted the King to know that not all members of my family are set against him, and that some of us are willing to negotiate a truce.’
‘Then you have had your answer,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It was Henry’s reply to your offer that Oswin threw into the gutter.’ And the message had been short and to the point: Henry was not interested in dealing with any of the Bellême clan, even ones who offered to deal secretly without the Earl knowing. The letter had been genuine after all.
‘I am not so sure,’ said Matilda, leaning back on Roger. He snored on, oblivious that he was being used as a cushion. ‘Henry is a wise man, and does not close doors before he has fully examined the contents of their rooms. He would not dismiss me so abruptly: he would listen and then make his decision. I do not believe the message was from him.’
From what he knew of the King, Geoffrey was inclined to agree. Henry was prudent and clever, and would certainly be intrigued by a falling out within a rebellious clan. Geoffrey imagined he would have arranged a meeting with the disaffected sister, not dismissed her out of hand. However, the House of Montgomery-Bellême had been a thorn in his side for so long that perhaps Henry had tired of them all, and wanted no exceptions when he banished them from his realm.
‘I am confused,’ he said. ‘Oswin believes Hugh’s death had something to do with a new weapon. Then you come up with two more theories: that it was connected with your mother’s lost property or because Hugh carried a message purporting to be from Henry, which is not from Henry.’
‘Yes,’ she said with an enigmatic smile. ‘Things are always complex in our family, and we seldom have one plot on the boil when several will do. My three brothers are intent on acquiring some Greek Fire, in case Henry is unreasonable when we appear at his Easter Court and we are forced to fight. Meanwhile, all five of my siblings are interested in regaining our mother’s property. And finally, I have been attempting to reach Henry on behalf of myself and my two sisters, just in case the Greek Fire does not work and my mother’s property remains undiscovered.’
‘I do not understand why this property is so important,’ said Geoffrey, bemused. ‘You are all so wealthy that you cannot need more treasure.’
‘I have told you already that it is not treasure, so do pay attention. It is something else.’
‘What?’ asked Geoffrey, intrigued. He wracked his brains, but could think of nothing the Bellêmes would want other than gold, silver or jewels – unless it was Greek Fire, of course. ‘A new weapon?’
‘Men put far too much faith in instruments of force. However, I know from personal experience that there are easier and cheaper ways of convincing folk of a point of view. My mother’s property is nothing to do with weapons, and I am unwilling to discuss it further until I know you better.’
‘Very well,’ said Geoffrey, abruptly deciding that she never would. Even his muddled wits told him that he did not want to know what was so valuable to the Bellême siblings they would send their sister to raid bedchambers in the depths of the night. He wondered whether their mother had invented her own version of Greek Fire. From what he had heard of that lady, it was not inconceivable.
Matilda gave a sudden smile and Geoffrey saw she was a lovely woman, with her dark features and glossy black hair. ‘But I am always willing to make new friends, and this is as good a time as any. And then you can do me a small favour …’
‘Are you sure this actually happened?’ asked Roger the following morning, as they broke their fast in the Heron Inn’s main room with bread and a pudding of peas. It was a gloriously bright day; the sky was a clear, brilliant blue, and frost glittered on the rooftops opposite. He glanced around as though their mysterious nocturnal visitor might still be nearby and lowered his voice. ‘You did not dream it?’
‘You were the one who snored all night,’ said Geoffrey, who had fought to stay awake after his visitor had left, afraid there might be more invasions. ‘God alone knows how much poppy juice she used in our ale. Those two women are still asleep in the corridor, and I am still light-headed.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Roger, rubbing his temples. It had taken a bucket of cold water to rouse him that morning. ‘The tavern was busy last night, and it would have been easy for someone to slip us doctored ale. I do not take kindly to that sort of thing, and want nothing to do with her kind.’
‘Her kind?’
‘Witches,’ said Roger primly. ‘They say the Bellême stock is populated by warlocks and witches, and this proves it. She made me sleep like a baby while she tried to slit your throat. Do not tell me that is not the way of a sorcerer. I cannot believe you said you would help her.’
They walked into the inn’s yard where Ulfrith and Helbye were waiting and the horses were saddled and ready to go. Sergeant and squire looked refreshed, and Geoffrey supposed they had slept better in the stables than he had in his chamber. Durand’s eyes kept closing, however, and Geoffrey was sure he would fall asleep and tumble from his pony before the day was out. The man was usually full of complaints in the mornings, but had barely uttered a word that day. Geoffrey wondered whether Matilda would give him more of the stuff, so he could dose him every night.
‘I agreed to tell Henry she wants to parley,’ said Geoffrey, climbing into the saddle. ‘But only if the occasion arises. If I think Henry will not be receptive, then she will have to find someone else.’
‘But you do not know her, lad!’ protested Roger, aggrieved. ‘She is playing you for a fool – sending you into the King’s presence with a message from the family he is determined to crush. He may assume you are on their side and crush you, too. What would I tell Tancred? He will not be pleased to hear his favourite knight has been executed.’
‘I am sure he will survive the news,’ said Geoffrey mildly. Tancred would be furious if Geoffrey was killed, but not particularly grief-stricken. The Holy Land prince was a hard and practical man, and would not waste his energy on anything as pointless as mourning.
‘I told you not to come here,’ grumbled Roger self-righteously. ‘You have not even met the King yet, and you are embroiled in a plot that has seen one man hanged and us poisoned. You are normally so cautious. Was she pretty
, this maid?’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘She looked like her brother.’
‘Moustache and beard, then,’ said Roger, nodding seriously. ‘And eyes that glitter like a snake’s. She can probably read, too, which would certainly make her attractive to you.’
Geoffrey laughed, amused by the disdain in his voice and his strange idea of what he thought his friend admired in a woman.
Roger eyed him coolly. He had not meant to be funny. ‘I did not come all the way from the Holy Land to see you thrown into a dungeon. You should not have agreed to assist her.’
Geoffrey sighed, and wished he had undertaken the long journey from Antioch alone, although he acknowledged that his friend’s broadsword had come in useful more than once since they had left the baked, sunny lands of the East. He had not wanted to travel to England at all, because he had only just returned to Antioch after an eventful visit to his family near Wales and to Roger’s home in Durham. But King Henry’s summons had contained a veiled threat. Although most of Geoffrey’s life had been spent overseas, his brother and sister owned Goodrich Castle and managed his own little manor of Rwirdin. He had no great love for his brother, who was argumentative and sly, but he was fond of his sister, and Henry’s letter intimated that Joan’s protection from Welsh raids could not be guaranteed if Geoffrey did not come. Since Geoffrey did not want Joan to suffer, he had no alternative but to head westwards. But he wished he had not involved Roger in the escapade, too.
‘It is usually the other way around,’ nagged Roger. ‘I am the one fooled by a sweet smile and a promising tongue, and it is you telling me she is not safe. I cannot believe I am obliged to warn you about strange women who appear in your bedchamber armed with steel.’
‘There was no harm done,’ said Geoffrey, ignoring the fact that he, Roger and Durand were still out of sorts from her generous doses of poppy. ‘And, as I said, I will not deliver her message if I feel it is the wrong thing to do.’
The King's Spies Page 5