The King's Spies

by Simon Beaufort

  The bishop sniggered and nudged him in the ribs. ‘I am not a man for chatting when there is a woman awaiting my services, if you know what I mean, but we did gossip a little afterwards. She wanted to know whether I had ever been to Arundel. Then she bounced off the bed, thanked me for my exertions, and was gone into the night.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Geoffrey was bemused.

  ‘Well, I have been to Arundel, as it happens, and she wanted to discuss my visit – to the point of tedium actually. But then, abruptly, she tired of the subject and was gone. I have not seen her since. But I am sure you understand that I do not want Beaumais telling just anyone that I have been bedding female members of the House of Montgomery-Bellême. The King would not like that at all.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey, wondering why Matilda had wanted to know about the bishop’s knowledge of Arundel badly enough to sleep with the man. ‘He would not.’

  Maurice took Geoffrey to the abbey church, where the monks had accepted the murdered body of one of their own order and promised to prepare it for burial. Two brothers knelt near where Petronus had been dressed in a clean habit, hands roped loosely together as though he was praying. Someone had washed his face and brushed his hair, and the cross Maurice said had been stolen was replaced with another. While the two monks and Maurice chanted psalms, and seemed oblivious to his presence, Geoffrey went and stood over the body of the man he had barely known.

  There was a rip in Petronus’s habit, at the top of his shoulder. Geoffrey crouched down and touched it gently. Below, he could see the arrow wound, which some caring brother had already washed clean of blood. It was not a serious injury, and should not have brought about the man’s death. Then he saw Petronus’s throat, marred by dark smudges. It took a moment for Geoffrey to recognize what they were: bruises caused by fingers. He put his own hands over Petronus’s neck, and saw they matched the marks his hands might make, had he strangled the man. There were two large ones at the front, where thumbs had pressed on the windpipe, and four smaller patches on each side caused by fingers. Petronus had not been killed by the arrow after all. He had been throttled.

  Geoffrey wandered out of the church, wondering what had happened after he had dashed off in pursuit of the archer. Petronus had fallen to the ground, and may have been stunned. It would have taken little effort for someone to straddle an inert body and choke away the life. But who? And why? And where had Roger been? Geoffrey felt coils of unease begin to twist in his stomach, and wished he had never allowed his friends to accompany him to England. He hoped they were not lying dead somewhere, murdered by ambushers he had not seen.

  He collected his horse, and rode to the copse where they had been attacked, moving slowly and cautiously, and with his shield held ready to fend off new attacks. He found the place where Petronus had fallen, and saw spots of blood and scuffed leaves. He could not tell whether the mess had been made by the strangler, Roger or the men who had carried the corpse to the abbey. He also located the spot where Durand had fallen, but there was nothing to tell him what had happened to his squire. There was no blood, so he began to hope the man had simply toppled from his saddle in fright when the first arrow had been fired. It was certainly something he had done before.

  Geoffrey spent some time exploring the wood before realizing he would find no answers there, and that he needed to locate Roger. He knew his friend had not gone to Westminster, because he had checked the stables, and Roger’s horse was not there. The only other place Roger would have gone was back to London. All Geoffrey needed to do was to decide where he should begin his search in the nation’s largest city.

  Five

  It took Geoffrey the rest of the day to locate Roger. The big knight had remained in the wood for some time after the attack, because the archer Geoffrey had struck with the flat of his sword had recovered and sprinted off in the opposite direction just as Roger had dismounted to inspect him. It took years to train warhorses, and Roger was not prepared to risk his as Geoffrey had done, by haring off through the undergrowth. He had followed at a less reckless pace, which still allowed him to close the distance between him and the archer, while Helbye and Ulfrith had remained with Petronus. Meanwhile, Durand, unharmed other than a grazed elbow, reluctantly accompanied Roger.

  When they eventually found the archer, it was to discover someone else had reached him first. The man lay on the ground with a crossbow quarrel through his chest. Durand noticed that the man was not quite dead, so knelt next to him and offered final absolution. Although expelled from his order, old habits died hard, and Durand liked dispensing pardons and blessings when he had the chance, despite being forbidden to do so. The archer had breathed his last, muttering something about a map.

  Roger and Durand made their way back to the others. Petronus wanted Roger to escort him to Westminster immediately, but Roger had wanted to look for Geoffrey. Unwilling to wait, Petronus had continued his journey alone – on foot, because his horse had fled – and that was the last they saw of him. Roger and the squires had split up to search for Geoffrey, but when they discovered the body of the first archer – the one Henry and his men had shot – they guessed something was seriously amiss, and that further searching was pointless.

  Helbye wanted to wait in the copse, claiming it would be where Geoffrey would look for them. He was right, and the knight spent some time hunting for signs of his companions among the leaf litter near the site of the attack. Durand insisted on stopping at the nearest tavern, arguing that it was an obvious place to wait. He was right, too, and the inn was the first building Geoffrey visited after his futile foray through the undergrowth. But Roger suspected his colleague might be some time, and wanted to do more with his afternoon than drink cloudy ale. He ordered the party back to the city, where he intended to see for himself the sight about which he had heard so much: the settlement’s first public lavatory.

  Near the lavatories was a tavern, and when Roger had fully satisfied his curiosity with the lines of wooden seats and the deep trenches below them, he declared himself in need of a drink. Helbye and Durand had no choice but to obey, although Helbye insisted on waiting outside.

  It was dark by the time Geoffrey remembered Roger’s earnest desire to inspect the new latrine and ventured towards it. He smiled in relief when Helbye came to greet him. The old sergeant looked cold and out of sorts, and informed Geoffrey he had not enjoyed his hours out in the cool spring air just because Roger had some peculiar interests. Geoffrey agreed, oblivious to the fact that he often subjected the elderly soldier to equally frigid expeditions when he became entranced by a building’s architectural complexities. He gave the grumbling Helbye the reins of his horse and entered the humid, smelly atmosphere of the inn.

  The room was filled with smoke from a puffing fire, and was warm to the point of discomfort. Most men had removed jerkins and tunics, and the person nearest the fire was bare-chested. The tavern smelled of spilled ale, unwashed human bodies and cat urine.

  Roger sat by the door, sweating profusely in his mail, but unwilling to remove it in a place where he was a stranger. His face was red, partly from the heat and partly from the large quantities of ale he had imbibed. Because the inn was rough, no women were foolish enough to enter its shady confines, and he was bored. Durand was sullen, while Ulfrith was in the stables with the horses and was probably happier than any of his companions. Geoffrey’s dog, which had hidden at the first sign of trouble in the woods, lay at Roger’s feet. It lifted its head and wagged its feathery tail when it saw Geoffrey. Its welcome was friendlier than the one he received from his friends.

  ‘There you are,’ said Roger, irritably. ‘I thought you were never coming.’

  ‘We have been here all afternoon,’ whined Durand, who had placed a piece of clean linen on the bench so he would not have to touch its grimy surface with his pristine posterior. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Looking for you most of the time,’ replied Geoffrey tartly.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Roger, whe
n Geoffrey was seated and had taken a tentative sip of Roger’s ale. It was past its best and acidic, but he drank it anyway. ‘What did the King want?’

  ‘He wants you to go home,’ said Geoffrey, lying easily. ‘And I must remain a week or two longer.’

  ‘Horse shit!’ declared Roger immediately. ‘He probably does not know I am here, and you cannot get rid of me that easily. We have travelled hundreds of miles together, and I am not about to leave now. Whatever Henry wants, you can trust me to help.’

  ‘Although he has a point,’ hedged Durand timidly. ‘Perhaps we should go—’

  ‘I know I can trust you,’ said Geoffrey, touched by Roger’s unswerving loyalty. Durand was ignored. ‘But you cannot help, and I will be happier knowing you are as far away as possible.’

  Roger was wary. ‘I do not like the sound of this. Did he threaten to harm Joan? I would not worry about her. She is a powerful lady from all accounts, and can look after herself.’

  ‘If I do not do as he asks, he will refuse to help her when the Welsh attack. And he says it is only a matter of time before they do, because he believes the Earl is preparing another rebellion.’

  ‘Another?’ asked Durand in awe. ‘Bellême cannot learn when he is defeated! He has already made three attempts to overthrow the King, and has been thwarted each time. What does he want now? Is he still hoping to install the Duke of Normandy in Henry’s place?’

  ‘Henry plans to exile him and take his estates. Bellême has nothing to lose by plotting an uprising.’

  ‘His final fling,’ mused Roger.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Geoffrey. ‘So, I cannot risk having Joan invaded by the Welsh.’

  ‘But she is powerful and aggressive,’ said Durand. ‘Why risk yourself for her?’

  ‘She is my sister,’ said Geoffrey shortly, thinking that compassion and familial loyalty were not virtues Durand possessed in abundance. ‘And besides, she and her husband have written to me almost every month for the last twenty years. I am fond of them.’

  ‘We could defend her,’ said Roger. ‘We will put any rebels to rout.’ Then he glanced at Durand, and his expressive face made it clear that he thought the golden-headed squire would be of no help.

  ‘I doubt Henry would let me go to Wales when he has ordered me to work for him.’

  ‘We will be here?’ asked Durand, pleased. ‘Good! I do not mind staying in London. There are plenty of churches to pray in, and it is a good city for a man of my talents.’

  ‘You are too old to be a boy whore,’ said Roger bluntly, automatically assuming the worst.

  Durand flushed furiously. ‘I was referring to my clerkly skills. I have been trained—’

  ‘Henry wants me to offer my services to Bellême,’ interrupted Geoffrey, unwilling to listen to what would be a tedious account of everything the man had learned. ‘So, you cannot help me this time, Roger. You must return to the Holy Land and tell Tancred I will not be long.’

  Roger gazed at him in disbelief. ‘God’s blood, man! Are you insane? You know Bellême detests you. Do you not recall what happened when he visited Goodrich and demanded that your family pay fealty to him? He almost killed you. You will not meet him a second time without blood being spilled – and it is unlikely to be his.’

  ‘I know,’ said Geoffrey wearily. ‘I tried to tell the King the task was impossible, but he would not listen. He thinks Bellême will go to Arundel as soon as he hears the charges against him. The castle will come under siege, and Henry wants me inside, to bring about its fall by deception.’

  ‘Like Antioch,’ said Roger, nodding. ‘Guards were bribed to get the Turkish soldiers drunk, then let us in. What does Henry have in mind? You throwing me the keys to the main gate one night?’

  ‘I doubt keys will help,’ said Geoffrey, thinking about what Bishop Maurice had told him of the place. ‘Arundel is a strong fortress, and you will not take it by unlocking doors. Bellême will have archers on the walls and there are ramparts to fight through before you reach the inner bailey.’

  ‘What, then?’ demanded Roger. ‘Does he want you to buy ale and make Bellême’s soldiers drunk, so we can take them by surprise?’

  ‘He did not say,’ replied Geoffrey, knowing that once the castle was surrounded by hostile forces it would be impossible to buy ale in the kind of quantities Roger was talking about. The castellan would have it and the food locked away. ‘He said that was for me to work out.’

  Roger’s eyes were huge. ‘This is bad news, Geoff! Henry is a clever man, who anticipates the moves of his enemies, and the fact that he sent for you so long ago indicates that he has been planning this for ages. I wonder how many other plans he has in play at the moment, in case yours fails.’

  Geoffrey thought about what Giffard had said: that there would be other agents working inside the castle to weaken Bellême. It occurred to him that by sending a man who was obviously a spy, Henry would draw attention away from the real ones. Geoffrey would be more of a tethered goat than a friend within. And how was he supposed to bring about the fall of a castle without help? He would not be trusted by Bellême’s knights – and rightly so – so could hardly recruit any of them to his cause. He sighed and rubbed his head, aware that he had no idea how he was to proceed.

  ‘You are a fool to become embroiled in this,’ said Roger angrily. ‘Ride to Dover tonight, and let me warn Joan that she can expect no help in the event of a Welsh invasion. Then, she can either come with us to Normandy, or she can stay and fight for herself.’

  ‘You would not leave London alive,’ said Geoffrey. He nodded to where a cloaked man appeared to be asleep as he leaned against a wall. ‘He has been following me ever since I left Westminster and will stop us.’

  ‘So, we must obey this ridiculous plan?’ demanded Roger, aggrieved. ‘But it will see us hanged!’

  ‘Not necessarily. I cannot force Bellême to take me to Arundel, so I anticipate he will decline my generous and traitorous offer. The King will know I tried to obey him, but will accept that I have failed. And that will be that.’

  ‘Then we will go east?’ asked Durand hopefully.

  ‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘And probably never see these shores again.’

  He was not sure whether that was as attractive as he had made it sound. England was cold and wet for much of the year, but he loved the brilliant greens of spring, and the air that smelled of grass warming under a summer sun. England was home, and he had recently come to realize it meant more to him than he had known. He wondered whether he would have time to visit Joan before he left for the last time.

  ‘I have had too much ale and my bladder is fit to explode,’ announced Roger in a booming voice. ‘Come with me to the lavatories, Geoff. You will not be disappointed, I promise.’

  ‘It is a tempting offer,’ said Geoffrey dryly. ‘But I think I shall decline.’

  ‘Come on, lad,’ said Roger, grabbing a handful of his surcoat to make him stand. ‘You will have seen nothing like it. The King’s wife built them for the citizens of London, and they are considering changing the name of the whole quayside in her honour – to Queenhythe. It goes to show how popular you can make yourself with a latrine.’

  ‘I shall remember that,’ said Geoffrey, shrugging him off. ‘Perhaps I should build one to bring about the fall of Arundel Castle.’

  ‘No,’ said Roger, after a moment of serious contemplation. ‘That would not work. Castles have garderobes, and its residents will have no need of a grand lavatory.’

  While Roger went to drool in delight over the line of wooden seats and neatly constructed stalls of London’s first public lavatory, Durand sidled up the bench to sit closer to Geoffrey. He, too, had noticed the sinister presence of the man in the cloak, and it had not escaped his attention that the man’s eyes opened whenever anyone at Geoffrey’s table stood or moved. He suggested Geoffrey should order him to leave them alone.

  ‘There is no point,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He would deny following us, and I have no wis
h to engage in a brawl in this kind of place. I am surprised you let Roger come here.’

  ‘He insisted,’ said Durand sulkily. ‘And you know what he is like. It is all right for him, encased in all that armour. But what about me? I have only boiled leather to protect me from an attack.’

  ‘But you never fight,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘So you do not need armour.’

  ‘Of course I do not fight!’ said Durand vehemently. ‘I might get hurt.’

  ‘What do you know about the dead archer?’ asked Geoffrey, to change the subject. He found Durand’s brazen cowardice distasteful, but did not want to argue, knowing a debate would be pointless when each held such different views on the line between poltroonery and self-preservation. ‘Did you see who shot him?’

  ‘No,’ replied Durand. ‘And I assure you that I had a good look around before I went to his aid. Perhaps he was part of a band of robbers who had a falling out, and he and the other were killed for trying to attack the wrong kind of victim. Or perhaps there is someone who wanted to protect you – the King possibly. He would not have been pleased to hear you had travelled all the way from the Holy Land only to be slain in sight of Westminster Palace.’

  Geoffrey wondered whether Durand was right. Matilda had confessed to following him the previous night, while Henry claimed his agents had been watching him since disembarking at Dover. He frowned thoughtfully. Someone in the King’s hunting party – possibly Henry himself – had shot the archer. At that point, the man had represented no threat, with his weapons abandoned and Geoffrey’s hand around his neck. So, why was it necessary to kill him? Because Henry did not want him telling anyone who had hired him? Was that why the second archer had been murdered, too?

  ‘I gave him final absolution,’ said Durand defiantly, knowing Geoffrey would disapprove of what was a gross deception on a dying man. ‘There was no one else around, and it was better he had it from me than to go to Purgatory weighted down by sin.’