The King's Spies

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘What do you think?’ came a voice from behind Geoffrey. It was Bishop Maurice, standing with his arms around two giggling wenches. The bishop’s face was flushed, and it appeared he had just enjoyed an invigorating session with them. He gave them a fatherly hug and dismissed them, first planting a wet kiss on their cheeks. They took the coins he offered and fled down the aisle, where their tinkling laughter echoed back through the stones.

  ‘Are you asking what I think of the cathedral or your choice of company?’ asked Geoffrey, thinking one was magnificent, while the other was unremarkable.

  ‘Those ladies visit me for the benefit of my health,’ said Maurice smugly.

  ‘I remember you mentioning your malady,’ said Geoffrey, supposing he had better take a polite interest, although he would have preferred talking about the cathedral. ‘How often are you obliged to avail yourself of their services?’

  ‘These two only oblige me once a day,’ replied Maurice. ‘After Prime, of course. It would not do to ease my agonies before the sacred mass. Other kindly ladies help if I am overcome during the afternoons or evenings. As I told you at Westminster, my physician tells me women are the only cure. My goodness!’ he breathed suddenly. ‘Who is she?’

  Geoffrey followed the bishop’s gaze and saw him looking at Durand, wrapped in his cloak and with his fair hair tumbling to his shoulders. His back was towards them, so Maurice could not see his face.

  ‘That is my squire,’ Geoffrey replied shortly. ‘His name is Durand.’

  ‘No, her,’ said Maurice in a whisper, eyes only for the golden-headed apparition. ‘She who is interested in the work of my masons, and who perches on my stones like an angel.’

  ‘He is interested in the masons, right enough,’ said Geoffrey caustically. ‘But not for what they are doing to your building.’

  ‘I must have her,’ said Maurice, spellbound. Durand stood and minced towards the masons. The bishop’s eyes almost fell from his head. ‘How often do you meet a woman interested in the art of craftsmen, and with whom you can have a proper discussion after you have finished your medicine?’

  ‘Not often, I suppose,’ admitted Geoffrey, who liked an intelligent woman himself when he could get one. He thought about Matilda, and wished she was not a relative of Bellême. ‘But Durand will disappoint you, My Lord Bishop. He prefers to talk about ribbons and bracelets than architecture.’

  ‘But you do not,’ said Maurice, turning to smile at him. He gestured expansively. ‘What do you think of my cathedral?’

  ‘Superb,’ replied Geoffrey sincerely. ‘It will be one of the wonders of the world.’

  Maurice beamed. ‘I like to think so. It will be the largest in the land – bigger than Durham.’

  ‘So I see,’ said Geoffrey admiringly.

  ‘She has gone!’ exclaimed Maurice, looking to where Durand had been standing just a few moments before. He gazed around in disappointment. ‘Where did she go? My angel!’

  ‘Flew up to Heaven, I imagine,’ muttered Geoffrey, guessing Durand had seen nothing he liked among the masons, so had gone to inspect the carpenters instead.

  ‘If you know her, you must put in a word for me,’ said Maurice earnestly. ‘I am fully booked for the next two days, but can find her a spot on Friday. She will not regret coming, I can promise you that. What did you say her name was?’

  ‘Durand. I will give him your message, but do not blame me if he takes you up on your offer.’

  Maurice laughed. ‘You are teasing me! I like a man with a sense of humour, and they are difficult to find these days with political battles roiling about our ears. I shall be glad when Henry bans the Bellêmes from our country, because I think it will be a better place when they have gone.’

  ‘Better for England,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether the bishop was being entirely truthful with him. He had not forgotten Wulfric’s claim that Maurice had been among those who had gathered at the Crusader’s Head to discuss Greek Fire, the resurrection of Mabel de Bellême and the fall of King Henry. ‘But I feel for Normandy.’

  ‘I attended that monk’s requiem earlier today,’ said Maurice, walking outside to show Geoffrey plans for his central tower. ‘Petronus. You said you were there when he was shot.’

  ‘Did he carry messages for anyone else, do you think? Other than to you from Abbot Ralph?’

  ‘I expect so,’ said Maurice carelessly. ‘Shrewsbury is a long way away, and if you are going to make a lengthy journey, you will want to be of as much use as possible. You would carry other messages, if there were folk ready to pay, would you not? It is practical economics.’

  ‘Do you think he carried messages from Bellême’s supporters in Shrewsbury?’

  ‘Yes, I would think so. It would not be illegal. Bellême is to be charged with various offences on Easter Saturday, but at the moment he is a free man and can do what he likes. In fact, I would be surprised if Petronus had not carried messages for members of Bellême’s following.’

  But Petronus had not confessed to doing so, Geoffrey thought, wondering whether that was significant. ‘Perhaps that was why he was killed,’ he suggested. ‘To see what news he had.’

  Maurice nodded. ‘These are dangerous times, and there are rumours that the Bellêmes have devised a terrible weapon, which will destroy their enemies in a wall of fire. The King, obviously, is keen to get his hands on the details, so he will know how to counter it. Petronus may well have been killed to see if his documents mentioned this weapon.’

  ‘But if he carried that sort of information, then surely he would have travelled less conspicuously? Or, if he insisted on being open, then he would have travelled with a substantial guard to protect him?’

  ‘You would think so. But since he is dead, we shall never know why he did what he did. Have you ever been to Arundel? It is another of Bellême’s fortresses.’

  ‘No,’ said Geoffrey, startled by the abrupt question. ‘Nor his castles at Shrewsbury and Bridgnorth, neither.’

  ‘Pity. I would have appreciated your comments on its military architecture, since you are a man who has an eye for a fine building.’

  ‘There are rumours that Mabel de Bellême, the Earl’s mother, is still alive,’ said Geoffrey, wanting to see what the prelate would make of that story, and thinking that he might as well gossip if Maurice was predisposed to talk.

  ‘There are not,’ said Maurice. ‘There are rumours that she has risen from the dead and come to help her beleaguered children. That is not the same thing at all.’

  ‘Do you believe it?’ asked Geoffrey warily, thinking Maurice was a strange churchman if he put faith in the efficacy of the black arts.

  ‘The Bellêmes are a powerful family, deeply steeped in a tradition of evil, and it is possible they have discovered some way to cheat death and bring Mabel back again.’

  For some reason, the day suddenly seemed chillier to Geoffrey. A cloud drifted in front of the sun, and caused a shadow to fall across the church. Geoffrey glanced at Maurice, and saw he was thinking much the same thing: that even mentioning the allegedly long-dead witch seemed to blight their day. Geoffrey repressed a shudder, while Maurice started to walk towards his cathedral. He glanced around him nervously and lowered his voice.

  ‘You see? Even discussing that fiend causes the sun to hide his head. I am going inside my holy church, where the likes of Mabel cannot follow. Will you come? I will say a mass for you, and then I had better find myself a woman. Discussing the Bellêmes has affected the balance of my humours.’

  Geoffrey followed him, thinking that if he were to inveigle himself into the service of Bellême to please the King, then he needed all the masses he could get, even if they were spoken by venal prelates like Bishop Maurice.

  Geoffrey spent so long at the cathedral that it was too late to leave for Winchester, so he and his companions were obliged to delay their journey until the following day. To while away the evening, Roger diced with Helbye and Ulfrith, while Geoffrey read a scroll Maurice had lent him
about the use of pulleys in constructing large buildings, listening to the tap of rain against the window shutters. Durand had washed his hair, and huddled close to the fire, running his fingers through his locks to dry them. He had put some sort of scent in the water, and its sweet aroma filled the room, masking the earthier odours of burning wood and wet cloaks. Roger grumbled that the perfume put him in the mood for a woman, and Geoffrey was reminded of Bishop Maurice and his medical complaint.

  It was not long before there was a knock on their door, and a dripping messenger arrived with a scrap of parchment. It was from Edred at All Hallows Barking, who urged Geoffrey to visit him as soon as possible, but to approach with caution. Geoffrey was bemused and inclined not to go, since he thought the summons might be a ruse by the Bellême daughters to lure him out alone. He supposed it might also be Matilda, who would want to know whether he had delivered her message to the King.

  But it was difficult to read Maurice’s scroll in the unsteady light of a single candle, and Geoffrey was bored with watching Roger’s brazen attempts to cheat Helbye and Ulfrith. After a year in Roger’s service, Ulfrith had come to realize that Roger’s consistent good luck was suspicious, but the lad was too simple to identify exactly how he was being fleeced of his meagre wages. Geoffrey was more than ready to go out and test his wits against the Bellême women.

  ‘Wait until the end of this game and I will come with you,’ offered Roger, who was on the verge of bankrupting the guileless Ulfrith for the third time that evening.

  ‘No,’ said Geoffrey, thinking he would be less noticeable on his own, and better able to sneak up on the church and see what was happening. ‘Stay here.’

  ‘Then I will come,’ offered Helbye, standing slowly and unable to suppress a wince. He had been quiet most of that day, and Geoffrey suspected that the sudden change in weather from sunny to wet had made his old bones ache. Geoffrey declined to drag him away from the fire, and gestured for him to sit again.

  ‘You cannot go alone,’ said Ulfrith. ‘Stay here and help me win my wages back from Sir Roger.’

  ‘Take Durand,’ suggested Roger. ‘He can fetch me if there is trouble.’ The disgusted tone of his voice indicated that he did not imagine Durand would be of any help by himself.

  The squire looked up in horror. ‘But it is past eight o’clock and pitch dark. The city will be full of rogues and vagabonds. Besides, it is raining and I have only just finished drying my hair.’

  The others regarded him uncertainly, wondering whether he was making a joke. It was inconceivable to a man of arms that drizzle might prevent him from straying out of doors, and in a country like England, where it rained often, such an attitude would see them inside for months. Durand stared back defiantly, and Geoffrey thought he saw the glitter of self-pitying tears in the man’s eyes. He threw him his cloak without a word, and opened the door to walk down the hallway into the street, standing in the shadows to scan the deserted road for signs of an ambush. His dog sat next to him and sniffed the air eagerly. It was an unfriendly beast, and if anyone had been lurking nearby it would have growled. Geoffrey glanced down at it, and it wagged its feathery tail, so he felt sure no one was waiting for him there, at least.

  With Durand grumbling behind him, he set off down Eastceape, along the same thoroughfare that had thronged with people the previous morning. Now it was dark and empty, with the only illumination coming from the houses of rich folk whose glassed windows allowed the light to flood out. Geoffrey saw shadows flitting here and there, and sensed that London was just as much the domain of robbers and criminals during the hours of darkness as was Southwark.

  It did not take long to reach All Hallows when there were no carts or processions of monastics to dodge around. When Geoffrey saw its dark mass against the skyline, he slowed and approached cautiously. His dog kept close, although whether it was because it detected menace in the air or because it sensed Geoffrey’s unease the knight could not say. Durand kept closer still, and Geoffrey had to push him away twice, because all he could hear was the squire’s ragged, terrified breathing.

  There seemed to be nothing untoward, so he dipped down the lane that ran parallel to the church, as he had done the previous day, and doubled back to enter through the rear door. He saw Edred’s little house with its windows barred and shuttered for the night, and eased towards the vestry door, where he spotted a shadow. He gestured for Durand to stay where he was and advanced alone. He glimpsed a long garment, and could hear soft intakes of breath: whoever it was was shivering. He moved forward until he reached the porch. The shadow was Edred.

  ‘What do you want?’ Geoffrey whispered softly, keeping well hidden as he spoke.

  Edred almost leapt out of his skin. ‘God forgive you, Sir Geoffrey!’ he muttered, recognizing the knight. ‘It is not kind to sneak up on elderly monks and frighten them into their graves.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Geoffrey asked again. The churchyard was very quiet, and only the patter of rain on leaves made any sound.

  ‘I wanted you to see this for yourself,’ Edred replied, still shaken. ‘Come.’

  ‘Come where?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily. He had not taken such care in his walk from the tavern only to be led into an ambush at the church.

  ‘Into my vestry,’ said Edred. ‘Emma is here, performing some unspeakable act of evil under the mistaken impression that she is alone.’

  ‘Then how do you know about it?’

  ‘I have served this church for twenty years and always rise to recite the divine offices, despite the fact that I always do so alone. When I came to say compline, she was here. So, I sent for you.’

  ‘Is she waiting for Sybilla?’

  ‘The Bellême women have been using poor All Hallows for their assignations during the day,’ said Edred. ‘But they do not come at night – well, until now. Come and see.’

  Geoffrey allowed himself to be let into the vestry, where he was instructed to peer around the same door he had hidden behind the day before. This time, the church was so dark it was almost impossible to see anything, and the edges of the nave were in complete blackness. A single candle burned within, and Geoffrey could make out the dark features and grey mane of Emma, standing in front of the altar. Geoffrey’s dog started to nose its way forward, but it stopped dead in its tracks and released a low, frightened whine. Its tail dropped between its legs and it cowered, as if someone were threatening to kick it. It stood that way for a moment, then fled. Edred gave Geoffrey the kind of look that indicated the dog’s reaction was extremely meaningful.

  Geoffrey felt himself jostled, and saw Durand had disobeyed his orders and had followed, wanting to see why he had been dragged out on such a miserable night. He regarded Emma with pursed lips.

  ‘What is she doing here at this time of night?’ he whispered indignantly.

  ‘That is Emma of—’ began Edred.

  ‘I know who she is,’ interrupted Durand importantly. ‘I met her once when she visited my abbey. She is Emma, Abbess of Alménches, a woman who is said to find praying in churches distasteful, which is an odd thing for a nun to admit.’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ warned Geoffrey. ‘I do not want her to think we are spying.’

  ‘But we are spying,’ Durand pointed out sulkily. He turned to Edred. ‘How did she get in? Do you leave your church unlocked? I know some chapels leave doors open on wet nights, for beggars.’

  ‘Beggars have a place in my home, if they need one,’ said Edred. ‘But I do not leave my church open after dark. King William Rufus turned a blind eye to the black arts, and they flourished in his reign. King Henry has not yet managed to stamp them out and I do not want All Hallows sullied by that sort of activity.’

  ‘Then how did she get in?’ pressed Durand. ‘Through the vestry door?’

  ‘I noticed yesterday that one of the window shutters was broken, then pushed closed to hide the damage. I think she did it when she was last here.’

  ‘She did,’ said Geoffrey. He recalled Em
ma going to a window and hearing the splintering of wood. She had been preparing ahead.

  ‘I told you she has been in the graveyard, digging in the section where we bury felons,’ said Edred unsteadily. ‘Do you believe me now?’

  ‘We can conclude she is not here for any innocent purpose, or she would have come during the day,’ mused Geoffrey. ‘A church open all night is of no use to her, because she might be disturbed by beggars coming to sleep, but one always locked would make for a very private place during the hours of darkness. She probably does not know you say your offices through the night.’

  ‘There is no reason she should. Some of my parishioners are aware of my habits, but most do not care. I do not scream my devotions from the rooftops; they are between me and God.’

  ‘Then what is she doing?’ asked Durand, turning to look at Emma again. ‘Why would she want to visit a locked church in the dark and damage its windows to do so?’

  ‘That is why I called you here. She is going to do something terrible, and I want credible witnesses.’

  ‘We could just stop her,’ suggested Durand.

  ‘I do not want her to know we are here,’ said Edred fearfully. ‘Her demon nieces took a sword to me once, and I do not want them to do so again. I want you to see what will certainly be a wicked act, and then I want you to tell the King, so he can ensure it never happens again.’

  Geoffrey and Durand fixed their attention on the shadowy figure near the altar, with Geoffrey thinking it would be an odd tale to take to Henry – that he and his squire had spied on Bellême’s sister and watched her defile a church without making any attempt to stop her. Henry would want to know why they had allowed her to proceed.