Eventually, Josbert muttered something to one of his captains, who immediately came to stand close to Geoffrey, and left the gatehouse. A few moments later, when Geoffrey was considering leaving himself, Josbert returned with parchments and a lamp. Geoffrey watched in surprise as Josbert began to scan a document.
‘You can read?’ Literacy was not a skill Geoffrey would have attributed to a man like Josbert, and he wondered whether he had underestimated him in other ways, too.
Josbert turned away from him to indicate that he did not want to talk.
‘Did you write this?’ asked Geoffrey, reaching for a parchment written in a firm round hand scribed by someone comfortable with pens.
Josbert snatched it from him. ‘Leave that alone. It is mine, and not for prying eyes.’
‘I only wanted to know whether your talents extended to writing as well as reading,’ said Geoffrey, the germ of an idea forming at the back of his mind. ‘Or whether you use a scribe.’
‘Abbot Ralph scribes for me,’ replied Josbert stiffly. ‘I do not trust anyone else. I can write, but I find it time-consuming and tedious. Now, you will excuse me, because some of us have work to do.’
Geoffrey went back to watching Henry’s ever-growing army, trying to assess whether the King might have a weapon that could propel Greek Fire into Arundel’s inner bailey. He supposed that such a device would look something like a mangonel, with an A-frame and a throwing arm, and would be easy to spot. But he could see nothing suitable, and supposed that if Henry had fired the weapon, then he had quickly camouflaged the machine he had used. After a while, Geoffrey became aware that he was not the only one assessing Henry’s troops: Mabel was similarly engaged, also trying to ascertain whether the King had killed Cecily.
‘You think my sister was killed by someone inside Arundel,’ she said, coming to stand next to him. It was a statement and not a question. ‘You agree with Bellême.’
‘I do not know,’ said Geoffrey, watching as the fields beyond the castle began to twinkle with a hundred cooking fires. The smoke drifted towards them, tinged with the scent of roasting meat. He glanced at the door that led to the stairs, and saw Josbert still watched him intently.
‘But you have your theories,’ remarked Mabel. ‘Will you share them with me?’
‘How well do you know Beaumais?’ he asked.
She regarded him silently for a moment. ‘Well enough to know that he would not have the courage to kill in broad daylight with half the House of Montgomery-Bellême looking on.’
‘But it was a cowardly attack,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘Hurling Greek Fire at a young woman is not the act of a hero. Or perhaps it was not aimed at Cecily, but Emma or your mother.’
‘Possibly,’ admitted Mabel. She regarded him with steady black eyes, and Geoffrey thought they might have been friends, had she not been the wrong sex and fighting for the wrong side. ‘I want to solve this wicked deed, Geoffrey, so we will make an agreement. You will tell me anything you learn about Cecily’s death, and I shall tell you something to help you now. I was at the Crusader’s Head when Hugh died. I escaped with my grandmother’s bones after the murder. I believe you saw me.’
Geoffrey recalled the two shadowy figures moving with their burden through the back of the crowd. One was large – Mabel – while the other had been smaller. ‘Who carried the other end of the box?’
‘It is my decision to tell you about my role in the affair, but I cannot make that choice for my companion, too. My sisters were with my mother at the time – in London, not Southwark. Emma took only me that night, because she wanted me to carry the chest. My mother would never tell you this, because she does not want to help you – she still believes you are the killer.’
Geoffrey recalled Sybilla saying that she had been with ‘some’ of her daughters the night in question, and had not been near the Crusader’s Head. Mabel’s story indicated she had told the truth.
‘But Emma was there. I suppose she was demonstrating her Greek Fire? I smelled it very strongly that night. It has a distinctive odour, and once you have smelt it in battle it is not easy to forget.’
Mabel nodded. ‘That is why Emma called the meeting – to show off her progress with the weapon. It was a display aimed to impress not only my uncles, but my grandmother, too.’
Geoffrey regarded her askance. ‘Do you think Old Mabel’s bones appreciated the display?’
Mabel was unsmiling. ‘I have no idea, although I am inclined to believe that mouldering skeletons tend not to appreciate very much. However, although I was there, I did not murder Hugh. He was a halfwit, and I do not kill those unworthy of my military skills.’
‘Who else was there?’ asked Geoffrey, suspecting that her fine principles would not interfere with her slaying her sister’s killer if she ever discovered his – or her – identity.
‘Roger and Arnulf were near the tavern at around the time of Hugh’s death, but I do not know where they were the exact moment he was hanged. The same is true for Josbert and Matilda, who were also present. Bellême himself was not there – at least, I did not see him. Beaumais was in the stables for part of the time with Emma, but there is no way of telling whether he ventured into the tavern at some point. But I have at least narrowed your list of suspects down a little. You can discount my mother, Haweis, Cecily, Amise and me.’
‘Thank you,’ said Geoffrey, aware that she was quite capable of lying for reasons of her own. ‘But how do you know I will keep my part of the bargain, now you have told me what you know?’
‘Honour,’ she said simply. ‘There are still a few of us who possess some.’
She walked away, leaving Geoffrey staring after her thoughtfully. He stayed for a long time on the battlements, thinking about the events of the day. And Josbert watched him the entire time.
The following day, a Wednesday and Geoffrey’s fourth at Arundel, was cloudy and cool, and the overcast morning and the death of Cecily cast a pall of gloom over the castle’s inhabitants. Bellême was irascible and aggressive, and broke the jaw of a servant because the man spilled ale he claimed they could not afford to lose. As a consequence, the hall emptied quickly when the meal was over.
Geoffrey was among the first to leave and escaped to the outer bailey, where he saw the portly Abbot Ralph sitting on a water barrel and looking as miserable as Geoffrey felt. Geoffrey went to perch next to him, thinking that the fat churchman was one of the few he had not questioned since his arrival. He did not know why he had been tardy about it, and saw uncomfortably that time was slipping through his fingers more quickly than he realized.
‘Do my unblemished hands prove my innocence of Cecily’s death in your eyes, as they do in Mabel’s?’ Ralph asked as Geoffrey made himself comfortable.
‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I cannot imagine why you would want her dead.’ He did not reveal that he could not say the same about Beaumais, who had been with Ralph at the time of the murder.
‘You wonder why I did not rush to see what had happened when she screamed,’ said the abbot, regarding Geoffrey with sombre eyes. ‘It is because I hate bloodshed. It makes me faint, and I could tell by the tenor of the shrieks that something vile had occurred. Beaumais is the same, he says.’
Geoffrey recalled the acrid scent of vomit later, when they had discussed Cecily’s death in the hall, and supposed Ralph was telling the truth. He decided to reserve judgement about Beaumais, though.
‘I did not kill Hugh, either,’ added Ralph.
‘I know. You were not in London at the time. Your messenger, Petronus, had travelled directly from Shrewsbury with missives from you, which he could not have done had you been elsewhere.’
Ralph smiled and Geoffrey thought his face a pleasant one. ‘Not everyone can put two apparently disassociated facts together and draw a logical conclusion. You should have been a scholar.’
‘I wish I had,’ said Geoffrey ruefully. ‘Then I would not be in this situation.’
‘What dreadful crime did you commit
to see you assigned to such a place? A Jerosolimitanus is not the kind of man my lord of Shrewsbury usually admits into his service.’
‘Then you have not met many Crusaders,’ said Geoffrey, who thought that the band of ruthless, greedy killers who had murdered and robbed their way across the civilized world to ‘rescue’ Jerusalem from the infidel represented exactly the kind of person Bellême would recruit.
‘All Jerosolimitani have God’s thanks,’ said Ralph fervently. ‘No matter what happens to you here, you can be certain of a place in Heaven when your time comes. It must be a comforting thought.’
‘I hope God and His angels are a little more discerning than that,’ said Geoffrey, thinking that if there was any justice, then very few Crusaders could expect to see the pearly gates. He was also not ready to find out, and intended to live longer than a few more days. He changed the subject. ‘Beaumais says you sent a map with Petronus, which reveals the location of Old Mabel’s head.’
‘I know he thinks that,’ said Ralph softly. ‘But it is not true. I do not approve of witchcraft, and would never help Emma bring her mother back. Mabel is in Hell, and we do not want those sort of creatures prowling the Earth and interfering in human affairs.’
‘Do you believe Emma will succeed?’
‘Not if God is watching,’ replied Ralph. ‘But the map has nothing to do with me. You must remember, however, that Petronus travelled from Shrewsbury, which is under Bellême’s control. I did not send this chart, but Petronus might have secured it from another loyal subject and carried it south.’
‘Do you think he took it willingly, knowing what it was and what it could mean?’
‘He was an intelligent man. He probably anticipated being promoted within the abbey for his pains.’
‘But how could he have discovered it in Shrewsbury, of all places?’ Geoffrey was unconvinced.
‘Shrewsbury is the heart of Bellême’s English domains. It is possible that the map was sent there because it was seen as the safest place for it. You may not like Bellême, but there are plenty of others who would do anything to please him and share his fortunes.’
‘His fortunes do not look promising at the moment,’ Geoffrey pointed out wryly. ‘Petronus should have given the map to the King instead.’
‘Perhaps he intended to, but now he is dead we shall never know.’ Ralph regarded Geoffrey keenly. ‘You should not be here. A man who thinks has no place in Bellême’s household.’
‘You do not seem to be his kind of man, either.’
‘I am supposed to be in Shrewsbury on abbey business,’ said Ralph ruefully. ‘But Bellême summoned me to Winchester to help him answer the charges brought by the King – I have some training in the law, you see. But it was obvious there was no defence to those accusations, and the King was merely playing games with him. I tried to ride for Shrewsbury when we left the Court, but Bellême insisted I come here and I had no choice but to obey. I deplore my own cowardice, but I did not want to end up slaughtered, like that landlord.’
‘You mean Oswin of the Crusader’s Head?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘No, the landlord in Winchester. Bellême said he did not like the fact that the man was relieved to see him go. Therein lies a warning to us all.’
Geoffrey was disgusted, recalling the poor fellow Bellême had terrorized the night before their flight to Arundel. Ralph seemed to share his repugnance, and they sat in silence for a while.
‘I do not know why the Earl is so keen to discover Hugh’s killer,’ said Geoffrey eventually. ‘He slaughters people because he feels like it, so why should he care about Hugh?’
‘I have done business for Bellême in Southwark before,’ said Ralph absently, so Geoffrey did not know whether he was working towards an answer or simply reminiscing. ‘I knew Oswin, and he confided in me, although I tried to discourage him from doing so – the less said about what went on under that roof, the better. But he dictated a letter before he died, telling me what had transpired the night of Hugh’s murder. He knew he would not live long, and wanted someone to know the truth.’
‘The truth?’ asked Geoffrey hopefully. ‘What did he say?’
‘I had already been summoned to Winchester, but the messenger intercepted me en route. Oswin said he was sure you were innocent of any part in Hugh’s death. He also said there was a meeting of the Bellême clan that evening, to witness Emma’s progress with her weapon, and listed those present in the inn or its outbuildings: Roger, Arnulf, Beaumais, Emma, Matilda, Mabel and Josbert. Bellême declined to enter the tavern, but Oswin saw him outside in the shadows.’
‘Bellême was there?’ asked Geoffrey. Mabel had told him he was not – or rather, that she had not seen him, which, Geoffrey realized, were not one and the same. Then he remembered that Bellême had told Geoffrey he had seen Hugh’s body and the place where he had died, and had agreed that the young man’s killer had to have been inside the Crusader’s Head, not outside. Of course Bellême had been there – to witness the Greek Fire, if for no other reason.
Ralph nodded. ‘That is why I fear you will never solve the case – or not in a way that will free you. Oswin said they all came and went on mysterious errands several times that day.’
‘Did he believe these errands were private or family business?’ asked Geoffrey despondently, thinking that as soon as he was getting somewhere with his elimination of suspects, someone like Ralph came along and muddied the waters all over again.
‘He did not say.’
Geoffrey considered what had happened just before Hugh had died. The window had been open, and he would have heard a fight or an argument had a stranger entered Hugh’s room. There was also Oswin’s claim that Hugh had ordered wine for three before he had died, and no one bought wine for uninvited strangers. Therefore, Geoffrey was able to conclude that Hugh knew his killer or killers. What next? There had been a yell, and Hugh had been tipped out of the window to die of a broken neck. He had howled, but how had he shouted with a mouth full of parchment?
‘Did Oswin’s letter say anything else?’ asked Geoffrey, a little desperately.
‘Only that the family was in factions, and brothers spied on sisters because Bellême was afraid one was trying to make peace with King Henry. Nothing you do not already know.’
‘Oswin was right,’ said Geoffrey. ‘The sisters were trying to negotiate. When they received no reply, Emma attempted that ill-fated business with the archer and her smoking potions at Winchester.’
‘I doubt the sisters actually contacted the King,’ said Ralph, after considering the matter for some time. ‘Henry always uses considerable finesse in his dealings with difficult magnates, and he would have listened if any Bellême had appealed to him. He might not have agreed to their terms, but he would have heard what they had to say.’
Henry had said as much, too, Geoffrey recalled. Was it true? Was Hugh’s death exactly as it appeared: Matilda had chosen him to be her messenger but the letter had gone undelivered and another person had written a reply, pretending to be from the King? Were the suspects for Hugh’s murder just the male members of the family, because it was in their interests not to allow a treaty with the women, which would weaken their House?
But why kill Hugh, and not Matilda herself, to ensure she did not do it again? If Bellême did not care about dispatching a nephew, then he would not balk at slaying a sister. Or would he? Perhaps the spectre of his mother, on the verge of returning from her grave, was enough to keep his murderous fingers from his rebellious siblings’ throats.
Geoffrey rubbed his head tiredly. How could Bellême be the killer? He would not have charged Geoffrey to uncover the culprit, if he were the one responsible. But Geoffrey knew Bellême was a complex man, who might well enjoy seeing someone struggle to solve a murder for which he was responsible. It would afford him great amusement to watch how Geoffrey would proceed once he had the knowledge, especially during a siege, when there was nothing to do and the hours hung heavily.
‘You will fi
nd your culprit is one of Hugh’s uncles or aunts,’ concluded Ralph soberly. ‘But Bellême will never allow you to reveal which.’
‘Especially if it is him,’ said Geoffrey, feeling that his situation was more bleak than ever.
Another day passed, and Geoffrey was able to discover nothing more about Hugh. He questioned virtually everyone in the castle, even those who had not been in Southwark that night, but no one gave him more information. Haweis and Amise refused to talk to him at all, unless it was to remind him of how much time he had left to live, while Bellême himself said he was too busy to answer questions.
Roger was equally unhelpful, while Josbert admitted he was in the Crusader’s Head when Hugh was killed, but said he would challenge Geoffrey to a duel if he spoke to him about the matter again. Geoffrey decided to accept the challenge soon, because it was a more noble end than hanging – and he might even win. Only Arnulf was prepared to talk. He confessed he had been in Southwark with both brothers, saying they all wanted to see for themselves the progress Emma had made with Greek Fire, and acknowledged that he had wandered off alone as the afternoon had progressed, but claimed he knew nothing about why Hugh was killed. The only thing he added that Geoffrey had not known was that Philip, the King’s hostage, was there, too.
Geoffrey went to speak to Philip, who was as blunderingly clumsy around his uncle as he was with the King. Bellême made it clear that he had little time for the man, although his aunts and female cousins seemed to tolerate him well enough. Matilda was especially fond of him, and always sprang to his defence when Bellême turned on him for some paltry or contrived reason.
‘You were in Southwark the night Hugh died,’ said Geoffrey, when he eventually cornered Philip alone. The squire looked ready to run away, so Geoffrey held his arm. ‘What were you doing there?’
‘I was invited,’ squeaked Philip in alarm. ‘Bellême said I might be useful.’
‘Doing what?’
The King's Spies Page 25