The King's Spies

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘Enjoy it,’ came Amise’s voice at his elbow. ‘It will be the last sunset you will see. My uncle plans to hang you at dawn tomorrow, because he knows you are no closer to finding Hugh’s killer now than you were at the beginning of the week.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Geoffrey, turning to face her. ‘I thought he might have forgotten about it.’

  She sneered. ‘I have reminded him of his promise every day – to give me the honour of killing you. I think I shall hang you here, because it is the tower closest to the King. He will see what happens to men who anger the House of Montgomery-Bellême.’

  ‘Go away, Amise,’ said Geoffrey. ‘If this is to be my last night, then you are not the person I choose to spend it with.’

  ‘I shall stay if I please.’ He started to leave, but she blocked his way. ‘This time tomorrow you will be hanging from the battlements.’

  ‘Show me,’ said Geoffrey.

  She regarded him uncertainly. ‘What?’

  ‘Show me,’ repeated Geoffrey. ‘I want to see the place you have chosen. I might not like it.’

  She eyed him uneasily. ‘You want me to show you the place where I will kill you?’

  Geoffrey nodded, thinking she was remarkably slow in the wits. ‘In an hour.’

  ‘Why then? Why not now?’

  ‘Because I do not want to see it now. It is my final evening, and I intend to do what I like.’

  He pushed past her and ran down the spiral steps, glad to be away from her irritating presence; he had seldom met anyone who harboured such grudges. But he was pleased with himself, because Amise had given him an idea, and all he had to do was wait until it was dark. He went to his hiding place near the stables, wriggled into a comfortable position and closed his eyes, trying yet again to solve the riddle of Hugh’s death before his time ran out. His mind wandered, and he found himself contemplating the various romances that had blossomed since the drawbridge had been raised and frightened people had found solace where they could.

  First, and most obviously, there was Beaumais and Emma, although Emma was more keen than Beaumais, who was inclined to rove. Matilda also grew lonely very quickly, and she had twice offered Geoffrey a repeat of their performance at the inn in Southwark. He was tempted, but there were few places they could be guaranteed privacy, and he did not want to be run through on the pretext that he had defiled Bellême’s sister. Beaumais obliged her when he thought Emma was otherwise occupied, and a sturdy captain called Foucon stepped forward manfully when Beaumais thought she was not.

  Not to be outdone by her frolicking sisters, Sybilla had recruited a paramour, too. She selected Josbert, although Geoffrey could not imagine why, other than the fact that there was not much choice once Beaumais and Foucon had been taken. Bellême’s soldiers were an unkempt, unruly horde to whom no self-respecting lady would give a second glance and, unless Sybilla attempted incest and wooed a brother, there was only the portly Abbot Ralph left.

  Geoffrey dragged his thoughts back to Hugh, and was about to review what he had learned yet again, when he heard voices in the stables. Bellême had recently declared these off limits, on the grounds that someone might kill a horse for meat. He claimed he might need all his steeds for engaging Henry in battle, although few believed him; they all knew he wanted them well-fed in case he felt like escaping.

  Geoffrey was intrigued by the low voices emanating from a forbidden place, and cocked his head in an attempt to hear what was being said. However, although he could make out words, he could not recognize voices, because they were whispering.

  ‘Robert is beginning to think that I am the traitor,’ one was saying.

  ‘He cannot act without proof,’ said the second.

  ‘Do not speak drivel!’ snapped the first. ‘My brother does not need proof before he acts! He is not a monk or a lawyer! Did the King need “proof” when he invented those charges against us?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then do not blather about matters you know nothing about. You are worse than your father. No wonder he died so soon on the Crusade.’

  The second voice was Philip’s, Geoffrey surmised. And the other must be either Roger or Arnulf, given that he referred to Bellême as his brother. But which? Geoffrey stood, intending to watch them when they left. It would be useful to know who believed he might be accused of treachery, because it could imply a guilty conscience. Geoffrey moved stealthily in the dusk, but stopped abruptly when he saw he was not the only one listening to the discussion. Someone in a dark cloak was standing outside the stable door, straining forward in an attempt to hear. Geoffrey could see nothing of his face, but found his attention caught by a long pale hair that adhered to the back of his cloak.

  Then everything happened very quickly. Philip and his uncle emerged from the stables and the man in the cloak darted to one side. Geoffrey could not tell whether he had hidden or had moved to confront them. Geoffrey heard a dagger whipped from a sheath, so he pressed back into the shadows, not wanting to become involved. The sound of a body hitting the ground was followed by running footsteps. When they had receded, he eased from his hiding place and peered around the corner. Someone was lying on the floor, and he thought he glimpsed someone disappear around the far end of the stables. Geoffrey slipped away, hoping he had not been seen. He did not think that being found near a corpse would do his cause any good, and he decided that someone else could raise the alarm.

  Geoffrey was concerned that the glorious day might mean a later dusk than usual, and that Roger might not be watching for a signal on the grounds that it was still too light. So, once the knight had ascended the tower with Amise at his heels, he knew he would have to prolong their discussion, to make sure the light had faded sufficiently. It was not something he wanted to do, given the probable topic of conversation, but he could think of no other way and did not think she would agree to another delay. It was not pleasant listening to her describe what she planned to do to him, although it came as no surprise to learn that she intended to make the experience last as long as possible.

  ‘I have tested my plan with Roger since we last met,’ she said, pleased with herself. ‘He was more than happy to spend an hour helping me prepare.’

  ‘I am sure he was,’ said Geoffrey, thinking that organizing a hanging would probably be exactly the dour Roger’s idea of a good time.

  ‘We are all looking forward to tomorrow,’ she went on. ‘My mother and Emma. My uncles Robert, Arnulf and Roger. Beaumais, Josbert and Philip, although Philip is a pathetic specimen and says violence distresses him.’ She issued a snort of disgust. ‘Did you know the King wanted to make him into a knight – to succeed where others failed? The task is almost as impossible as converting your womanly squire into a soldier.’

  Geoffrey agreed.

  ‘Matilda says your death is a waste of a good man,’ Amise went on. ‘She says there are too few of you here, but I think she refers to your abilities in the bedchamber rather than your integrity. Mabel agrees with her, although she knows nothing about bedding men. She is more likely to bed a woman.’

  ‘Mabel is the only decent one among you,’ said Geoffrey, hoping to annoy her into blathering a little longer. It was almost dark enough to send his first signal.

  ‘She is becoming addled,’ said Amise shortly. ‘But I am not here to discuss the wits of my sister. I came to show you how you will die.’ She leaned down to point out a specific piece of masonry, to which she intended to secure one end of the rope.

  ‘I cannot see,’ said Geoffrey. It was dark enough now for Roger to be watching, and if he was not, then Henry would have to find his own weaknesses to probe. ‘We need a lamp.’

  ‘I can see,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘Well, I cannot,’ he said, pretending to squint. ‘Fetch a lamp or I shall leave.’

  She sighed and snapped her fingers at the guards, who regarded each other uneasily and declined to obey until she took several steps towards them. Captain Foucon – Matilda’s soldier-lover – shook
his head in disapproval, but did what she asked, thrusting the lamp into her hands and making it clear he was watching her very carefully. He was wise enough to know that unguarded flames and a wooden roof in a besieged castle were not happy bedfellows.

  The gatehouse’s battlements comprised upright sections that were taller than a man’s head, which afforded an archer protection while he fired at invaders, and knee-high spaces – gaps – between them through which he could shoot. Insofar as the signal was concerned, Geoffrey’s task was to make Amise walk across one of the gaps once, leave a short interval of time, and then cross three times in quick succession. If he could make her repeat the operation, then he could be certain that Roger had received the correct message.

  ‘Now,’ he said, shielding the lamp with his body, so the light would not be seen by anyone watching from Henry’s camp. ‘Tell me again.’

  He moved back to expose the lamp and, obligingly, she carried it across the gap. That was the first part of his signal completed. She pointed to the stone, and he went to join her. He took the lamp from her, ready to start the second part.

  ‘This one would be better,’ he said, crossing the gap to inspect another stone. One. He immediately trotted back and looked at the one she had selected. Two. ‘No, I think you are right. Although …’ He made his way back again, still holding the lamp. Three. It was done.

  ‘You are wrong,’ she said angrily, grabbing at the lamp and starting to walk back to her own stone. Geoffrey held on to it, not wanting a fourth blaze to occur too soon and confuse Roger.

  ‘Look,’ he said, pointing at nothing. She bent her head and studied the parapet for some time before shaking her head in irritation, snatching the lamp and marching back across the gap again. It had been long enough, and Geoffrey was now on his second set of signals. She had just made the first flash.

  ‘Here!’ she said, pointing with a jabbing finger.

  Geoffrey retrieved the lamp, readying himself for the next three. ‘You are wrong. This one is better.’ He crossed again. One. But Foucon was becoming suspicious and Geoffrey knew he did not have much time before the soldier stopped him. ‘Let me see.’ He crossed again. Two.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Foucon in anger when he realized Geoffrey’s peculiar behaviour had a very distinct pattern. ‘He is signalling to the King! Grab him.’

  Geoffrey dodged him and darted across the gap to make his final flash, just as Foucon powered into him hard enough to drive the breath from his body. The lamp flew from his fingers, and spilled oil immediately set the top of the tower alight. Soldiers rushed to stamp it out, and it was all over in a moment. Geoffrey had succeeded in sending two complete signals, and all he could hope now was that Roger would remember what they meant and pass the correct information to the King. His sister would be protected from Welsh raids, and Geoffrey could die safe in the knowledge that he had done all he could to ensure her protection.

  Foucon was furious that a signal had been made on his watch, and Geoffrey thought that he might hurl him over the battlements there and then. But Foucon knew better than to deprive Bellême of his morning sport, and settled for shoving Geoffrey roughly down the spiral stairs, across the bailey and into the wooden hall. He gathered several soldiers to help him en route, and Geoffrey wondered what the man expected him to do in a castle surrounded by battalions of mercenaries.

  He did not care that he had been discovered, because he was enormously satisfied at having used Amise to betray the castle and outwitted his captors at the same time. Meanwhile, Amise trailed at his side screaming all manner of threats and insults. Geoffrey knew he could incense her further by ignoring her, which he did with pleasure. Since he was due to be hanged the following day he felt he had nothing to lose by incautious and offensive behaviour now.

  By the time they reached the hall, Foucon had Geoffrey surrounded by at least a dozen guards, and they made a lot of noise as they entered. Bellême was trimming his fingernails with a dagger, slouched in a chair on the dais. He did not look pleased when Foucon bundled Geoffrey in front of him and jabbered his accusations. He sighed, and fixed the captain with a glower that silenced him as immediately and effectively as if a bucket of water had been thrown at him.

  ‘Well?’ Bellême asked Geoffrey. ‘Have you used my torches and my niece to signal to Henry?’

  ‘Ask Amise,’ said Geoffrey. ‘She was the one who waved the lamp all over the place, not me.’ He was pleased to see Amise blanch when her uncle’s beady gaze settled on her.

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘I was showing him the place where I intend to tie my rope tomorrow. There were no messages.’

  ‘Foucon says there were,’ said Bellême.

  ‘Foucon is a fool,’ she replied angrily. ‘I was just showing Geoffrey—’

  ‘The ropes. Yes, I heard the first time.’ Bellême scowled at the captain. ‘You have allowed your imagination to run wild. Why would he signal to Henry, when Henry is no more his friend than I am? What would he tell him anyway? “I will die tomorrow so make sure you are awake early”?’

  ‘He was signalling,’ persisted Foucon stubbornly. ‘He made sure the lamp moved back and forth in a regular pattern. And then he almost set the tower alight when I tried to stop him.’

  ‘Now, that is serious,’ said Bellême, uncoiling himself from the chair. ‘A fire would finish us for certain. But there is not much harm Geoffrey can do tonight. Stay with him until tomorrow, when we will be free of his threat. Send these men back to their posts.’

  Geoffrey was not surprised to learn that Bellême had already assumed he had failed in his quest to identify Hugh’s killer, although he thought he might have at least asked. Abbot Ralph had been right: it did not matter whether he solved the mystery, because Bellême was going to hang him regardless.

  ‘You want me to look after him?’ asked Foucon, regarding Geoffrey uneasily. ‘On my own?’

  ‘You heard,’ snapped Bellême. ‘God knows, you gambol in the barn with Matilda readily enough, and she is far more dangerous than poor Geoffrey Mappestone. Take his sword, if he is too much for you. Have you seen Philip? I sent for the lazy boy an hour ago.’

  ‘Not since this morning,’ said Foucon. He glanced nervously at Geoffrey. ‘I do not—’

  ‘Philip wants me to trust him, yet he cannot obey my simplest commands,’ said Bellême angrily. ‘Send someone to hunt him out, or I shall hang him tomorrow, too.’ He glowered at the hapless Foucon. ‘Why are you still here?’

  ‘I thought—’

  ‘Are my orders not clear?’ snarled Bellême. ‘Do not let Geoffrey out of your sight until dawn – not that there is anywhere for him to run. He should have dashed out of the gate when we first arrived, like his cowardly squire.’

  Geoffrey sincerely wished he had.

  Eleven

  A while later, a yell of outrage pierced the air. It was Roger, and he had found the body of the man stabbed earlier that evening. Emma and Sybilla wanted Geoffrey hanged even before the corpse’s identity was announced, but Bellême pointed out that he had been with Foucon since dusk, and could hardly have murdered someone with a captain trailing in his wake. Geoffrey was not sure whether Bellême genuinely believed the murder had occurred after he had been put under guard, or whether he already knew the killer was someone else – perhaps someone with his blessing.

  Matilda released a howl of anguish when torches were brought and it was discovered that the dead man was Philip. She gathered him in her arms, and Foucon laid a rough hand on her shoulder as a gesture of sympathy. It did nothing to quell her shuddering sobs, and was hastily removed when Bellême indicated with a flick of his head that he was to resume his duties guarding the prisoner. Reluctantly, Foucon returned to Geoffrey, although he clearly longed to be with his woman. Matilda did not notice whether he was there or not, and it took all three brothers to prise her away from Philip.

  While the Bellêmes secreted themselves in an upper chamber to discuss the latest murder, Geoffrey borrowed pens and parchment a
nd wrote letters to Joan and Tancred. When he had finished, he stared into the fire, thinking about Hugh, while Foucon watched him. Geoffrey thought it remarkable how impending death sharpened his mind, because he found he was able to see facts far more clearly than before, although they still did not yield the answer he needed.

  He gave his letters to Ralph, who promised to see them delivered when the siege was over, made a scanty and inadequate confession, and wandered into the inner bailey with Foucon at his heels. Dawn was not far off, because the stars were beginning to fade, and he realized that the night had gone more quickly than he had anticipated, time trickling away like grains of sand through an hourglass.

  Arundel’s baileys were busy, even at that hour, because the hall was so crowded and noisy with snoring that few slept well. Boredom was a major problem during a siege, and Geoffrey thought Josbert remiss not to have devised activities that took people’s minds off the fact that nearby was a hostile army waiting for their blood.

  He took a deep breath and gazed at the star-blasted sky, then closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the night – a child whimpering in a dream, a cat screeching, the clatter of pots from the kitchen by scullions already working, and the low mumble of conversations around the yard as guards and others whiled away the hours of darkness.

  Matilda was one of those awake and wandering aimlessly. She gestured that she wanted to talk, but Geoffrey preferred to be alone. Matilda, however, was determined to have her way. She followed him, breaking into a run when the knight walked faster in an attempt to elude her. Foucon did likewise, so that the three of them made for an odd procession in the dark.