The King's Spies

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Henry, startled. ‘I thought I was the only one with the answer to that.’

  Geoffrey was wary. ‘You knew Arnulf was the culprit? How? Is he working for you, too?’

  ‘He is not,’ replied Henry shortly. ‘I have standards, and the treacherous Arnulf falls well below them. I sent my own agents to discover what had happened in the Crusader’s Head that night – and not a moment too soon, because the landlord was murdered soon after they spoke to him. Arnulf was covering his tracks, but he had left it too late. My agents had already acquired all the information needed to solve the mystery.’

  Geoffrey outlined what Bellême had asked him to do. ‘So, when did you find out?’ he asked.

  ‘At my Easter Court. Had I known that Bellême would charge you with a similar investigation, I would have told you the answer and saved you some trouble. But you cannot blame me for not anticipating that those would be the terms of your joining his household.’

  ‘So, why did Arnulf kill Hugh? I never did understand his motive.’

  ‘Because Hugh was working for me,’ said Henry simply. He smiled at Geoffrey’s astonishment. ‘I offered him a percentage of any lands I took from his family, and he was mine in an instant. I thought his pretence of dim wits would protect him, but while he fooled some Bellêmes with his dithering and vacant grins, not all were convinced. They are a clever family.’

  ‘So how did Arnulf discover that he was your agent?’

  ‘Through Philip. Philip was not my man, lest you think I would stoop to using such a weakling to perform tasks so vital to the security of my kingdom. He was Arnulf’s spy, a fact I had known for some time. Hugh invited Arnulf and Philip to his chamber in the Crusader’s Head the night the clan gathered to watch Emma demonstrate her Greek Fire. Rashly, he confronted them with their treachery himself, instead of allowing me to deal with the matter.’

  ‘So, Arnulf killed him,’ surmised Geoffrey. He realized he had been wrong about one conclusion he had shared with Matilda: the two ‘friends’ for whom he had ordered wine were not Arnulf and Josbert, but Arnulf and Philip. Still, it did not matter much, since Arnulf had done the actual killing and the companion was merely a witness. He continued. ‘Arnulf probably decided Philip was too great a risk, and saw it was only a matter of time before he let something slip.’

  Henry nodded. ‘Philip did not react well under pressure, and I imagine the growing stress of being in a castle with his bellicose relatives would have turned him jittery. I would not have trusted him, and Arnulf must have felt the same way. Beaumais saw him do it.’

  ‘Beaumais was the man in the cloak who watched them talking in the stables before Philip was killed,’ said Geoffrey in understanding. ‘I should have guessed. I saw a long pale hair adhering to the back of his cloak, and there was only one person in the castle to whom that could have belonged: his lover Emma. Could Beaumais not have saved Philip?’

  ‘It was not worth the risk,’ said Henry. ‘Beaumais had a job to do for me, and that was more important than Philip’s life. Sacrifices – like Philip and Hugh – are unavoidable in times of war.’

  Geoffrey thought about what he had learned. ‘So, Hugh was your agent. Did he act for anyone else? Did he bring you messages from other members of his family who wanted to parley?’

  Henry shook his head. ‘Geoffrey, Geoffrey! I have already told you the answer to that. I asked him to discover whether any of them were interested, but he said they were not.’

  Geoffrey smiled maliciously. ‘Then your spy was not all he seemed, either. Matilda entrusted him with several begging notes for you. He carried one the day he died.’

  Henry gaped. ‘Hugh deceived me? But why?’

  ‘Because of the reward you promised him, I imagine. Had you pardoned the sisters, then his percentage would have been smaller. It would have been in his interests to see them all exiled.’

  A faint smile flickered across Henry’s dark features. ‘You see? He was not as weak-witted as everyone believed. He was able and willing to manipulate most situations to his own advantage. Bellême will be sorry to hear he lost an opportunity to secure such an ally.’

  ‘So, who murdered the others? We know Arnulf killed Hugh, Philip and Oswin, and Beaumais killed the archers in the woods near Westminster. But what about Petronus, Cecily and Haweis?’

  Henry shrugged. ‘I was not locked up in Arundel Castle, and so cannot know the identity of the other traitor in Bellême’s family.’

  Geoffrey regarded him warily. ‘The other traitor?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Henry softly. ‘There is one more who prefers me to Bellême, but I am not sure who he is. I only know him from his very helpful letters. When the time is right, he will come to me and I shall reward him. It is all arranged: he will show me a sign that only he and I know.’

  ‘Lord!’ muttered Geoffrey, bewildered by the complexities of Henry’s relationships with the House of Montgomery-Bellême. He wondered what Henry would do if his faithful traitor transpired to be the Earl himself.

  ‘Is there anything else?’ asked Henry, eyeing a waiting pile of parchments meaningfully.

  ‘I assume you have other plans ready, should we have the opportunity to attack Bridgnorth?’ asked Geoffrey, wanting to work on them himself and thus increase their chances of success.

  ‘No,’ said Henry calmly. ‘This castle will not be taken by force. You told me so when I first arrived, and I have no reason to disbelieve you.’

  ‘But you told me to draw up plans—’

  ‘So details of our “attack” could be passed to Bellême,’ said Henry, as if it were obvious. ‘He thinks I am impatient to see an end to this campaign, thanks to Bishop Maurice. He believes I will fight to take Bridgnorth and Shrewsbury. But I am a patient man. I will bide my time and Bridgnorth will soon be mine.’

  ‘How?’ demanded Geoffrey.

  Henry smiled. ‘You must wait and see, like everyone else.’

  Geoffrey did not have to wait long. The royal troops had been camped around the feet of Bridgnorth Castle for less than three weeks when the gates opened and a small party rode out, holding their standards low to show the King their purpose was to parley, not to fight. There was an immediate commotion in the King’s camp, as archers hurried to take up positions and scouting parties raced out to ensure no hostile army was advancing. Geoffrey saw his own patrols on their way, then went to the royal enclosure to see what was happening.

  The first thing he noticed was that the three people in charge of the deputation were women, and the second was that they were accompanied by two knights. It was Emma, Matilda and Sybilla, ably guarded by Mabel and Amise. Geoffrey saw the puckered scar that marred Amise and was sorry that time had not rendered it less ugly. Mabel caught his eye and smiled – the first he had seen her give.

  Beaumais was also there, but she did not acknowledge him. Sybilla gave the oily-headed courtier a glare that would have killed him on the spot if eyes were deadly weapons, and her expression was echoed by Amise. Emma was impassive. Beaumais did not seem at all discomfited by the fact that he was faced by people he had betrayed. He merely watched the scene unfolding in front of him with as much interest as any other onlooker. Geoffrey thought him incorrigible.

  ‘You should not be here,’ he said. ‘Your presence may antagonize one of the women to do something violent, and it would be a pity to allow such an incident to interfere with a surrender.’

  ‘I can protect myself,’ said Beaumais, hair glinting in the sunlight. ‘And you seem to be watching me, too, so I shall come to no harm.’

  ‘That was not what I meant,’ said Geoffrey, bemused by the man’s brazen self-interest. ‘I was thinking it would be a shame to lose a chance for peace because you want to spectate. I do not want my men to fight, if it can be avoided.’

  Beaumais regarded him in astonishment. ‘I thought knights liked bloodshed.’

  Geoffrey saw there was no point in arguing. If Beaumais did not understand what he was
trying to say in plain Norman-French, then there was no other way to tell him, short of forcing him away physically, and he did not want to make a scene.

  ‘This is interesting,’ said Beaumais, turning his attention to the activity in front of him. ‘We shall soon have an end to this business. The King’s spy will see to that.’

  ‘Hugh?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘He died months ago. Or are you referring to yourself?’

  ‘The other one,’ said Beaumais. ‘I told you about him before: the last of the King’s brave agents, who risk their lives to bring about what he desires.’

  ‘Is that how you see yourself?’ asked Geoffrey, amused. ‘Well, who is this paragon?’

  ‘I cannot say,’ replied Beaumais in the kind of voice that made Geoffrey certain he did not know. ‘But he will play his part soon, and then we shall all be off to our new lives. I am to be Sheriff of Shropshire and I am anxious to make a start. Shrewsbury Castle will make fine headquarters.’

  King Henry emerged from his tent to greet the Bellême sisters, having hastily donned some of his more regal attire. He wore a cloak fringed with ermine, despite the warmth of the day, and his tunic was sewn with gold thread. He also wore a crown. It was only a simple circlet of gold with one or two rubies at the front, but it was enough to turn him from a campaigning soldier into a monarch.

  Meanwhile, the Bellême women had also been to some trouble over their appearance. Sybilla and Matilda were resplendent in floor-length supertunics and tight-sleeved kirtles, and their dark hair was decorously concealed under wimples held in place by jewelled diadems. Meanwhile, Emma had opted for the habit of a nun, and wore a plain brown tunic with a silver cross. Geoffrey supposed she was making the point that she was a high-ranking abbess and worthy of special treatment.

  The three sisters dismounted, and Henry nodded to several squires that they should take the horses to water. Durand was one of them – he had taken to hovering around the King’s tent because Bishop Maurice was usually preoccupied when he was near Henry and less likely to make advances. Durand, however, was reluctant to offer a Bellême his assistance. He hung back, but Henry glared at him, so he was obliged to move forward. Sybilla glanced at the golden-haired squire without much interest, then reached out suddenly and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

  ‘It is Geoffrey Mappestone’s coward,’ she said, regarding her catch like a cat with a mouse. Geoffrey had never seen a man look more terrified. ‘Quaking and trembling like a grass in the wind.’

  ‘My Lady,’ Durand whispered, trying to free himself. He was not successful, and only made her tighten her grip. Emma also recognized him, and came to help her sister.

  ‘I remember you,’ said Sybilla nastily, while Durand looked as though he might be sick. ‘You rode with us women when we travelled from Winchester to Arundel after the Easter Court. You were more interested in our baggage than you should have been, especially in our mother’s box.’

  ‘He was on the verge of climbing in with Hugh’s head when I first met him,’ said Emma harshly. ‘Our brother should have run him through there and then.’

  ‘I meant no harm,’ bleated Durand. ‘Please!’

  Help came from an unexpected quarter. ‘Leave him alone,’ ordered Henry.

  ‘Why?’ asked Emma frostily. ‘Is he your spy? You recruited Hugh, so perhaps you have a penchant for weak young men.’

  ‘He has served me well enough,’ said Henry, indicating that Sybilla was to release him.

  She obliged reluctantly, and the squire fell to his knees, then scampered away. Geoffrey watched him go and pondered what Henry had meant. Surely Durand could not be his spy? He was far too concerned for his own safety to make an effective agent, and would be more of a liability than a help. He wondered whether Henry had protected Durand because he wanted another favour from Geoffrey and thought that the rescue of his squire might make him feel beholden. Henry, Geoffrey determined grimly, was going to be in for a disappointment, if that were the case.

  When Durand had gone, Henry became gracious. He ordered food and wine, which was icily refused, so he flashed one of his best smiles and ordered servants to bring chairs from his tent and arrange them outside. Sybilla sat on the best one and allowed Henry’s men to fuss around her with cushions, while Emma stood behind her, her face shadowed by her monastic veil. Matilda winked at Geoffrey as she took a seat next to Sybilla.

  ‘It is time to discuss terms,’ said Emma coolly.

  ‘The terms of your surrender?’ asked Henry innocently.

  Emma’s expression was hard. ‘If you want to put it like that, then yes. But not in front of all these people.’ She glanced significantly at the inside of the tent. ‘In private, without an audience.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Henry. ‘Only Bishop Maurice and Bishop Giffard shall be witnesses.’

  ‘No,’ said Emma. ‘Just you.’

  ‘I trust my bishops to be discreet,’ said Henry, surprised. ‘And so can you.’

  Emma glowered at Maurice, evidently recalling past meetings in the Crusader’s Head. Either that or she was among Maurice’s conquests, and the black look meant something else entirely. ‘Maurice and Giffard have betrayed us already. We shall talk to you alone or not at all. A bloodless capitulation is in all our interests, so you should hear what we have to say.’

  Henry shrugged. ‘If that is what you want, then so be it.’

  ‘I do not think that is wise,’ said Geoffrey as the King started to follow them inside. ‘They are—’

  ‘Do you think I cannot protect myself against women?’ snapped Henry. ‘In case you had not heard, ladies like me. It will be no trouble at all to woo this trio.’

  Geoffrey had grave misgivings, but there was nothing he could do if the King was intent on being stubborn. He watched them disappear inside the royal tent and wondered if Henry would emerge alive, or whether they would strike him down and put their brother on the throne until the Duke of Normandy could come and claim his birthright.

  He paced back and forth, and saw from their uneasy expressions that Maurice and Giffard were similarly anxious. Maurice was so concerned that he did not even notice Durand skulking around the edge of the crowd that waited to see what would happen. Pantulf and Beaumais lingered too, along with Roger and Helbye. Geoffrey trusted Pantulf not to make a hostile move, because he had proved himself by bringing Iorwerth to the King, but Beaumais was a wholly different proposition. Geoffrey watched him, resting his hand on the hilt of his dagger, and ready to spring at the first hint of danger.

  Amise was furious that she had not been invited to the private meeting. She stalked around the tent with a scowl as black as thunder. Her scar gave her a vaguely demonic appearance, and Geoffrey saw Helbye catch her eye and promptly leave, muttering something about Bellême’s ‘devil army’. Although Geoffrey tried to stay away from her, it was not long before their paths crossed in the confined space of the royal enclosure.

  ‘Traitor!’ hissed Amise furiously. ‘My uncle should not have given you a week to find Hugh’s killer. He should have hanged you straight away.’

  ‘Good day to you, too,’ said Geoffrey, walking away.

  She grabbed his arm. ‘I hate you. But my feelings are irrelevant today. It is time we called a truce.’

  Geoffrey regarded her with deep suspicion. If she thought she could make him lower his guard by offering the hand of friendship, she was sorely mistaken.

  Mabel stepped forward. ‘You must forgive my sister’s manners, Geoffrey. It is not easy for either of us to be here, among enemies.’

  ‘I imagine not,’ said Geoffrey shortly, making a second attempt to leave. Mabel blocked his way, and he did not feel like engaging in a tussle to remove her. She was a powerful woman.

  ‘We have things to tell you,’ said Amise.

  ‘I am sure you do, but they are not things I want to hear,’ said Geoffrey coldly. ‘Go away.’

  Amise attempted to conceal her hostility with one of the falsest smiles he had ever seen. ‘We n
ow accept that you were right about Arnulf.’

  ‘He admitted providing Emma with tainted olive oil for our Greek Fire, you see,’ elaborated Mabel. ‘She thinks that is why it has not worked properly, despite her fortifying it with demonic incantations and the fingers of corpses.’

  ‘He betrayed his “Emmy”,’ said Amise, pronouncing the affectionate nickname with a sneer. ‘He wanted her to fail so that he could work on the substance himself.’

  Geoffrey recalled the marks he had seen on Arnulf’s hands when he had donned the surcoat.

  ‘We also know that Hugh never delivered Matilda’s messages to the King,’ said Mabel softly. ‘And that Josbert planted a royal “reply” on Hugh’s body.’

  ‘Josbert said he was trying to protect Matilda,’ Amise went on. ‘He knew Bellême would kill her if he ever found out what she had done. But you made an erroneous assumption: you thought Josbert stuffed the parchment into Hugh’s mouth before Arnulf pushed him from the window – as a gag.’

  ‘No,’ said Geoffrey, who had reconsidered his conclusions after his recent discussion with the King. ‘Josbert was not in the chamber when Hugh was killed – I now know that was Arnulf and Philip. Josbert stuffed the parchment into Hugh’s mouth after he was cut down, which was why Hugh was able to shout as he fell. I saw Josbert myself, although I did not realize at the time what he was doing. When Hugh was cut down, an onlooker from the rear of the crowd pushed forward – twice. That was Josbert – the first time to learn the corpse’s identity, and the second time to plant his evidence.’

  ‘We know,’ said Mabel softly. ‘Josbert told us everything before Arnulf knifed him.’

  ‘Josbert is dead?’ asked Geoffrey, startled. ‘And Arnulf killed him? When?’

  ‘During the confusion surrounding Arundel’s surrender,’ replied Amise. ‘Josbert knew the King would hang the castellan who had held out against him for so long, so he made a final confession to us. When Arnulf heard he was spilling all his secrets, he was so angry that he stabbed him.’

  ‘We both saw it happen,’ said Mabel soberly. ‘I think Josbert antagonized him deliberately, because he chose to die by a sword rather than a noose.’