The King's Spies

by Simon Beaufort

  Matilda flashed him a sudden grin that was full of mischievous pride. ‘Yes and no. I sent Henry information – enough to secure his gratitude, but not enough to cause serious damage to my House. I could not predict who was going to win, you see, and thought it best to have a foot in both camps. Beaumais did not know I was a double agent – I made sure of that by careful quizzing during our sessions in the barn at Arundel – and I did not guess your true role. Henry is a clever man, keeping his spies unaware of each other.’

  ‘So, the messages you sent with Hugh did reach royal hands, and Henry’s response was to order you to work against your family?’

  ‘No. Henry was telling the truth when he said he had received no messages offering to parley. Hugh really did fail to deliver them, and Josbert really did find one and take matters into his own inefficient hands. I used young Philip to give Henry other information, although no one – not Philip and not Henry – knew that I was the sender.’

  ‘How? Philip recognized you, surely?’

  ‘He merely collected letters from pre-arranged places. Henry grew to trust his anonymous spy, but he did not know my identity until I revealed it to him today.’

  ‘Why are you telling me?’

  ‘I am in the mood for confession now this business is at an end, and you are someone I think will understand without judging me too harshly. So, we are even now. I helped you escape from Arundel, and you will not tell anyone I was Henry’s spy. There is no point now, is there?’

  Geoffrey supposed there was not, and watched as she rode to Bridgnorth Castle to pack the single saddlebag she was allowed to take when she quitted Henry’s realm. He wondered what was in the message Sybilla had given to Durand, and had an awful feeling Sybilla had written out the revised formula for Greek Fire, which Emma had revealed to her the previous night.

  It felt good to wear his own armour and surcoat again. Mabel had even made sure that Geoffrey’s sword was included in the parcel that had been left in the care of Bridgnorth Castle’s frightened chaplain. Since Geoffrey had not expected to see any of it again, discovering it awaiting his collection in the abandoned chapel had been a genuine pleasure. He returned the borrowed mail to Henry, and decided he could take on a hundred Bellêmes in the armour that was so comfortably familiar. He wondered how Mabel and Matilda had persuaded Arnulf to part with the surcoat – especially since Geoffrey still had the silver coins he had paid for it.

  The first thing Geoffrey did after the royal forces had taken control of Bridgnorth was to look for Durand. But the squire was nowhere to be found, and his horse was missing. Helbye had seen him riding away as though the Devil was on his tail, but had assumed his terror was caused by the close proximity of Bellêmes. Maurice had also seen him leave, and waxed lyrical about his blond locks flying in the wind.

  ‘I shall never have her again,’ he said with a wistful sigh.

  ‘Again?’ asked Geoffrey warily.

  Maurice handed him several silver pennies. ‘That is what I promised you for persuading her to come to me. I am a man who keeps his word.’

  ‘He came?’ asked Geoffrey uncomfortably. ‘Durand came to your tent?’

  ‘Last night,’ said Maurice with a fond smile. ‘At around midnight.’

  ‘It was dark, then,’ said Geoffrey, wondering how Durand had managed to convince the rampant prelate that he had been of the fair sex, and how Maurice had not discovered the truth.

  ‘Very,’ agreed Maurice. ‘She is a modest lady.’

  ‘I do not want your money,’ said Geoffrey, trying to pass it back. ‘I am no brothel keeper.’

  ‘Do not be so ready to refuse silver, Geoffrey,’ said Maurice, pushing the coins back into his hand. ‘These are turbulent times, and who knows when you might need it? But I must go. I have only Matilda and Mabel to escort to the coast, but I am sure we shall find something to while away the time. God bless, Geoffrey. And remember this advice: never say no to a woman or to coins. Follow that rule, and you will live to be a happy man.’

  Geoffrey thought it very much depended on the women. He looked down at the coins and smiled. Durand would have some explaining to do when he caught him.

  As soon as Henry was certain Bridgnorth was secure, he prepared to ride for Shrewsbury. He was also concerned that Durand might be about to pass a deadly secret to his enemy, but at the same time remained sceptical, claiming that Matilda would have mentioned the matter during their parley if it had been true. She was his spy, after all, and had made herself known by passing him a piece of parchment with a sign drawn on it.

  ‘It was the symbol we had agreed upon,’ elaborated Henry, when Geoffrey looked blank. ‘It was known only to me and to my agent.’

  ‘How do you know she did not learn it from someone else?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Like Emma?’

  ‘Emma was not my spy,’ said Henry, finding the notion amusing. ‘It was definitely Matilda who sent me so many helpful messages. So, now you know why I wanted to linger at Bridgnorth when you were all for riding on Shrewsbury. I wanted to meet my anonymous helper.’

  ‘Then why exile her? I thought you planned to reward her when she made herself known.’

  ‘I am rewarding her,’ said Henry. ‘I am allowing her to leave with her life. I dislike traitors, of any kind, and I shall never pay them gold or land for their lack of honour.’

  ‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether Beaumais and Pantulf knew about this particular policy. He could see Henry’s point: a traitor was a traitor, and could never be trusted. It was right and just that Matilda should be exiled, and safer for Henry to have no Bellême in his kingdom. However, it also explained why Matilda had not bothered to mention the message Sybilla passed to Durand. It had allowed her a final act of revenge upon a man who had not fulfilled her expectations.

  ‘Sybilla and another of her demonic daughters are dead, and so is Emma,’ said Henry in satisfaction. ‘Maurice will see Matilda and Mabel safely out of England, so we are left only with Bellême himself and Roger. And they will not remain in my realm for many more days now.’

  ‘But what about Arnulf?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘You thought he was in Bridgnorth, but he is not. Are you willing to believe that he fled to Normandy after the fall of Arundel, as Matilda claims?’

  ‘Arnulf is no longer a threat,’ replied Henry enigmatically. Geoffrey glanced at a dark stain on his surcoat that had not been there when he had sold it, and wondered whether it was Arnulf’s blood. It would certainly explain how they had managed to deprive him of a garment he had liked.

  Beaumais came to inform the King that all was ready for the short ride from Bridgnorth to Shrewsbury, for what Geoffrey supposed would be the final confrontation between Henry and his most deadly enemy. Henry reached for his riding gloves and strode out of his tent. As he left, Geoffrey saw something flutter to the ground. It was a scrap of parchment. Aware that he should not meddle in matters that did not concern him, Geoffrey nevertheless leaned down to pick it up. It contained a crudely drawn body with a head toppling to one side. Geoffrey stared at it, and supposed it was the sign Matilda had passed Henry. It was certainly an appropriate one, given what Emma had been struggling to do with her mother.

  Helbye was waiting with his horse, so Geoffrey climbed into his saddle and turned in the direction of Shrewsbury. Henry rode at the head of the cavalcade, flanked by his best knights, while Geoffrey was behind with Roger, Pantulf and Beaumais.

  ‘It is almost over,’ called Pantulf to Geoffrey, barely audible over the thundering of hoofs. ‘My spies tell me that Arnulf fled to Normandy two weeks ago, where he will be safe from Henry, but not from his vengeful siblings.’

  ‘Matilda,’ said Geoffrey, glancing down to see his dog racing along at his side. Its tongue hung wetly from its mouth, and he wondered how long it would keep up with them before it decided this was not a good way to earn its daily meat. ‘She is the only one who will join him. Roger and Bellême are still in England, and the others are dead.’

  Pantulf ga
ve a crafty smile. ‘Roger is not here, either. The King ordered me to allow him to “escape” from Shrewsbury two days ago. This I did, and my men followed him to the coast, where he boarded a ship bound for Normandy. He is a vindictive man, and I doubt he will rest until he has meted out justice to Arnulf, who professed to be loyal while he feathered his own nest.’

  Geoffrey was sure he was right, and understood exactly what the King had meant when he said he was satisfied that Arnulf would not be a problem – assuming Matilda had not already acted, of course.

  ‘No sign of Durand,’ grumbled Roger, riding at his side. ‘I am surprised he has travelled so far on his own. He is afraid of galloping, because he thinks he will be unseated and crushed under his pony’s hoofs. Has he been lying to us all these months, and he is actually an accomplished rider?’

  ‘I do not think so,’ said Geoffrey, laughing at the notion.

  ‘Then how long has he been a traitor? Carrying messages for Bellême?’

  ‘If Durand was Bellême’s man, then he would have been happy to remain inside Arundel. I suspect this is his first foray into treachery. But you are right: he is not a good horseman and we will catch him long before we reach Shrewsbury. Then we shall destroy the formula for Greek Fire.’

  ‘Destroy it?’ asked Roger in dismay. ‘No, lad! We will sell it to the King for a handsome profit.’

  ‘We will not!’ exclaimed Geoffrey vehemently, glancing around uneasily to make sure no one had overheard. ‘The King will not buy what he can take, and he is likely to accuse you of being a traitor for selling what he probably thinks should be given freely.’

  Roger grumbled, but accepted that his friend was right. Geoffrey concentrated on the ride, enjoying the feel of his horse moving fast and sure along the road and the jangle and clink of armour. Then, in the distance, just breasting a hill, he caught sight of a familiar figure.

  ‘There he is,’ he shouted to Roger.

  He spurred his horse faster, leaving the others behind, although Roger did his best to keep up. The distant rider heard the thunder of pursuing hoofs and looked behind him in panic. Geoffrey saw the pony rear, then dart forward. Durand was clearly under the impression that a hostile force was after him. With growing concern, Geoffrey saw that he might reach Shrewsbury after all. Durand was not encumbered with armour and his horse was able to make better time. Geoffrey charged on, determined to expend every last ounce of his strength to ensure that the message did not get to Bellême.

  He breasted the hill Durand had laboured up, and saw the towers and roofs of Shrewsbury ahead, tucked into a bend of the meandering River Severn. He could make out the abbey, and the houses and buildings that clustered around its feet. Durand was almost at its gates, and Geoffrey urged his horse to run faster yet. The animal’s flanks were heaving, and he knew it would not be able to travel much farther.

  The city gate loomed ahead of him. Durand was already through, and the startled guards had not had time to close it. They saw a second horseman riding like the wind after the first and hesitated, not knowing what to do. In the end, they did what most civilian guards did when caught between forces controlled by the likes of the King and Robert de Bellême. They abandoned their posts and ran away, heading for the woods outside the city, where they would remain until there was a clear winner and they knew who to support.

  Geoffrey reached the gate, and flew along the main street at a speed that was far from safe. People scattered as he thundered towards the castle, and he heard them cursing him for his vile Norman manners.

  The castle was close, and Geoffrey could see Durand ahead of him, clattering up the road as fast as his winded nag would allow. Geoffrey’s horse stumbled and almost threw him, but he held on and forced it forward. Durand flung himself from the saddle when he reached the barbican gate and started to hammer, thumping the oak doors with his puny little fists. He glanced behind him, saw Geoffrey and pounded harder.

  The gate began to open, with Durand shoving desperately in an attempt to push it wide enough to squeeze through. But it was heavy and the guards were slow. Durand darted to the gap and wedged himself in it, wriggling desperately. Geoffrey was almost at the gate when arrows began to rain down from the archers who protected it. He raised his shield over his head, hearing the thud and rattle as missiles rained down on it.

  He reached the gate and snatched a fistful of the squire’s tunic with his sword arm, still holding the shield above his head. On the other side of the gate, hands reached out to haul Durand inside. The man’s feet left the ground, and he howled in terror. Geoffrey’s horse, unsettled by the furious ride and the hail of arrows, began to buck. Then something black and sticky dropped from the archers’ gallery and on to Geoffrey and horse alike. It was Emma’s runny Greek Fire.

  With a massive surge of strength Geoffrey wrenched Durand from the guards’ grip and hauled him across his saddle before turning and galloping away, feeling like a Viking kidnapping a woman. More missiles followed, and he heard a yelp of pain as one struck Durand’s leg. Another hit Geoffrey’s conical helmet with a resounding gong, while others bounced harmlessly off his mail. His horse screamed as an arrow grazed its flank. More black pitch slapped on to Geoffrey’s armour, including some that stuck to his cheek, so the rank stench of it caught in his nostrils. But it did not ignite.

  Then he was out of range of the castle’s bombardment. Not wanting to meet any of Bellême’s men, who might be stationed in the streets in readiness for an ambush, he cantered towards the city gate, and did not stop until he was some distance away. He left the main road and headed for a peaceful glade, where he hurled his squire to the ground like a sack of rubbish and tended his horse, soothing it with gentle words and running his hands down its legs to check for damage. It was in distress, and he knew he would not be riding it again that day. He decided Henry would have to do without him if he intended to fight Bellême at the castle.

  The thump of hoofs grew closer, and he glanced across to the road to see Roger in the lead. He started to call out, to let him know that his desperate gallop had been successful, but knew he would not be heard. He turned back to his horse, noting that the scratch made by the arrow was not serious and, as long as it was properly washed and kept clean, it would heal well enough. Gradually, the faithful beast caught its breath, and Geoffrey used his spare shirt to wipe away some of the sweat that coursed down its flanks.

  ‘It will take me ages to get that clean,’ said Durand, watching him. He had not moved since Geoffrey had deposited him on the ground, although the knight knew he was unharmed.

  ‘What makes you think you will have the chance?’

  ‘I am your squire,’ said Durand indignantly.

  Geoffrey saw he was not in the slightest repentant for what he had done. ‘You are Bellême’s message boy,’ he retorted in distaste. ‘Give me the letter you were going to deliver from Sybilla.’

  ‘Which one?’ asked Durand. He scrambled quickly to his feet when he saw Geoffrey’s murderous expression. ‘There were two! Do not look at me like that. Which one do you want?’

  ‘Both!’ snapped Geoffrey, holding out his hand. ‘And do not try to get the better of me. The King will have you hanged for this.’

  ‘For delivering a message?’ asked Durand, wide-eyed with innocence. ‘I thought messengers were exempt from that sort of thing, and that it is considered poor form to punish them for ill tidings. Besides, Henry will not hang me.’

  ‘What makes you so certain?’ Geoffrey thought that if Henry did not order the man’s execution, then he might do it himself. Durand had gone too far, and Tancred would just have to be disappointed that Geoffrey had not returned with a golden-haired warrior in tow.

  ‘I tell him things,’ said Durand. ‘And he likes me.’

  ‘You mean you are the King’s spy, too?’ Geoffrey was not sure whether to believe him.

  ‘Why do you think he spoke in my defence earlier today?’ asked Durand smugly. ‘I am useful.’

  Geoffrey suppos
ed Henry might have ordered the squire to spy for him, just as he had recruited Hugh, whom most folk thought was weak-witted. Henry seemed to like agents with attributes that made them unlikely candidates for such work. He wondered whether Durand had been ordered to spy on Geoffrey himself, and the thought made him angry.

  ‘Give me the letters,’ he ordered, bringing his temper under control and fighting the urge to grab Durand and run him through before he could do any more damage.

  Durand started to refuse, but tugged two parchments from his scrip when Geoffrey advanced on him with a black scowl. Something fell from his shirt as he did so. It was a plain wooden cross. Something clicked into place in Geoffrey’s mind.

  ‘Petronus,’ he said flatly. ‘I should have known you are the kind of man who would choose strangulation as the means to dispense with a victim.’

  ‘I did not kill Petronus,’ said Durand, licking nervous lips. ‘Whoever shot the archers did that.’

  ‘Lies,’ said Geoffrey, pointing to the cross. ‘That belonged to Petronus, and I cannot imagine anyone else wanting to steal such a thing. But you still have a hankering for the Church, and were unable to resist such a token. You stole it after you murdered him.’

  ‘He brought about that ambush,’ said Durand sulkily. ‘He ran away immediately afterwards, leaving you to deal with the chaos he had caused.’

  ‘You admit it?’ Geoffrey had not anticipated Durand would confess quite so easily.

  ‘I did it for our own safety. He carried dangerous messages and it was obvious, even to the most stupid of men, that the attack was because of him.’ He regarded Geoffrey defiantly, as though he included his master in the category of the ‘most stupid’. ‘It seemed the best thing to do. I am sorry, because Petronus seemed pleasant, but I would do the same again.’