Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘The one you will collect in Brechene,’ said Sear heavily. ‘The one you tell us is the best fighting force in Wales.’

‘The very same,’ said Edward happily, declining to take offence at Sear’s tone. He smiled at Geoffrey. ‘But your castle has a cosy feel, which Kadweli lacks. I like it already.’

‘Well, I do not,’ said Sear sullenly. ‘I would sooner have defensible than “cosy”.’

‘You can stay in the village, then,’ said Roger. ‘There is a rather shabby tavern that might lower itself to admit you.’

‘You had better ride ahead, Geoffrey,’ said Edward before Sear could respond. ‘It is only polite to give your sister a little time to prepare for us, and I am incapable of riding fast after my dip in the river, anyway.’

‘You had better tell her to get the rugs out, too,’ muttered Sear.

‘Go,’ said Roger. ‘I know the way from here, and I shall point out the sights as we ride. A man will want to know the whereabouts of willing lasses after such a long ride, and I doubt Joan has any at the castle.’

‘ I do not need to be shown such things,’ announced Delwyn loftily. ‘ I am a monk.’

‘You can find your own loose women, can you?’ asked Roger. He sniffed disdainfully. ‘Then I hope you choose better than that poxy lass you cornered last week.’

‘I did not “corner” her,’ said Delwyn stiffly. ‘We were discussing spiritual matters.’

‘You can call it what you like,’ said Roger with a wink. ‘But bear in mind that Geoffrey’s sister will not want you messing with anyone who is not willing. She runs a tight ship.’

Grateful to be away from his quarrelsome companions, Geoffrey spurred his way ahead, inhaling deeply as he went and relishing the clean scent of the forest and the river. He found himself wondering at the direction his life had taken since he had returned to the land of his birth. He had lost the master he truly respected, and was reduced to delivering letters and exploring nonsensical secrets for one he despised.

But he pushed such gloomy thoughts from his mind as he cantered through the village. People stopped to watch him pass, and one or two raised their hands in salute when they recognized him. Father Adrian stood from where he had been weeding his graveyard, but only crossed himself. He did not approve of warriors and firmly believed that Geoffrey was a ruthless slaughterer of unarmed women and children. Nothing Geoffrey said or did could convince him otherwise.

Geoffrey stopped to exchange greetings with Will Helbye, who had accompanied him to Normandy twenty years before and fought at his side. Helbye was too old for such antics now and had returned to Goodrich to retire with his wife and their collection of prize pigs. Delighted to meet his captain again, Helbye invited Geoffrey to share a jug of ale.

‘I cannot, Will,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I need to warn Joan that she is about to be invaded.’

‘My wife will do that,’ said Helbye, grabbing the reins of Geoffrey’s horse and indicating he should dismount. ‘She will not mind.’

‘Of course I will not,’ said the large, comfortable woman who emerged from the house, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Go inside and sit down, Sir Geoffrey. I will speak to Lady Joan.’

‘Invaded by whom?’ asked Helbye, when she had gone, and Geoffrey had given a brief explanation as to why he was not halfway to the Holy Land.

‘Two knights named Sear and Alberic, who have argued with Roger every step of the way, and another knight named Edward, who has managed to keep them from skewering each other. There is also a monk named Delwyn.’

‘That is not too bad,’ said Helbye, indicating he was to sit at the table. ‘Joan can cope with those. She already has visitors, see. There was some sort of fealty-swearing ceremony in Gloucester, and these people have stopped off on the way home. They are bound for Kermerdyn.’

‘Kermerdyn?’ asked Geoffrey, startled. ‘But that is where Henry has ordered me to go. What a curious coincidence!’

‘Not so curious,’ said Helbye soberly. ‘Those at court will know about this ceremony, and they will know that its participants would return this way.’

‘I doubt “those at court” anticipated that these fealty-swearers would stop at Goodrich.’

‘Yes, they would,’ countered Helbye. ‘Because one of them – Cornald the butter-maker – is friends with Joan and Olivier. He always stops in Goodrich when he travels out of Wales, and I know for a fact that he has mentioned it to acquaintances in the King’s retinue. Obviously, someone remembered and stored the information for future use.’

Geoffrey racked his brains for anyone who might have done such a thing. ‘Bishop Maurice? He knows Cornald, because he has given me a letter for him.’

Helbye smiled. ‘No, not Maurice. He is not treacherous, and he would never embroil you in anything devious. I imagine it was one of Henry’s clerks. They can read, and – present company excepted – that means they cannot help being sly.’

Geoffrey stifled a sigh at such prejudice and changed the subject. ‘Do I know anyone in this group from Gloucester? Or are they all strangers? I have never heard Joan or Olivier mention Cornald the butter-maker.’

‘You have not spent two full months here since you were eleven, so that is not surprising. Cornald has been a friend of your family for years. He is a lovely man, very generous. Everyone likes him. But his wife…’ Helbye shook his head, lips pursed.

‘What about his wife?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘She is a walking brothel,’ replied Helbye bluntly. ‘My wife says she has never met a more wanton specimen.’

Geoffrey wondered whether she would extend her services to the new arrivals, thus sparing the hapless locals. ‘Are Cornald and his wife the only visitors?’

Helbye rested his elbows on the table. ‘No, and the others are an unsavoury crowd, so you should be on your guard. First, there is Richard fitz Baldwin, a vile creature with a vicious temper. He has already struck Father Adrian. Of course, I would not mind doing that myself at times, but it has done nothing to dispel Adrian’s belief that all knights are louts.’

‘Richard,’ mused Geoffrey, thinking about the letter he carried inside his surcoat. It would be one less missive to deliver in Kermerdyn. Then he frowned. Adrian was sanctimonious, but he was a priest, so it went with the territory. ‘I cannot imagine Joan allowed that to pass unremarked.’

‘I thought she was going to hit him back,’ said Helbye with a grin. ‘But Olivier stopped her, so she settled for giving Richard a piece of her mind instead, which was probably worse. I felt sorry for his wife, Leah, who is a poor, sweet creature. She suffers from headaches, but it is probably Richard that gives them to her.’

Geoffrey winced. ‘Please tell me they are the only ones.’

‘I am afraid not. They are accompanied by a man named Gwgan, who is a high-ranking Welsh counsellor. He seems decent enough, although he can read, so you would be wise to be wary of him. He is your brother-in-law, married to Lady Hilde’s sister.’

Geoffrey stared at him. Helbye was right: it could not be coincidence that two recipients for the King’s letters should happen to be in Goodrich. Someone had arranged for them to be there when he arrived. Was that why Eudo had been so annoyingly tardy about producing the letters? To ensure he did not travel too quickly and so miss them?

‘Finally, there is Kermerdyn’s abbot – a man called Mabon. He is a curious devil; I have never met a monastic like him.’

Geoffrey put his head in his hands. Henry had given him missives for Sear, Richard, Gwgan, Mabon and Bishop Wilfred, and four of them were at Goodrich. What was Henry up to? Or was it Eudo’s doing? As Maurice had said that Eudo was apt to scheme on the King’s behalf, Geoffrey was inclined to believe the latter. So would the plot die now the clerk was not alive to see it through? Or would it stagger ahead, leading to danger for those unwittingly caught up in it?