Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘He is probably too tired,’ taunted Sear. ‘After all, we must have ridden three hours today.’

‘My husband has business to attend,’ said Hilde coldly. ‘And he always discharges his duties before taking his pleasure. Do you do things differently in Pembroc, sir?’

Sear opened his mouth, but seemed unable to think of a rejoinder, so he closed it again and stamped away, bawling to the servants to find him a fresh horse. Geoffrey grinned, gratified to see the man put so neatly in his place. He went to see his destrier settled in the stable, and it was not long before he was joined by Joan and Olivier.

‘It is good to have you back, Geoff,’ said Olivier, slapping a comradely arm around his shoulders. ‘We feared we might never see you again, and Joan has not been herself since you left.’

‘It was a summer cold,’ said Joan stiffly. ‘It had nothing to do with him.’

‘You missed him,’ countered Olivier. ‘We all did. But tell us what has happened since you left. Or would you rather change first? You are soaking wet.’

‘And dirty,’ said Joan, looking him up and down disapprovingly. ‘You always were a ruffian.’

Geoffrey was more inclined to ask questions than to answer them, at least until Joan thawed a little. And he needed time to think about what he was going to say, because he was certainly not going to give them details of Henry’s orders, suspecting they would be safer kept in ignorance.

‘Which one is Gwgan?’ he asked, going to the door and looking across the milling bailey.

‘The one with the black hair,’ replied Olivier, pointing to a stocky man in fine but functional clothes. He lowered his voice. ‘I know he is married to Hilde’s favourite sister, but I cannot say I like the man. I always have the sense that he is laughing at me.’

‘He would not dare laugh at you,’ said Joan fiercely. ‘Not in my hearing. But I suspect he does that to everyone, and he is not as bad as some of the others who are availing themselves of our hospitality. Richard fitz Baldwin, for example.’

‘He is the one with a glower like thunder and the scar down his face,’ supplied Olivier. ‘I do not think he has smiled once since he arrived, although he has been polite enough. I would have ousted the miserable devil, but his wife seems frail, and Joan thought she needed the rest.’

Geoffrey saw a small, pale woman standing at Richard’s side, dowdy in her unfashionable clothes and nondescript wimple.

‘Her name is Leah, and she is kin to Robert de Belleme,’ explained Joan. ‘It was a good match originally, but now that Belleme is exiled, the association can do Richard no good. He is a surly brute, and if I were in Leah’s shoes, I would knock some manners into him. Olivier is never sullen.’

Geoffrey was sure Olivier was not, because the small knight had a sense of self-preservation equal to none.

‘Helbye told me Richard struck Father Adrian,’ he said. ‘And that you were going to hit him in return.’

‘She was not!’ declared Olivier. ‘That would have been unladylike, and we have standards. But not all members of the party have been objectionable. Cornald has been a delight.’

‘He has, but I wish he had not brought his wife with him,’ said Joan grimly. ‘She is the one with the blonde hair and the come-hither smile. You will have to watch her, or she will be in your bed. And Hilde will not appreciate that, because she will have her own plans in that direction.’

‘I will bear it in mind,’ said Geoffrey, his eyes naturally drawn to the slender figure, flawless complexion and pale gold hair.

‘Her name is Pulchria,’ Joan went on, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow when she saw him staring. ‘Look at how she simpers at your friend Sear, fluttering her eyes at him while poor Cornald is forced to make polite conversation with that grubby little monk.’

‘Sear is not my friend,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘And I will not inflict him on you for any longer than is necessary. I would have ridden to Kermerdyn today, but Olivier invited them hawking before I could stop him. We shall leave at first light tomorrow.’

‘Is your business so urgent, then?’ asked Olivier.

‘No, but there is no point dallying.’

Joan took his arm tentatively, as if she was afraid he might jerk it away. ‘Would it be too much to ask that you spend a few days with the family you see so rarely?’

‘And you have unfinished business with Hilde,’ said Olivier, rather primly. ‘You did not leave her pregnant, you know, so she will want another stab at it.’

‘Several stabs might be better,’ recommended Joan practically. ‘We all want an heir, and I am inclined to lock you up here until you provide us with one.’

‘You could try,’ muttered Geoffrey.

Joan’s eyes narrowed when a familiar voice echoed across the courtyard. She released Geoffrey’s arm abruptly. ‘You brought that rogue Roger with you! Well, in that case, perhaps a shorter visit would be better. He caused a lot of trouble the last time he was here.’

‘He also helped us fight off an army that was aiming to destroy us,’ Olivier pointed out. ‘And Roger and I love exchanging war stories.’

Roger had yet to realize that Olivier’s stories were fiction and that he claimed to have taken part in wars that had been fought long before he was born. Like Geoffrey, Olivier could read, and his ‘battle experiences’ came from books.

‘Well, in that case…’ began Joan, her resolve weakening, as it always did when Olivier expressed an opinion. Geoffrey wondered whether he and Hilde would ever come to regard each other so highly; he hoped so.

‘Who is the man that Edward kissed?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘You mean the large fellow in the armour and the surcoat with the black cross?’ asked Joan. ‘That is Abbot Mabon.’

‘But he is a knight,’ said Geoffrey uncertainly.

‘That is what I said,’ replied Joan. ‘But he informed me that God calls all sorts to His service, and I should not put too much store by appearances.’

‘Do you think Cornald’s party will leave when Geoffrey does?’ asked Olivier, brightening suddenly. ‘The road to Kermerdyn is fraught with danger, and they will be delighted to add another five knights and Bale to their number – although I doubt Edward will be up to much.’

‘They might,’ agreed Joan hopefully. ‘Perhaps we will encourage you to make your stay brief, Geoff. The opportunity to be rid of them all is very appealing.’

‘We will make it up to you when you return,’ promised Olivier.

‘First light tomorrow, then,’ said Geoffrey.

While Olivier and Joan went to oversee the final preparations for the hawking, Geoffrey lingered in the stable, rubbing his horse down with a piece of sacking. It was servants’ work, but there was something soothing about seeing to the animal’s needs. He was also content to be away from his travelling companions – and he had scant interest in meeting the new ones. Olivier and Joan had not painted a flattering picture of them, and he anticipated that the journey to Kermerdyn would be every bit as unpleasant as the one from La Batailge.

As he worked, he kept looking to see if Richard, Gwgan or Mabon might be approached discreetly. Unfortunately, Edward had cornered Mabon and was making him laugh with some tale, and Gwgan was chatting to Hilde. Richard was alone, slouching against a wall with a face as black as thunder, but there were too many servants nearby, and Geoffrey could not hope to deliver a letter without them seeing.

In the end, feeling he was shirking his responsibilities, he went to stand in the yard. It was not long before Sear spotted him. He was already wearing dry clothes, and his hands were full of food that had been set out on nearby trestle tables.