Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘Your brother-in-law had better not be exaggerating the quality of his birds,’ he said coldly. ‘The fact that you decline to join us may be an indication that I am wasting my time.’

‘Olivier’s birds are magnificent,’ growled Roger, who had followed him. ‘And the reason Geoff cannot come with us this afternoon is because he needs to impregnate his wife. It is a tricky business, this begetting of heirs.’

‘Only if you do not know what you are doing,’ said Sear. ‘I would offer to show him, but his wife is hardly-’

He did not finish, because Geoffrey lunged suddenly, and the man found himself pressed against the wall with a dagger at his throat.

‘Kill him, Geoff,’ suggested Roger. ‘Or cut out his tongue.’

‘I was going to say that your wife is hardly the type to dispense favours like a common whore,’ gasped Sear, trying without success to shake free. ‘It was intended as a compliment.’

Geoffrey released him, thinking it was not much of one. ‘My apologies,’ he said flatly.

‘Accepted,’ said Sear, rubbing his neck. ‘You are fortunate in your wife. You could have had a beauty, like Cornald, but Pulchria strays from the wedding bed, and everyone knows it except him. She has offered me a tumble later, when we return.’

‘Me, too,’ said Roger. ‘You had better take her first, then, because she will not want anyone else once I have finished with her.’

‘Go, or they will leave without you,’ said Geoffrey shortly, nodding to where Olivier was sitting astride a small pony. ‘And please do him the courtesy of not quarrelling with each other.’

‘I have better things to do than spar with the likes of Sear when there is decent hawking,’ said Roger. ‘I shall be the perfect gentleman.’

Sear made no such promise, though, but within moments the party was gone, clattering out of the bailey. Delivering the letters would have to wait.

‘Good,’ said Joan when they had gone, and she was standing in a billow of dust with Hilde and Geoffrey. ‘You two can retire to the bedchamber, while I organize tonight’s meal.’

‘I am not a performing bear,’ said Geoffrey irritably, thinking that far too many people had ideas about what he should do with his wife.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Joan briskly. ‘Because that would be no use to Goodrich. We need a performing husband. Now off you go.’

Hilde blushed scarlet, and to spare her more embarrassment – he could well imagine the smirks of the servants if they marched purposefully through the hall and up the stairs together – he indicated she should go without him. Gratefully, she sped away.

He returned to the stable to give her time to compose herself, and discovered a small nail embedded in his horse’s hoof. His fingers were too thick to lay hold of it, and there was no convenient implement to hand. He grew exasperated, and released several colourful oaths that he never used in company. Then he became aware of someone behind him. He whipped around fast, reaching for his sword, but let his hand drop when he saw it was only the shy, grey creature who was Richard’s wife. He struggled to remember her name. Leah. She looked, he thought, nothing like her violent kinsman Belleme.

‘I was looking for Edward,’ said Leah, backing away in alarm. ‘We heard he has been granted permission to start building Kadweli in stone, and I wanted to congratulate him. He deserves the honour, because he is a good man.’

‘He is not in here. May I escort you to the hall? You seem unwell.’

Leah smiled, an expression that transformed her face into something approaching prettiness. ‘Just another of my headaches, but I can reach the hall on my own, thank you.’

Geoffrey felt he owed her some explanation for his bad language. ‘There is a nail in my horse’s foot, but I cannot tease it out. I am sorry-’

Leah stepped forward. ‘Let me try. I know horses.’

Before he could stop her, she had lifted the hoof with deft efficiency and had grasped the nail in her tiny fingers. As if it sensed it was in the presence of someone who meant it no harm, the animal was unusually docile, and it was not long before Leah had extracted the offending sliver of metal.

‘Will you stay in Goodrich long?’ she asked before he could thank her. ‘I imagine we shall all travel west together, but as you have only just arrived, you will want to linger for a few days. But I long to be back in Kermerdyn, although Richard has not been happy there since his brother died. I am so very homesick.’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Geoffrey, thinking he had never seen an expression of such sadness. ‘There is no need to stay here any longer than that.’

‘Thank you,’ whispered Leah with a wan smile. And then she was gone.

Geoffrey lingered by the stable door, enjoying the smell of clean hay and the earthy scent of horse sweat and manure, wondering how long he should wait before advancing on Hilde. He saw Edward a few moments later, leading Leah to the well, where they sat talking. He was glad she had a friend, because she had seemed lonely and vulnerable, although her skill with horses made her more to Geoffrey than the shadowy nonentity Joan had described.

He was inspecting a fierce black stallion that he was sure could not belong to Olivier when a rustle in the straw made him turn quickly, hand moving automatically to his sword.

‘He is a fine beast, do you not agree?’ asked Abbot Mabon, striding towards him, his black surcoat billowing. He gave the animal a pat on the nose, and it snickered its appreciation.

‘He seems spirited,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Very,’ agreed Mabon proudly. ‘I would have taken him out today, but I did not want to ruin him on rough tracks. I rode one of your sister’s nags instead, but he turned lame before we were through the village, so I was forced to come back. Pity. I enjoy hawking.’

Close up, Mabon looked even less like an abbot than he had at a distance. He was an enormous man, and his black attire made him seem bigger. There was something of the pirate in his gap-toothed grin, and Geoffrey could not imagine him on his knees at an altar.

‘I have a letter for you from the Archbishop,’ said Geoffrey, grateful for the opportunity to discharge one of his tasks. He started to rummage for the package Pepin had given him, tucked well inside his shirt. ‘It comes via the King.’

‘Does it?’ asked Mabon without enthusiasm. ‘I doubt either of them has anything I want to hear. I cannot read anyway, so hang on to it until we reach Kermerdyn, where a scribe can tell me what it says.’

‘Delwyn will oblige,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He has been trying to take charge of it ever since we left.’

‘He would,’ said Mabon disparagingly. ‘But I would rather lose my sword arm than let him loose on my correspondence. We shall take it to Ywain when we reach Kermerdyn – he is my deputy and the man who will succeed me. He can read.’

‘So can I,’ said Geoffrey, unwilling to be lumbered with the responsibility of looking after the letter for longer than was necessary. ‘And I will read it to you now, if you like.’

‘Really?’ asked Mabon, regarding him with disappointment. ‘Why would a knight waste time on that?’

‘That is an unusual stance for an abbot,’ said Geoffrey.

Mabon laughed uproariously. ‘I am an unusual abbot. But please keep the letter. I will only lose it, and then Ywain will be vexed. Besides, it is a lovely day and I do not want it sullied by unwelcome news – and all news that comes via that meddling usurper Henry is bad news. I cannot abide the man.’

Geoffrey warmed to Mabon. ‘I understand you have a feud with Bishop Wilfred,’ he said, supposing he may as well start one of his enquiries.