Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘That venomous Norman snake,’ spat Mabon. ‘Not that I have anything against Normans, of course, but they have no right to march into our country and award themselves all the best posts. I should have been Bishop of St David’s.’

‘The King does not know what he is missing,’ said Geoffrey, suspecting Henry very much did, and that was why Wilfred had been appointed.

‘Indeed!’ agreed Mabon. ‘It is a pity William fitz Baldwin died, because I did not mind him in a position of power. He was a lovely man, and I liked having him in Rhydygors.’

‘You do not like Hywel?’

‘Oh, yes – he is lovely, too, although he is Welsh, so that is to be expected. Of course, poor William was murdered. It was put about that he died of fever, but that was a lie. I was the one who first said he was poisoned, and I stand by my claim.’

‘With what evidence?’ Geoffrey felt his spirits sink. He had hoped to be able to report that William’s death was natural and the tales about his secret no more than rumour.

‘Evidence!’ sneered Mabon. ‘I do not need evidence when my gut screams foul play. Besides, his fingers were black.’

‘Black?’ asked Geoffrey, puzzled.

‘Decayed, like a corpse. It was very peculiar. And there was a nasty scene around his deathbed. Of course, it was the butter that killed him.’

‘Butter?’ Geoffrey was bemused by the confidences.

‘It was made by Cornald, was a gift from Pulchria, delivered by Richard. Then Delwyn was seen loitering around the kitchens where the stuff lay, talking to Bishop Wilfred. And Gwgan, Isabella, Hywel and Sear were at the meal after which William became ill. They are all suspects for the crime.’

‘I see,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Where were you?’

‘In my abbey, seeing to a sick horse, as my monks will attest. Edward was away at the salient time, too, while poor little Leah was ill and confined to her bed. We three are innocent, but the rest are guilty until proven innocent, as far as I am concerned.’

‘What nasty scene happened at William’s deathbed?’

‘He took several days to die, and muttered and whispered almost the entire time. Little of it made sense, but we were all keen to hear as much as possible, lest he gave up his secret.’

‘What secret?’ asked Geoffrey, feigning innocence.

‘The secret that turned him into the fine man he was, and gave him his fabulous luck,’ replied Mabon. ‘Surely, you have heard this tale? It is famous all over the world.’

‘Enlighten me.’

Mabon grimaced. ‘He would never say what the secret was, and even denied that he had one on occasion, although he was a poor liar. I happened to be alone with him at one point during his fever, and he told me he found the secret in the river.’

Geoffrey frowned. ‘What do you think he meant?’

Mabon shrugged. ‘It made no sense, but he was religious, and I know he liked to immerse himself in the water as though he were John the Baptist. Perhaps he had a vision. He certainly had great respect for the Blessed Virgin.’

‘Many people do,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But-’

‘I do not bother with her,’ interrupted Mabon. ‘When I want favours, I go straight to the top – to God the Father.’

‘Oh,’ said Geoffrey, feeling the discussion was blasphemous.

‘But never mind all this religious claptrap. Let me see your destrier. There is no man in Wales who is a better judge of horseflesh than me.’

Mabon was indeed knowledgeable and regaled Geoffrey with all manner of opinions about horses and weapons. He left eventually, and Geoffrey was about to go to Hilde when he sensed yet another presence. It was Pulchria, and her expression was predatory.

‘The lord of Goodrich,’ she crooned, mincing towards him. ‘I was hoping for an opportunity to make your acquaintance. Joan and Olivier have been waxing lyrical about you.’

‘Have they?’ asked Geoffrey warily.

‘Oh, yes,’ whispered Pulchria, swaying closer. ‘All the time. And my husband is very eager to meet you. He would like to learn the secret of your success.’

He could smell her heady perfume, and her eyes were dark with promise. Her beauty was rather dangerous, Geoffrey thought, taking a step back, and it would see him in trouble if he yielded to it.

‘Secret?’ he asked, struggling to keep his mind on the conversation. ‘I have no secret – and I am not successful, either.’

‘Of course you are. We both want to know how you turned Goodrich – an impoverished outpost – into the envy of the region.’

‘That had nothing to do with me,’ said Geoffrey, as she leaned closer still, treating him to a view of her bosom. ‘Joan is the one who has done the transforming. Ask her.’

‘I would rather talk to you,’ breathed Pulchria. Her perfume was similar to that worn by his duchess, and he felt his heart begin to pound. He forced his thoughts to more practical matters.

‘Abbot Mabon has been telling me about some butter William ate before his death,’ he began.

Pulchria stepped away from him. ‘You mean William fitz Baldwin?’ she asked incredulously. ‘He died seven years ago. I thought everyone had forgotten about those silly rumours. There was no truth in them – just gossip and spite.’

‘Mabon said the butter was made by your husband and was a gift from you.’

‘It was,’ said Pulchria sullenly. ‘And perhaps it was a little past its best – dairy produce spoils quickly – but it was certainly not rancid. And nor was it poisoned.’

‘So you think William died of natural causes?’

Pulchria pouted. ‘Of course! Half the town visited him on his deathbed, because he was considered such a saintly man, and when I went he had some sort of seizure – he shuddered and thrashed about, then went limp. Clearly, an ague killed him – perhaps one caught sitting by the river in the damp.’

‘Mabon said he had black fingers.’

‘I did not notice. To be frank, I was watching his face, to see whether he might whisper his secret. Unfortunately, all I could hear were prayers to the Blessed Virgin. What do you think of virgins, Sir Geoffrey? I consider them overrated.’

‘I do not know many,’ said Geoffrey, as she moved towards him again.

‘Neither do I.’ She gave a slow, smouldering smile that turned her eyes silvery black. ‘Can you think of anything we might do to pass the time until the hawkers return?’

Geoffrey nodded as he stepped around her. ‘Yes – see my wife.’

Despite his efforts to save Hilde’s blushes, Geoffrey was still acutely aware of the grins and nudges of the servants as he crossed the hall and walked up the stairs. Trying to ignore them, he looked at the changes Joan had made since he had left.

During his childhood, the great hall had been a dark, forbidding place, with little in the way of comfort. Joan had changed it almost beyond recognition, with tapestries on the walls, clean rushes on the floor, and smart, well-polished furniture. A fire always blazed in the hearth, and he was amused to see there were even one or two rugs scattered around. Edward would be pleased.

He ran up the spiral steps and opened the door to the bedchamber. He was startled to find Hilde fast asleep, and supposed she had not required as much time to prepare as he had allowed her. She was lying on her back with her mouth open, and several bottles of unguents indicated she had gone to some trouble to render herself alluring. Touched that she should bother, he sat on the edge of the bed, which woke her.

‘I thought you were not coming,’ she said, rubbing her eyes drowsily. Then she shot him a sharp glance. ‘Was my mouth open?’

‘No,’ lied Geoffrey. ‘I was waylaid – first by Leah, then by Mabon, and then by Pulchria.’