Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘You can visit them later,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Take Bale with you. It may leave Pulchria free for her husband.’

Geoffrey’s choice of inns did not meet with anyone’s approval. Edward and Delwyn declared it too shabby; Sear, Alberic and Richard thought it too fancy; Gwgan sniffed that there were too many Englishmen; Cornald said it smelled of fish; and Pulchria was vexed because the landlord took one look at her and ordered her to behave herself on pain of eviction.

‘The only one not complaining is Mabon,’ said Geoffrey to Roger. ‘And he is dead.’

‘I am not complaining,’ said Leah shyly. ‘Ignore them, Sir Geoffrey. They would find fault with Nebuchadnezzar’s Palace.’

‘I have not been there,’ said Roger, frowning. ‘And I know most of the Holy Land brothels. I am well acquainted with Abdul’s Pleasure Palace, of course, which is-’

‘You must be cold,’ said Geoffrey, before Leah could be provided with details she would not want to hear. ‘Let me escort you inside.’

The inn’s main room was a pleasant place, with a clean floor, a high ceiling and a fire that did not smoke. It smelled comfortably of burning wood, new ale and damp wool. The landlord, a plump man in a white apron, offered them food. There was no meat on the menu because it was Friday; the choice was fish soup, pea pottage or bread with cheese.

‘Fish soup!’ exclaimed Richard, with an expression as close to pleasure as Geoffrey had yet seen. ‘Excellent. We shall all have that.’

‘We will not,’ said Geoffrey firmly. He had never liked fish soup, but his aversion had intensified after someone had tried to poison him with some.

‘Aye,’ agreed Roger. ‘We will have bread and cheese here, and then go across the road and see if they have any meat. That did not look like a place for silly Lenten customs.’

‘And this from a son of a bishop,’ murmured Gwgan. ‘But I will have fish soup, landlord. Good and hot, if you please. I am chilled to the bone.’

The others ordered pea pottage, which transpired to be an unappetizing brown sludge. It was a considerable improvement on the fish soup, though, which reeked of ingredients past their best. Sear arrived just as everyone was finishing, because he had taken his horse to the stables. He ordered fish soup, and his face grew dark when he was told there was none left.

‘You ate it all deliberately,’ he said to Richard. ‘You know it is my favourite.’

‘I know nothing of the kind,’ retorted Richard coldly. ‘I have better things to do than recall your likes and dislikes. Besides, it was not very nice as it happens.’

‘Well, I hope it makes you vomit,’ said Sear.

Geoffrey braced himself to intervene, but Richard made no reply, indicating with a wave of his hand that he could not be bothered. He and Leah retired to their chamber shortly afterwards, and Sear and Alberic accompanied Roger to the brothel opposite. Cornald went to visit a fellow butterer in the town, Edward went to the castle to tell his garrison that they were to be ready to leave the following day, and Bale slipped away with Pulchria. Geoffrey heaved a sigh of relief, grateful to be rid of them all.

If Geoffrey had been hoping to enjoy some quiet time with Hilde, he was to be disappointed. She had no more started to tell him about the poor state of Goodrich’s high summer pastures – not a subject that greatly interested him, but one that beckoned like paradise compared to the bickering of his companions – when Delwyn came to sit with them.

‘I will share everything I know abut William fitz Baldwin’s death if you let me give the Archbishop’s letter to Ywain,’ the monk said. ‘He does not like me, but if I carry important documents from prelates, he cannot dismiss me as though I am nothing.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey, tired of being asked. ‘I have my orders.’

‘Besides, I doubt you know anything of import about William, anyway,’ said Hilde.

‘Do I not?’ bristled Delwyn. ‘Well, you are wrong, because I know a lot. I was at his deathbed.’

‘So was half of Kermerdyn,’ goaded Hilde with calculated disdain. Geoffrey watched in astonishment; he knew exactly what she was doing and was amazed when the monk rose to the bait.

‘I was there longer, because Abbot Mabon wanted a monk present, lest William needed spiritual comfort.’ Delwyn sighed at her openly sceptical expression. ‘All right, he left me there in case William mentioned his secret, and I have the sharpest ears in the monastery.’

‘And what did your sharp ears tell you?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘That William most certainly did have a secret, and if anyone tells you otherwise, then he is lying or a fool. I heard it from his own lips that the secret was what made him good and holy. He wanted to tell his friends and family about it, so they could use it to the greater good. He said he had hidden it in a special place.’

‘What special place?’ demanded Hilde.

Delwyn’s eyes flashed with annoyance at her tone. ‘Unfortunately, I did not quite catch that part, although it must still be in Kermerdyn, because no one has become good and holy like him – and they would have done, had they claimed this secret for themselves.’

‘Perhaps it does not work on everyone,’ suggested Geoffrey.

‘Oh, it will,’ declared Delwyn with absolute conviction. ‘Personally, I think it is something to do with the Blessed Virgin. Perhaps she gave him something. Regardless, I wish he had told me where he had put it. I would have-’

‘Retrieved it and given it to your abbey?’ asked Geoffrey mildly.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Delwyn unconvincingly. ‘Or taken it to King Henry, who would have rewarded me.’

‘I hardly think that information warrants my husband disobeying his King and giving you the Archbishop’s letter,’ said Hilde coolly. ‘He already knew all this.’

‘Then what about the fact that William was poisoned?’ demanded Delwyn. ‘And I know, because he told me so. I asked him whom he thought was responsible, and he said it was a dear friend. Well, his dear friends were Sear, Alberic, Edward, Mabon and Cornald. And his brother Richard, of course, whom he loved greatly.’

‘Edward and Alberic were away when Richard died,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘They did not poison the butter.’

‘Why assume the butter was responsible?’ Delwyn shot back. ‘Anyway, for all you know, the poison could have been left before they went on their patrol. William took days to die in sweating agony, so it was not a fast-acting substance. Now give me the letter.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey curtly. ‘You will have to find another way to worm yourself into Ywain’s good graces.’

Delwyn’s face hardened. ‘You will be sorry you crossed me, Geoffrey Mappestone. I do not forget slights, and I will soon be in a position to do you serious harm.’

He scuttled away when Geoffrey started to come to his feet. Geoffrey could have caught him, but he was not worth the effort. Hilde shook her head in disgust.

‘That did not help much,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I thought I had discounted Edward and Alberic as suspects, but Delwyn has just reinstated them on my list.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Hilde. ‘Think about it: no one else became ill from this poison, so it must have been in something eaten or drunk by William alone, and the butter still seems the obvious candidate. However, we have learned that the secret is probably real.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey heavily. ‘We have learned that William thought the secret was real, but he was raving, remember? I do not think I am capable of solving this case, Hilde. I only hope Henry does not vent his spleen on Goodrich when I tell him so.’

Hilde muttered soothing words, but Geoffrey could see she was concerned, too. They discussed the case until Gwgan came to join them, and although he felt they were going around in circles, it was good to have a trusted friend with whom to debate.