Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘Bale,’ he said sharply, unwilling to stand by while his squire insulted the butterer quite so flagrantly. ‘Sit with Roger.’

‘But there is something I want him to do,’ said Pulchria.

‘I am sure there is,’ said Geoffrey coolly. ‘But he is not available.’

He nodded curtly to Bale, who looked from master to lover in dismay, but did as he was told, bald head well down so he would not have to see the disappointment in Pulchria’s eyes.

‘You have no right to interfere,’ Pulchria hissed to Geoffrey, coming close so she would not be overheard. ‘You declined my services in favour of your hag of a wife, but-’

‘You would be advised to say no more, madam,’ snapped Geoffrey with barely controlled anger. ‘Or we both might regret it.’

The expression on his face told Pulchria she would be wise to back away, although she continued to glower. He glanced to where Hilde was talking to the servants, calming their uneasiness with her easy confidence. He felt a surge of affection for her, feeling he was much more fortunate in his spouse than Cornald was.

Restlessly, he went to stand in the doorway, scanning the darkness outside. He wished he still had his dog, knowing it would have growled to warn him of danger. He was not alone for long, though, because Delwyn came to join him.

‘The next time you save me, perhaps you would do it a little more gently,’ he said. ‘I have a bruise where you grabbed me.’

‘My apologies,’ said Geoffrey caustically. ‘If there is a next time, perhaps I shall not bother.’

‘There is no need for that sort of talk.’ Delwyn stepped closer. ‘You are vexed, because I made a remark to you in anger earlier today, but I did not mean it. I would never harm you.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

‘And to prove it, I have been considering William’s murder for you. Would you like to hear my conclusions?’

‘Only if they do not come accompanied with another demand for the Archbishop’s letter.’

Delwyn grimaced. ‘I think you should not confine your suspicions to the people in this barn – or the ones who are still alive. Do not dismiss Abbot Mabon from your musings, or Bishop Wilfred and Prince Hywel.’

‘Right,’ said Geoffrey tiredly.

Delwyn leaned closer still. ‘And also bear in mind that Hywel is something of a saint, too. He is not as goodly as William was, but everyone likes him.’

‘Was he “something of a saint” before William died?’

‘I suppose he was, but you should not dismiss the possibility that he killed William for his secret and is now reaping the benefits.’

‘Or perhaps he is just a decent man. They do occur from time to time.’

‘Not in my experience,’ said Delwyn. ‘Of course, if Hywel is naturally godly, then it means William hid his secret well. I have searched Rhydygors thoroughly and found no sign of it.’

It was distasteful listening to the gossip of such a man, and Geoffrey cursed the King for obliging him to do so.

‘Tell me who visited William when he was dying,’ he instructed.

‘Virtually the entire town. Most doubtless came to pay their respects to a fine man, and there was certainly a lot of weeping. They included Robert the steward, Osmund the stationer…’

The list continued for some time, and Geoffrey began to despair of ever finding the culprit, when his list of suspects was expanding into the dozens.

‘The only people not there were Alberic and Edward, who were out on patrol – and they really did leave Kermerdyn, because twenty soldiers were able to confirm their alibi. I checked.’

‘You suspected them?’

‘I suspect everyone. The other person who cannot be a suspect is Leah. She had a fever and could not leave her bed. Her physician confirms the tale, and so does her health – she has never fully recovered and remains frail.’

‘Tell me about the day William was taken ill. You were talking to the Bishop in the kitchens where the rancid butter was. Why? I thought your abbey was at war with Wilfred.’

‘ Mabon was at war with the Bishop,’ replied Delwyn. ‘If you must know, I was offering Wilfred information about the abbey in an attempt to bring Mabon down. It is not healthy for the Church to indulge in internal squabbles. I acted as my conscience dictated.’

‘You betrayed the man you said you loved as a father?’ asked Geoffrey.

Delwyn’s face creased into a sneer. ‘I did love him like a father – it just so happens that I hated my sire, damn his evil soul.’

‘Go away, Delwyn,’ said Geoffrey in distaste. ‘You cannot speak without lying and scheming, and I am sick of it. Stand back!’

‘I stand where I like,’ declared Delwyn. ‘It is not for you to-’

The rest of his sentence was lost as Geoffrey shoved him in the chest, bowling him from his feet and dropping into a fighting stance as he did so, sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Seeing him, Roger kicked out his fire and flew to his side. Sear and Alberic were not far behind, and Edward leapt to his feet with an uneasy whimper. Cornald grabbed his bow.

‘What is it?’ whispered Roger, silencing Delwyn’s outraged spluttering with a glare.

‘Someone is out there,’ replied Geoffrey softly.

Sear relaxed. ‘It will be one of the villagers checking on their animals – or checking we are not stealing their wretched pigs. You saw how unwilling they were to house us-’

He stopped speaking when an arrow thudded into the door above his head.

With a wild cry, Sear launched himself into the night, Roger and Alberic at his heels. Geoffrey was more concerned with defence than attack: the arrow was alight, and the intention was clearly to set the barn ablaze and incinerate everyone within. He raced for the bucket of water the villagers had provided, and dashed it over the flames, but they had no more sizzled out before another fire-arrow took its place.

‘There!’ said Hilde, stabbing a finger in the direction from which the missile had sailed. ‘Go and stop him, Geoff. I will deal with the fire.’

Geoffrey did not waste time arguing. He sped across the darkened yard, jerking back when another flaming arrow passed so close to him that he felt its heat sear his face. Then he was among a pile of broken barrels, and two shadows, both carrying bows, were running away. He hared after them, but they were fleet-footed and terrified, and mail-clad Norman knights were not built for speed. He managed to jab one with his outstretched sword, but his companion whipped around with his bow. Geoffrey staggered as it caught him in the face, and lost momentum, which was just enough time for the pair to escape into the surrounding woods.

‘They were too fast for us,’ said Roger, coming to join him a moment later. ‘But they were soldiers of a sort – they wore leather jerkins, or at least two of them would be dead.’

‘Three,’ said Geoffrey. Armour explained why his jab had done so little damage.

‘Sear and Alberic are scouting the woods,’ said Roger. ‘We should help them.’

Geoffrey obliged, and by the time they converged to report that the attackers had gone, Hilde had doused the flames and was kneeling next to Edward, whose face was contorted with pain.

‘It is not serious,’ she was saying. ‘The arrow has just scored a furrow in your arm. Clean water and a little salve will see it right in a day or two.’

‘Well, it hurts,’ said Edward weakly. ‘I was not built for this kind of thing.’

‘And I was not built to be knocked around by bullying knights,’ said Delwyn to Geoffrey. ‘You did not have to shove me quite so hard. I shall have another bruise tomorrow.’

‘He should not have shoved you at all,’ said Cornald, his face uncharacteristically cool. ‘And then you might be lying here instead of Edward.’