Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘Is there anything in the Holy Land besides brothels?’ asked Cornald pleasantly. ‘There must be plenty of churches.’

‘Churches?’ echoed Roger in disbelief. ‘You do not want to hear about those! But do you remember Abdul’s Pleasure Palace, Geoff?’

Because they had stopped early, a long evening lay ahead of them. Geoffrey’s descriptions of Jerusalem’s churches had intrigued Gwgan, who responded about some in Wales. Edward added several intelligent observations, and the three of them were soon deep into a complex analysis of flying buttresses and crown posts. The others quickly grew bored.

Cornald berated Delwyn for leaving Abbot Mabon in the yard when there was a church to hand, and Delwyn responded with a snipe about Cornald not being in a position to offer advice about how to look after others when he was so patently bad at it himself. Cornald looked bewildered, although it gave Roger an idea. He jumped to his feet and made a feeble excuse about taking the air. Moments later, Bale appeared, rumpled and sullen. Sear and Alberic settled to a game of dice, and Richard joined them when he returned from settling Leah. The atmosphere around the three of them was tense and icy, and Geoffrey suspected it would not be long before there was a fight.

‘You will be pleased to see Hywel, I warrant,’ said Edward amiably to Gwgan. ‘I am sure you will want to know what has been happening in your absence.’

Gwgan smiled. ‘I will be glad to see him. He is like a brother to me, and I am proud to serve as his counsellor. But he does not require constant monitoring. He is wise, just and good, and there is no man I trust more to rule a kingdom.’

‘William was the same,’ said Edward, nodding. ‘Perhaps living at Rhydygors brings out the best in people.’

‘Or Hywel has inherited William’s secret,’ probed Geoffrey.

‘There is no secret,’ said Edward. ‘I have told you this already – it is a silly tale invented by foolishly gullible minds to explain something they cannot understand. Namely that some men do suddenly reflect on their past lives and decide it is time to turn over a new leaf.’

Gwgan agreed. ‘And if there is a secret, then it lies in the fact that this is Wales. Hywel is a good man, but he was decent long before he was given Rhydygors.’

‘He did not undergo some miraculous change, then?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Like William?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Gwgan. ‘Hywel has always been decent.’

‘In what way?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘Well, his men admire him and will follow him into any battle – as you will have heard last summer, when he fought on the Marches for Henry. He inspires confidence and respect, and he has an affable, likable disposition. He is compassionate to those less fortunate than himself, he is devout, and he exudes an aura of fairness that tells men he will deal honestly with them.’

‘It is true,’ agreed Edward. ‘You will like him, Geoffrey. Indeed, I would go as far to say that there is no man – Norman, English or Welsh – that I would sooner have as a neighbour. But it is getting late, and my wound still pains me. I shall bid you goodnight.’

Gwgan stood and stretched, too. ‘I am weary, too. But I have friends in the village, so will stay with them tonight. This tavern is too small for all of us, and I am tired of sharing a chamber with Sear and Alberic. They both snore.’

‘So does Leah,’ said Richard, overhearing. ‘Especially when she has taken her medicines. I will join you.’

As they opened the door to leave, Roger stepped inside, straightening his surcoat and pulling straw from his hair. Immediately, Bale aimed for the door, but Geoffrey was disinclined to stop him. If Cornald chose to be blind to his wife’s antics, then that was his affair.

‘I heard what Gwgan and Edward were telling you about Hywel,’ said Alberic, looking up from his dice. ‘It is true: he is a fine man.’

‘He is,’ agreed Sear. ‘He was awarded Rhydygors at the same time I was granted Pembroc, so we travelled to Westminster together. It gave us time to get to know each other. He is brave, as well as noble. Like me, he fought courageously on the Marches. You two were there, too, I understand.’

The implication was that Roger and Geoffrey had not performed well enough to have been rewarded. Roger immediately bristled, but Geoffrey laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

‘It is very warm in here,’ he said, to change the subject. ‘I am surprised you think it necessary to have such an enormous blaze, Master Fychan.’

Fychan glared at Hilde. ‘Yes, but, unfortunately, I have been told by visitors that a welcoming fire makes an important first impression. And I dare not disagree.’

‘That was because I was here in winter,’ said Hilde with a sigh. ‘And a dead hearth is not something a traveller wants to see when she arrives cold and wet.’

She and Fychan began to argue about the proper heights for fires at various times of year, and when Sear and Roger added their opinions, the conversation quickly grew acrimonious. Geoffrey did not join in. Now they were almost at their destination – Kermerdyn was no more than eight miles distant – he found himself pondering yet again about the tasks the King had set him. He let the angry voices wash over him, abrogating responsibility to Hilde to prevent spillages of blood.

Eventually, when he could stand the heat and the bickering no longer, Geoffrey rose, muttering about checking his destrier. He stood outside, breathing in deeply of the smoke-scented air, which carried with it a hint of frost in the offing as daylight faded to dusk. Then he went to the stable, reaching for his dagger when he saw two figures lurking in an empty stall.

‘Go inside, Bale,’ he ordered curtly, not liking to imagine what would have been said if it had been Cornald coming to look at the horses.

Head down so he would not have to meet his master’s eyes, Bale scuttled away. Pulchria was less easily intimidated, though.

‘You have no right to interfere,’ she hissed.

‘I have every right: Bale is my squire. But it is cold and dark out here, so I recommend you go inside, too. Doubtless your husband will be pleased to see you.’

He treated her hate-filled glower with the contempt it deserved, turning his back on her and giving his attention to his horse. A moment later, he heard her stamp towards the door. He spent a little while with the animal, rubbing its nose and checking its legs for signs of damage, but the raised voices from the inn were distracting. Craving silence, he walked towards the river.

The Tywi was wide and shallow, with golden stones littering its bottom and the occasional waving frond of green weed. It wound across a wide valley, much of which was cultivated, although he suspected it was prone to flood, when it would lose its gentleness and become a raging torrent. Two uprooted trees nearby indicated it probably happened frequently.

He thought about Roger’s contention that the attacks they had suffered since leaving Brechene were connected to the King’s letters. Roger had been concerned from the first ambush that the attack had concentrated on the knights, but Geoffrey had argued it was because their assailants wanted to eliminate the warriors before turning to the easier business of dealing with the women, servants, Cornald and Delwyn. But did Roger have a point?

Delwyn was sloppy in his care of Mabon’s coffin, and it would have been easy for thieves to make off with it at night, assuming – as Geoffrey believed – that they thought it was filled with treasure. Yet they had never bothered. Did it mean the ambushers were after something else? But, surely, no one could be interested in a letter to Wilfred about the transfer of property or an order telling Mabon to obey the Bishop, or in whatever was written in the missive to Sear?