Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

Geoffrey sighed. More urgent was the fact that he was almost in Kermerdyn, and although he had spent weeks in company with people he suspected had killed William, Mabon and possibly Eudo, he was no nearer finding the truth. Soon they would part company, and he would never have answers for the King.

As he stared at the river, he became aware that one of the stones was an odd shape. He leaned down to retrieve it, plunging his arm up to the elbow in cold water. He was startled to find it was a small statue. He had seen similar ones in Italy, carved by the Romans, and he recalled Gwgan telling him that Romans had visited Kermerdyn and established a fort there. He gazed at the little sculpture, awed to be holding something that had been crafted hundreds of years before.

It was a pretty piece, and he recognized in it Aphrodite’s alluring beauty. It was made of marble, and when he rubbed it on his surcoat, the algae came off to reveal the white underneath. It was not very big, although too large to close his fingers around. He decided to keep it and present it to Hilde at some opportune moment. Perhaps this pagan charm would help her conceive, given that prayers in churches did not seem to be working.

He was about to return to the tavern when he saw Delwyn walking towards him. The monk was pulling uncomfortably at his habit, and his face was red. Geoffrey was not the only one who had found the room unpleasantly close.

‘Your return to Kermerdyn tomorrow will be tainted by sadness,’ said Geoffrey, thinking he had better remind Delwyn that he was sorry Mabon had died while a guest in his home. He did not want the abbey being told he did not care, so they could complain to the King about him. ‘I wish that we had brought his killer to justice.’

‘It would have been good to string the villain up,’ agreed Delwyn. ‘He condemned me to a miserable journey, because it has not been pleasant, toting a rotting corpse around.’

Geoffrey tried to conceal his distaste for the man’s selfishness. ‘It will be a sad homecoming, regardless of odours. I imagine Mabon was popular.’

‘Then you would be wrong. He was rather worldly, and most of my brethren will be delighted to learn he is no longer with us. Especially Ywain.’ Delwyn looked concerned. ‘I hope he does not think I killed Mabon.’

‘Why would he think that?’

‘Because I was always complaining about the fact that Mabon would insist on aggravating Wilfred. But he was wrong to annoy the Bishop – it is no way to ensure we are left alone.’

‘Left alone?’ asked Geoffrey, puzzled

‘Allowed to exist,’ elaborated Delwyn. ‘Without Normans coming along and trying to turn us into Benedictines or Cistercians. We are happy as we are, but Mabon’s belligerence was a danger.’

‘Will Ywain be less confrontational?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Delwyn bitterly. ‘He is no brash fool. But I would like to impress him anyway. Please give me the letter from the Archbishop, Sir Geoffrey. He will be much more kindly disposed towards me if he sees the King trusted me with it.’

‘I cannot,’ said Geoffrey shortly. He did not want yet another debate on the subject.

‘Do you have any more?’ asked Delwyn rather desperately. ‘You must have a missive for Hywel. He is the most important man in this region, after all. Give me the one for him.’

Geoffrey shook his head, hoping Hywel would not be offended when he learned that Henry had not deigned to acknowledge him.

Delwyn sighed heavily. ‘You are a hard man, Sir Geoffrey. I can only pray that it will not count against you when your sins are weighed on Judgement Day. And that may come sooner than you think, given the way that you court danger.’

‘I do not court danger,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether he was being threatened.

Delwyn regarded him haughtily. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

And, with that enigmatic remark, he sauntered away.

Hilde had obtained four separate chambers on the upper floor, with hay-filled stable lofts for the servants. Geoffrey was uncomfortable when Hilde confided that the one for them was the landlord’s own, but she assured him that Fychan had not minded going to sleep in the kitchen.

Privacy was rare while travelling, and it was not often they had the luxury of a separate room. Usually, Roger and Bale were with them, which Geoffrey did not mind – it was safer with three of them listening for signs of trouble as they slept – although Hilde was less sanguine about the arrangement and preferred nights when they could be alone.

‘I shall be glad when Roger leaves,’ she remarked, as she doused the candle and slid into the bed, in the now pitch-black room. ‘God save us, Geoffrey! You are still wearing boots and full armour! We will not make an heir with fifty pounds of steel and leather between us.’

‘You want me to take them off?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily. He rarely divested himself of his mail when travelling.

‘If you would not mind. Besides, I am cold, and snuggling up to metal is hardly pleasant.’

‘I would not know,’ muttered Geoffrey, prising himself out of the bed to oblige. It did not take long, although he felt cold and strangely naked without his mail, and shivered as he climbed back into the bed. Then he winced. ‘Are you still wearing a dagger?’

‘I like one readily available on a journey,’ she replied, placing an ice-cold hand on his stomach. He was hard-pressed not to fling it off, and strongly suspected the gesture was more to warm it up than for affection.

‘Why will you be glad when Roger leaves?’ he asked.

Hilde sighed. ‘I know you have been through many battles together and saved each other’s lives more often than you can count, but I cannot take to him. He is uncouth, greedy, dishonest and ruthless. Did you know that he regularly rifles through your saddlebags?’

‘Yes.’ It was a habit Roger had acquired in the Holy Land. Geoffrey did not care, because he rarely had anything that Roger coveted, but Hilde objected to her possessions being mauled. ‘However, he is not doing the searching now – it is Delwyn, although he denies it.’

‘Roger is always saying that your literacy is a skill learned from the Devil,’ Hilde went on, declining to be sidetracked. ‘And Bale said that, in Brechene, he even paid a witch for a spell to make you forget how to read. He thinks that if you are stupid, Henry will leave you alone.’

‘Then he will want his money back,’ said Geoffrey, laughing. ‘Because the spell did not work.’

‘Spells are dangerous,’ said Hilde angrily. ‘I shall never forgive him if you are turned into a drooling idiot.’

There was not much to be said to such a remark, so Geoffrey closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him. Hilde had other ideas.

‘Are you comfortable with him releasing you from your vow?’

‘What?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering whether he had dropped off and missed some vital part of the conversation. ‘Roger?’

‘Bishop Maurice,’ said Hilde impatiently. ‘From what I hear, he is rather worldly, and God may not accept his intervention. You may bring His wrath down on yourself. Or on Goodrich.’

Geoffrey rubbed his chin. ‘I know. I have never broken a vow before – it is why I keep wearing my Crusader’s surcoat, when common sense urges anonymity. I did not know sacred oaths could be retracted until Maurice told me it was possible.’

‘Well, you did swear it against your will. But you must be sure that Maurice does possess the authority to absolve you, because if you make a mistake, you might have to undertake another Crusade to make up for it. And I would miss you.’

He could tell from her voice that she was smiling, and wished he could see her face, because it was an expressive one. He found himself wanting to know whether she was smiling fondly, or whether she was teasing him and rather liked the idea of an absent husband. He moved towards her, then wished he had not when her dagger jabbed him a second time.