Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘Perhaps I should make you promise not to leave me until we have an heir,’ she said. ‘That would keep you safely in England, especially as it seems a somewhat lengthy process.’

‘We could try again now,’ he suggested.

Immediately, there came the sound of laces being unfastened and brooches being unsnapped. While he waited, Geoffrey listened to the other sounds of the night – an owl in the distance, the wind in the eaves. Roger, Alberic and Sear were still in the room below; their voices were loud, and he could tell they were drunk. Out in the stables, a horse whinnied suddenly, and he supposed Bale and Pulchria were using the stable again.

He thought a floorboard creaked outside their door, but Hilde hurled some garment to the floor at the same time, and he could not be sure. He sat up abruptly, straining to hear, then flopped back again when his head cracked against Hilde’s in the darkness.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded angrily. ‘That really hurt.’

Geoffrey signalled for her to be quiet, but she did not see him and continued to berate him in a voice that made it difficult to hear anything else.

‘Hush!’ he snapped. ‘I thought I heard something.’

At that moment, there was a cheer from downstairs, followed by a lot of jeering. Roger had won something – no great surprise, given that he always cheated.

‘I really will be glad when he is no longer with us,’ Hilde muttered.

Geoffrey sat up a second time when the merest of draughts touched his cheek; he knew the door was open. Reacting instinctively, he grabbed Hilde and hauled her off the bed, snatching the dagger from her belt as he did so. At the same time, he heard something thud into the mattress. Most other women would have screeched indignantly about being hurled around in the dark, but Hilde was blessedly silent. There was an advantage to marrying a woman who was a warrior.

Geoffrey was also silent. Then he heard the creak of a floorboard, this time to his left. He stabbed with the dagger, thinking that if someone was coming to rob them, then any injuries were the culprit’s own fault.

He heard a grunt as the blade connected, although he could not tell whether it had done any harm. He stepped forward, to place himself between the invader and Hilde. There was another creak, and he lunged again. This time, the dagger met thin air, but something crashed into his shoulder, making him stagger. He went on the offensive, suspecting he might not survive if he confined himself to defensive manoeuvres. He struck out wildly, moving towards the door as he did so, aiming to haul it open and yell for Roger.

Then something cracked into his head, and he saw stars. He lunged again, but he was disoriented, and the blow lacked the vigour of the previous ones. He had his attackers on the run, though, because he could hear footsteps moving away. He tried to estimate how many sets of feet, but it was difficult to be sure.

He sensed rather than saw someone flail at him, and fought by instinct, predicting which way the blows would come and parrying them with his forearm as he jabbed with the dagger. There was a howl and a curse, and then more footsteps. He became aware of Hilde next to him. She grabbed his arm, and he felt his sword shoved into his hand.

Howling his Saracen battle cry, he charged forward and saw at least three shadows in the hallway. How many were there, given that several had already fled? He swiped wildly, but he was dizzy and blood dripped into his eyes. He brushed it away impatiently, then whipped around when he heard someone behind him. A blow across the shoulders drove him to his knees.

He was not sure what happened next. He tried to tell Roger to give chase, but he could not make himself heard over the racket. He attempted to go himself, but his legs would not support him. He thought he heard Sear and Alberic coming to report that the culprits had disappeared, and was also aware of Pulchria regarding him in a distinctly unfriendly manner. Surely, she had not organized the attack, because she had objected to him depriving her of Bale?

He rubbed his head, knowing his wits were not working clearly. However, he was not so muddled as to miss the fact that the attackers had ignored everyone else in the tavern and come after him. Perhaps Roger’s theory about the letters was not so wild after all, and what he had feared from the first was coming to pass: that there was more danger in the King’s errand than Henry had led him to believe.

As the following day dawned bright and clear, Geoffrey and Roger explored the tavern and its surroundings, hunting for evidence that would identify who had invaded the bedchamber. There was nothing, however, except a few footprints outside the window and those might have been there for days.

‘Do you accept now that I was right?’ Roger asked. ‘The villains went after you last night – no one else. They wanted Henry’s letters. Once again, the King has ordered you down a dangerous road and has not bothered to explain why.’

‘He certainly has not,’ agreed Geoffrey tiredly. His mind was frustratingly fuzzy, and there was a nagging ache behind his eyes. His shoulder hurt, too, and he hoped it would not incapacitate him, should he be obliged to fight again.

‘Then admit I am right,’ said Roger. ‘I want to hear it.’

‘You may be right,’ said Geoffrey, loath to give the big knight reason to gloat. ‘However, there is more to Henry’s orders than delivering letters. Perhaps someone does not like the fact that I have been asking questions about William and his secret. Or perhaps someone does not want me to report to Henry about the Bishop’s war with Kermerdyn’s abbey.’

‘I suppose there is Abbot Mabon’s murder, too,’ conceded Roger. ‘You were discussing it with Richard and Gwgan yesterday. And you asked Sear what he thought about Eudo, and it was obvious to me that you had him in mind as Eudo’s killer.’

‘Well, I hope it was not obvious to Sear,’ said Geoffrey wryly, ‘because I was not accusing him. I was merely trying to learn whether Eudo had ever tampered with his correspondence.’

‘I imagine he did,’ said Roger carelessly. ‘Men who read are not noted for their integrity. And Sear almost certainly did kill Eudo. I told you the first time we met him that he was a villain.’

‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey, too tired to argue.

Roger nodded smugly. ‘So pay attention to what I say in future, because I am always right. Still, it is a good thing you had Hilde in bed with you last night, and not Pulchria. I imagine she would have screeched and howled and got in the way of the fighting. Hilde located your sword and handed it to you, but sensibly stayed out of the way.’

‘Thank God she was not hurt,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I wish I had not brought her. Do you think the King knew she would be thrown in the way of danger?’

He rubbed his head. Of course Henry would not want Hilde harmed. The Baderon clan was a powerful ally, and it would suit him to have one at Goodrich – he would not want Geoffrey marrying someone else. Unless, of course, the King had heard the rumours that Hilde – like her sisters, apparently – was barren and unable to produce the desired heir. But why would Henry concern himself with such an insignificant part of his realm?

‘You say you believe these men were the same as the ones who attacked us after Brechene?’ Roger asked, changing the focus of the subject. ‘That is unsettling. It means they have followed us here. But who are they? Are you sure you can remember nothing to let us identify them?’

‘It was pitch black, so I could not see. And they were silent, so I could not tell whether they were Welsh, English or Norman. But I am glad you arrived when you did.’