Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘Well, your brother was a Norman,’ said Delwyn sneeringly. ‘What do you expect?’

‘What do you mean by that?’ demanded Richard, swinging around to glower at him.

‘That a Welshman would have put a fortress nearer the town,’ replied Delwyn, unmoved by his anger. ‘There is no point protecting a ford when there is a perfectly good bridge a mile away. We always thought it was odd. But, then, William was odd when he first arrived.’

‘Odd?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘He was a good man,’ declared Richard hotly. ‘No one should say anything bad about my brother, God rest his sainted soul.’

Delwyn crossed himself. ‘He was a good man, but only after he discovered his secret.’

‘There was no secret,’ said Edward. ‘He invented it to explain his change in character, because none of you would believe he just woke up one day and decided to become a better man.’

‘There is a secret,’ declared Richard fervently. ‘And I would not mind having it – I would be honoured if the Blessed Virgin appeared to me. Moreover, if I learn any of you had a hand in his death, I will kill you.’

‘You will do nothing of the kind,’ said Sear. ‘Because I will be there before you. But his secret will never be found because, as I have said all along, it was a holy sword, and he was the only one on this Earth good enough to hold it. It disappeared when he died, and will not reappear until another man is born who is his equal.’

‘Rubbish,’ declared Cornald. ‘He was a new man because he ate properly. You may all have noticed that I am a happy fellow, too, despite the trials and tribulations that beset me.’ Here he shot an unreadable glance towards his wife. ‘The secret to true happiness is food.’

‘Potions,’ countered Pulchria. ‘Some herb grows near Kermerdyn that made him what he was, and I still intend to find it. That sort of popularity will be very useful for a woman like me.’

‘If there is a secret, then it just goes along with being the master of Rhydygors Castle,’ said Gwgan dismissively. ‘Hywel has goodness in abundance. It is all to do with being in Wales.’

‘Yes, but Hywel’s is a different kind of goodness,’ said Edward. ‘He does have it in abundance, but William was saintly. They are not really comparable.’

They fell silent, pondering the matter. So, there they were, thought Geoffrey, regarding them one by one: his suspects – all of whom would exploit William’s secret, should it ever be revealed.

He turned his thoughts back to the latest skirmish, realizing that he had seen none of his companions actually engage the enemy – Richard’s encounter had been uncharacteristically lacklustre, and the others had only appeared once most of the ambushers were on the run. Did that mean one of them had hired mercenaries to do battle with the travellers? Was Roger right, and Geoffrey and his friends would be safe only once the remaining messages were in the hands of their intended recipients?

With a sigh, he led the way towards the bridge.

They arrived to find Kermerdyn a busy, bustling place that smelled of cows and fish. Cattle were being driven from every direction to the market, and there was a thriving fishing industry, the stalls on the riverside well stocked with silvery wares from both river and sea.

The market stood on the open ground near the bridge, and there was a staggering array of goods, ranging from livestock and foodstuffs, to cloth, building materials and pots. It seemed to Geoffrey that anything a person could possibly want was on offer in Kermerdyn, and he supposed he would not have to worry about Hilde becoming bored there.

Their companions did not linger once they had paid their toll to cross the bridge. Sear was the first to break away. He snapped his fingers at two passing soldiers and ordered them to help him carry Alberic to the church.

‘I cannot tote him to Pembroc, so I am going to bury him here,’ he said.

‘Alberic will understand,’ said Edward kindly. ‘St Peter’s is a pretty church with a spacious graveyard, and I will undertake to pay the priest to say masses for Alberic’s soul whenever I pass through the town.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sear gruffly. ‘I shall stay here until it is done, and then ride to Pembroc. Richard will lend me an escort.’

He rode away before Richard could say whether he would or not. Geoffrey fingered the letter in his shirt. Henry had ordered it delivered on arrival in Kermerdyn, but it seemed callous to do it when Sear was about to bury his friend. He decided to leave it until the next day.

Suddenly, Richard spat a colourful oath and surged towards a gaggle of men who were inspecting a display of ironware. When he reached them, he began to berate them for their slovenly appearances. They immediately tried to smarten themselves, and Geoffrey saw he was the kind of leader to rule by fear and bullying. Richard disappeared with them eventually, without so much as a backward glance towards his erstwhile companions.

Delwyn wasted no time with pleasantries, either. He ordered the servant driving the cart to follow him to the abbey, and also departed with no word of farewell or thanks.

‘I shall see you home, Leah,’ said Edward solicitously. ‘The journey has been arduous, and we should both rest. But I must bathe first. Just look at the state of me! God grant me a speedy return to the peace of Kadweli, where I can rule with pen and parchment; I was not built for charging around the country and engaging in battles.’

‘Thank you,’ said Leah to Geoffrey. ‘You have been kind and patient, and you kept my husband from killing anyone, for which I am grateful. He would have been sorry afterwards, and I am glad you spared him that.’

Geoffrey was not quite sure how to reply and left Hilde to murmur some suitably tactful remarks.

‘If you want any butter, you know where to come,’ said Cornald, smiling politely, although it was clear his mind was already on his home and business. ‘Travelling with you has been a pleasure, and I am grateful to you for keeping us all alive.’

‘It has been a pleasure,’ agreed Pulchria, smirking meaningfully at Bale before following her husband. Pointedly, she ignored Geoffrey.

Soon, only Gwgan was left. He sat on his horse, breathing in deeply of the familiar scents of home. Geoffrey knew how he felt, and wished he was back in Goodrich.

‘Where now?’ asked Roger, forcing a smile. ‘Shall I come with you to deliver the letters?’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey. He nodded to an inn called the Trout. It appeared respectable enough, with a smart thatch and clean white walls. ‘We shall rest there for a while first.’

Roger did not object when Geoffrey hired a room and ordered him to lie down. Geoffrey helped him drink some broth, then assisted Hilde as she bathed and dressed the wound properly. Gwgan stayed downstairs talking to the innkeeper and using his influence to ensure Roger was provided with the best possible care.

‘Stay with him, Bale,’ ordered Geoffrey. ‘No leaving to frolic with Pulchria.’

‘I will frolic with her here, then,’ said Bale practically. ‘Sir Roger will not mind.’

‘Actually, I will mind,’ countered Roger. ‘Sit by the window and sharpen your knives – quietly, if possible. And you go about your business, Geoff lad. I cannot sleep with you looming over me like an anxious vulture. It is making me nervous.’

‘He is right,’ whispered Hilde, tugging on Geoffrey’s sleeve to pull him out of the room. ‘Leave him in peace. I suspect he will be safer once you have discharged your duties, anyway. Where will you start?’

‘Not with the abbey,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I should give them time to deal with Mabon. The same goes for Sear with Alberic. That leaves Bishop Wilfred.’