Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘Yes, sire,’ said Geoffrey, making no effort to keep the resentment from his voice.

The letters were not ready when Geoffrey went to collect them from the Chapter House – which had been commandeered by the King’s clerks – and he sighed irritably when he saw he was going to be made to wait yet again. He was eager to be on his way now he had permission to leave. It was not yet noon – with good horses, he could be twenty miles away by nightfall.

‘I am sorry,’ said Eudo, not sounding at all contrite. ‘But we have more pressing business to attend than yours.’

‘I am sure you do,’ said Geoffrey shortly. ‘But it will not take you a moment to gather these letters together, and then I can be away to do the King’s bidding.’

‘I will do it as soon as I can,’ snapped Eudo. ‘But you looming over me will not expedite the matter, so go away. I shall summon you when they are ready.’

Infuriated that a mere clerk should try to dismiss him, Geoffrey promptly sat on a large chest and folded his arms.

‘I would not like you to forget,’ he said in a voice that carried considerable menace.

‘I will not forget,’ said Eudo, alarmed. Crusader knights had a reputation for ruthless ferocity, and Geoffrey’s battle-stained armour and the compact strength of his body said he was a dangerous man.

‘Good,’ said Geoffrey, watching Eudo sort deeds into two neat piles with unsteady hands. He sighed, never easy with intimidation, and tried to engage Eudo in polite conversation instead, sensing friendliness might better serve his cause. ‘What can you tell me about Kermerdyn?’

Eudo shrugged. ‘Not much. It is under the dominion of a Welsh prince named Hywel. The King installed him there on the advice of influential nobles, because he helped quell the rebellion on the borders. But it was a mistake.’

‘Why?’

‘Because everyone likes him.’

‘And that is a problem?’

‘It is. He is powerful in his own right, and I doubt he will want to remain the King’s vassal. He will rebel, and he will have a strong base, because we installed him in a fortress called Rhydygors.’

‘But if Hywel has any sense, he will see that it is safer to live in harmony than to wage a war.’

‘You would think so, but, in my experience, rebels are usually rather short on sense. Moreover, there is always the danger that he will encourage other Welsh princes to join him. Not everyone appreciates that the best rulers are Normans, and that we are acting for their own good when we subjugate a people.’

‘Right,’ said Geoffrey, amused.

‘It is true!’ declared Eudo. ‘I know, from studying tax returns, that your father turned Goodrich into a highly profitable venture, whereas it was struggling under the Saxons.’

Geoffrey nodded. Godric Mappestone had been a ruthless tyrant, who had subdued his tenants with a fist of iron and had made up for any shortfalls by helping himself to his neighbours’ resources and supplies.

‘Is that all you know about Kermerdyn?’ he asked. ‘That its ruler is popular?’

‘I do not waste time learning about distant outposts.’ Eudo flinched as Geoffrey stood, although the knight had not intended to frighten him. ‘But I can tell you that Hywel represents a threat to the stability of the entire region.’

‘Really? But alliances have been made with marriages. My wife’s sister, for example. Surely, these count for something?’

‘They may keep some Welsh leaders from taking up arms,’ acknowledged Eudo. ‘But the longer I chat here with you, the longer it will be before your letters are ready. With your permission, I shall be about my duties.’

It was bad enough that Geoffrey had again been coerced into doing Henry’s bidding, but to be forced to wait for scribes was outrageous. Tiredness exacerbated his irritation, and he was sufficiently annoyed that he did not trust himself to hunt out Sir Roger, who had been travelling with him to the Holy Land before the storm had intervened. Roger might react with violence if he felt Geoffrey was being insulted.

Instead, he went for a walk, his dog loping at his side. It galled him that Henry should manipulate him quite so readily, and it occurred to him to leave without waiting for the letters. But that would be a mistake: Henry was vengeful, and Geoffrey did not want Hilde and Joan to suffer the consequences.

It was difficult to find a place to be alone when the abbey was full of Henry’s retainers, but a bell chimed to announce that a meal was ready, and the church emptied quickly. Geoffrey walked to the chancel, which was blessedly free of kings and clerks.

‘Geoffrey! I had no idea you were still here,’ came a cheerful voice from behind him.

Geoffrey spun around quickly, vexed that he was not to be permitted even a few moments of peace, but his pique faded when he found himself facing Maurice, the portly Bishop of London. Maurice was famous for his absolute loyalty to the King, his building of a magnificent cathedral, and his insistence that he suffered from a medical condition that necessitated regular frolics with pretty women. Geoffrey had worked with him in the past and liked him.

He smiled, feeling his bleak mood lighten. Maurice extended his be-ringed hand for the traditional episcopal kiss, but the moment the formal greeting was over, he gave the knight an affectionate hug.

‘It is good to see you, my friend!’ he cried. ‘Bishop Giffard often asks for news of you in his letters and will be delighted when I can report that you are safe and well.’

‘You look well, too,’ said Geoffrey, meaning it. The prelate was rosy-cheeked and shone with health and vitality.

Maurice leaned close. ‘I have just had a couple of very pretty damsels, and my humours are in perfect alignment. Of course, it will not last, and I shall have to find another one before long. I do not suppose your lady is with you, is she?’

‘You mean my wife?’ asked Geoffrey, sincerely hoping the lecherous prelate did not intend to put Hilde on his list of conquests.

‘No,’ whispered Maurice, looking around hopefully. ‘Your other lady. The one who was with you last summer, whom I dubbed Angel Locks. She gave me such pleasure one night!’

‘Oh, my squire,’ said Geoffrey flatly. ‘Durand.’

It was a sore point. With his flowing golden hair and mincing gait, Durand had often been mistaken for a woman from behind and had not minded at all. Geoffrey did not like to imagine what he had done with Maurice one dark evening to convince the prelate that he was a member of the fairer sex. He knew only that Maurice was keen to repeat the experience and that Durand had been paid extremely well.

‘Is she here?’ demanded Maurice eagerly.

‘He is no longer with me,’ replied Geoffrey shortly. ‘I have another squire now. Bale.’

Maurice grimaced. ‘I do not know why you persist with this charade of pretending she is a man, Geoffrey. There is no other woman like her.’

‘We can agree on that,’ said Geoffrey. He changed the subject. ‘How is the construction of your cathedral in London?’

‘St Paul’s,’ said Maurice with a fond smile. ‘It proceeds apace, thank you. But I am surprised to see you here. I thought you would be in the Holy Land by now.’

‘I took a vow not to go,’ said Geoffrey unhappily. ‘And the King has found a mission for me. Again. Will he never leave me alone?’

‘Hush!’ Maurice glanced around uneasily. ‘Walls have ears, and so does His Majesty. Long ones. I do not want to be seen as a traitor, even if you do not seem to care what he thinks. But let us talk of happier matters. Tell me about your new wife. Is she pretty?’

‘She has nice eyes,’ said Geoffrey loyally. No one in his right mind would call Hilde pretty.