Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘I cannot abide that man, and he will not have the liberties he enjoyed when Mabon was in power. I shall see to that.’

‘I am sorry Mabon is dead,’ began Geoffrey. ‘Especially as he died in my home.’

‘Delwyn said he was poisoned,’ said Ywain. ‘Nasty stuff, poison. Very indiscriminate. I doubt anyone would have wanted to murder Mabon, so you should ask yourself whether it was a case of mistaken identity.’

Geoffrey stared at him. Could he be right? Had the poison been intended for someone else?

‘Sit with me on this wall,’ ordered Ywain, after he had instructed the lay-brother to bring them cups of warmed ale. ‘I feel the need for fresh air after being closeted with that reeking corpse, and you do not look like a man who objects to being outside.’

When they were seated, Geoffrey handed him the letter, careful to ensure it was the one bearing Mabon’s name and the green circle.

‘I am sure Delwyn told you about this,’ he said. ‘Mabon declined to take it when I tried to pass it to him at Goodrich, and then he died…’

‘Mabon was not a man for reading,’ said Ywain, breaking the seal. ‘I dealt with all his correspondence, which is why I was elected his successor. Delwyn thought the honour should fall to him, but none of us likes the man. But what is this? This epistle is not addressed to Mabon – it is for that scoundrel Bishop Wilfred!’

‘Mabon’s name is on the outside,’ said Geoffrey, after a brief moment of panic. And there was the green circle that Eudo had drawn to represent Mabon; Wilfred’s epistle was the fat one.

Ywain grimaced. ‘Yes, it is, but obviously the King’s clerk made an error, because it is addressed to Wilfred on the inside. It is about St Peter’s Church and says that, from now on, all tithes and benefits will go to La Batailge instead of to him! Hah! The old devil will be livid. You had better make sure he gets it.’

‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Geoffrey, a quick glance telling him that Ywain was right. He could not imagine the Bishop would be pleased that his enemy should have perused it first.

‘If you have one for Wilfred, too, then you had better give it to me,’ said Ywain gleefully. ‘The clerk will have confused them – so that the one for him will actually be for us.’

Geoffrey was unwilling to risk it. ‘It is more likely that Eudo forgot to include yours at all.’

Ywain scowled. ‘If you do give the other letter to Wilfred, and it does transpire to be to me, I shall not be amused. In fact, I shall write to the King and order you boiled in oil.’

‘Please do not,’ said Geoffrey tiredly. ‘He might do it.’

Ywain made an impatient gesture. ‘Eudo is not very efficient. He is one of those men who has risen higher than his abilities should have allowed, and he has made mistakes before. Do you know the kind of fellow?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Geoffrey.

‘The court is full of them,’ Ywain went on bitterly. ‘All Normans, who itch to see an end to Welsh foundations like this one, and want a Benedictine or Cistercian house established here instead. With a Norman abbot. Our days are numbered.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Geoffrey.

Ywain shrugged. ‘Delwyn thinks we should ingratiate ourselves with the King – he went to court to try – but it was a waste of time. Our only hope is to support Hywel in all things, because he will not let a Welsh monastery be supplanted by Normans.’

‘He seems a good man.’

‘He is an excellent man – even better than William, and he was a saint. William was inclined to think nice things about people, whereas Hywel is more realistic and knows that people have human failings. We are safer with Hywel than we were with William.’

‘Do you know anything about William’s secret?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘I do, as a matter of fact,’ replied Ywain. ‘He mentioned it to me when it first happened to him – he needed to consult a priest, you see, and I was the best one available. But it pleased me to see all those greedy Normans scrabbling around for it, so I have never confided in anyone else.’

‘Will you tell me?’

‘No,’ said Ywain. ‘Why should I?’

Geoffrey hesitated.

‘Oh, all right, then,’ said Ywain, giving him a playful jab in the ribs. ‘Your surcoat says you are a Jerosolimitanus, so you must be a decent soul.’

Geoffrey was bemused by the Abbot’s capitulation. He wondered whether he was about to be regaled with a story that would make him look silly when he investigated it.

‘And now you will not believe me,’ said Ywain, reading his thoughts. ‘Perhaps I should keep it to myself then, as I have done for the past seven years. It has been great fun watching everyone scrabble to learn the secret, but I am bored with the spectacle now. It would give me great satisfaction to share it.’

Geoffrey regarded him uncertainly. ‘Does anyone else know you have it?’

‘Of course not; the likes of Richard, Sear, Edward, Delwyn, and Pulchria would have used violence to make me tell.’

‘Almost certainly,’ agreed Geoffrey. He thought about what Mabon had believed. ‘Did William have a vision? When he was near the river?’

‘Yes,’ said Ywain emphatically. ‘Of the Blessed Virgin. And when she had gone, she left a statue of herself behind. William never showed it to me, but he said he had put it in a safe place.’

‘And that was his secret?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘A statue?’

‘A statue from the hands of Our Holy Mother herself,’ corrected Ywain. ‘A big one.’

‘As a priest, you must have been interested in seeing it?’ asked Geoffrey, not sure he believed him.

Ywain screwed up his face. ‘Well, I considered asking for a peek, but William became rather holy after he set eyes on it, and I did not want the same thing to happen to me. I was tempted to tell Wilfred, though, because I would not mind seeing him cursed with sanctity. But it was more amusing to keep the tale to myself.’

‘So why tell me?’

‘Because, as a Jerosolimitanus, you have set eyes on the holiest sites in the world, and if they have not turned you religious, then neither will William’s statue. I do not want any more saintly people wandering around Kermerdyn. It makes the rest of us look bad.’

‘Where is this statue now?’

‘Ah, there I cannot help you. William never told anyone.’

‘May I look around your abbey?’

Ywain laughed. ‘You think it is here? It is not – I have looked, believe me – but go ahead. No one will disturb you. And it is not in the church, either. If it had been, I would have found it, because I looked very carefully several times.’

Geoffrey took him at his word and explored every inch of the abbey, Ywain at his heels. But the Abbot was right: there was nothing to find.

Thoughts whirling, Geoffrey left the monastery. He knew he had been right to search the abbey, though, because William would not have shoved a gift from the Blessed Virgin somewhere profane – he would have placed it on hallowed ground. He trudged towards the church, not holding much hope of finding it there, either – it was more public than the monastery, and he suspected Ywain had been more thorough than he could ever be.

As he approached, he saw that Sear and his men were no longer in the graveyard, and the place where Alberic’s coffin had lain was now a mound of cold soil. The priest with the fierce face was just locking the door as he arrived, using one of the largest keys Geoffrey had ever seen.

‘Hah!’ The priest jabbed the key challengingly at him. His robes were thin and threadbare, and he was wearing sandals, despite the nip of winter in the air. ‘I want a word with you.’

‘Do you indeed?’ replied Geoffrey coolly. ‘And who might you be?’