Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

‘He told Abbot Mabon much the same.’

Wilfred’s expression hardened. ‘Did he? Well, he went further with me. He claimed she said some very nice things about Wales, and that she was carrying a sword – although I may have misheard the last bit. She also advised him to eat wisely and stay away from mandrake juice, which has a tendency to make men see things that are not there.’

Geoffrey stared at him. Wilfred’s testimony contained elements of all the theories that had been repeated to him on the journey from England. He could only suppose that the Bishop had been more assiduous at listening to a dying man’s ravings than the others and had come away with a more complete picture.

‘Did he ever mention a statue?’ he asked.

‘Not to me, although he did have a penchant for them. He donated every one of the carvings you can see in this church.’

Clever William, thought Geoffrey, looking around in awe. The man had known that concealing his secret might mean it could be lost for ever, so he had hidden it in plain sight – among the scores of other icons he had bought to keep it company.

‘I do not suppose he had a favourite, did he?’

Wilfred seemed startled by the question. ‘Well, yes, he did, as a matter of fact, although no one has ever asked me about it before. Would you like me to show you?’

Geoffrey nodded, and the Bishop led him to the Lady Chapel. It was a small, intimate place, and the worn stones on the floor suggested it was also a popular one. Geoffrey understood why. It exuded an aura of tranquillity and felt sacred, even to a man normally immune to such sensations.

‘That one, in the niche above the sedilla,’ whispered Wilfred, pointing upwards. ‘He was always in here praying to it. Well, it is of the Virgin, so I suppose it was not surprising.’

Geoffrey stared at one of the most beautiful carvings he had ever seen. It showed a woman in flowing robes of purest alabaster; the only colour was the sapphires of her eyes.

Geoffrey gazed at the statue for a long time before he spoke. In his imagination, he could almost see William kneeling by the altar, lifting his eyes towards it.

‘William’s secret,’ he whispered.

‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Wilfred irritably. ‘Have you been listening to local gossip? There was a tale that William had acquired a secret that made him turn his back on his sinful ways to live a godly life, but it was nonsense. It was his vision that changed him.’

‘You seem very sure.’

‘I am sure! A vision is religion, but a secret is superstition. Surely, you see the difference?’

‘Not really.’

‘Of course,’ Wilfred went on, not interested in his reply, ‘this was one of the first statues he brought to us, and he insisted on carrying it here himself, despite the fact that it is heavy. The others were delivered by his soldiers.’

‘Did this happen soon after his vision?’

‘Very soon.’ Wilfred gaped at him. ‘Are you saying those tales were right? That the Blessed Virgin did give him something to remember her by, and it was this statue? But it is a worldly thing, and when I came to clean it, there were bits of river weed behind her eyes.’

‘I suspect what happened was that William went swimming and he saw this statue in the water,’ explained Geoffrey. ‘We will never know whether it really spoke to him, but he certainly believed it did, and it changed him. He brought it here, of course; what better place for something he believed to be holy?’

‘But if you are right, then why did he not tell everyone his secret was this statue? Why stay silent and let all those silly rumours take hold?’

Geoffrey shrugged. ‘I cannot answer that.’

‘But I can,’ said Wilfred thoughtfully. ‘People gave him a lot of cloying attention once they thought he was holy, and he hated it. If this carving really is the essence of his vision, then he may well have wanted to protect her from self-serving petitioning.’

It seemed as reasonable an explanation as any.

‘This statue has never performed any miracles, though,’ Wilfred went on. ‘And she has been in here for nigh on ten years.’

‘Well, there is a good reason for that,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Namely that it is not the Blessed Virgin.’

Wilfred gaped at him a second time. ‘How do you know?’

‘My liege lord, Tancred, hails from Italy, and I lived there for several years. I know the carvings of the ancient Romans. This is Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Wilfred dubiously. ‘She looks like the Blessed Virgin to me.’

‘Quite sure. There are several just like it in Rome. Moreover, I think you will find that blessed virgins do not smile in quite such an alluring manner.’ Geoffrey produced the little statue he had found in Lanothni. ‘Here is another.’

‘You carry them around with you?’ breathed Wilfred, shocked. ‘What are you – a heathen?’

‘I found it two days ago,’ explained Geoffrey. ‘Kermerdyn was a thriving Roman settlement once – they would not have invested in such enormous walls had it been small and insignificant – so it is not surprising that their treasures appear from time to time.’

Wilfred took it from him. ‘They are identical! It is a pity you were not here seven years ago. You could have confounded all these silly tales and prevented needless speculation. You might even have saved a good man’s life, because I am sure William was murdered.’

‘I do not suppose you know by whom?’ asked Geoffrey hopefully.

‘No, although I have plenty of suspects. Top of the list is Sear, the man whose dearest friend I laid in the earth today. He did not shed a single tear.’

‘That does not mean he did not care,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But why do you think he killed William?’

‘Because I do not like him,’ replied Wilfred, as if that was all that needed to be said. ‘And his clerks made an error when calculating the taxes owed by his Pembroc subjects – but he still insisted on claiming the higher amount, even when the mistake was exposed. It makes him a thief.’

‘Doubtless the King did not mind,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Oh, he was very happy. But Sear could not keep collecting it, because it was turning Pembroc destitute. That was why he went to La Batailge – to explain in person why the King would be getting less in future. I did not envy him that task, because His Majesty is partial to revenue and would not have been pleased by the news.’

Geoffrey wondered whether Sear had decided not to do it at the last minute; he had detected no cooling in the relationship between monarch and subject. And Wilfred was right: Henry would not have been pleased to learn he was losing a source of income.

‘Who else is on your list of suspects for killing William?’ he asked.

‘Anyone who was jealous of William’s success,’ replied Wilfred. ‘And that includes all of Kermerdyn and half the surrounding villages. Why? Do you intend to solve that mystery, too? If so, I wager it will take you a good deal longer than it did to identify his secret.’

Geoffrey left the church pleased with his progress. He had identified William’s secret and delivered all the King’s letters, except Sear’s. He also knew what he was going to write in his report about the warring churchmen. Moreover, the germ of a solution had begun to grow regarding William’s murder: he was fairly sure he knew who had committed the crime. The answer to one question would tell him for certain, and he intended to ask it immediately.

There was an apothecary’s shop near the church, but it was closed. Geoffrey waited outside, thinking that it was mid-morning, late for merchants to open. He was about to give up when the owner arrived, rubbing his hands together in greedy anticipation when he saw a customer waiting.