Simon Beaufort - A Dead Man's secret

He turned back towards the abbey when the light began to fade, surprised to see his squire, Bale, riding to meet him. With his broad shoulders, muscular chest and baldly gleaming head, Bale looked every inch the killer. He had an unnatural fascination for sharp blades, and had been foisted on Geoffrey because the people in his village were afraid of him – they had decided that only a Crusader knight could keep his murderous instincts in check.

‘I was worried about you, sir,’ said Bale, grinning a greeting. ‘The abbey is full of unpleasant types – men who can read – and you cannot trust them as far as you can see them.’

‘I can read,’ said Geoffrey unkindly, because he knew exactly how Bale would react.

He was not wrong. Bale’s mouth fell open in horror when he realized what he had said. He had not been with Geoffrey long and was still trying to make a good impression, terrified that he would be ordered away from a life of glittering slaughter and back to the fields from whence he came. He was old to be a squire – older than Geoffrey himself – but had taken to the task with unrestrained enthusiasm and was thoroughly enjoying himself.

‘But you are different,’ he stammered uncomfortably.

‘Am I?’ asked Geoffrey wickedly. ‘How?’

Bale flailed around for a reason. ‘Well, you prefer fighting to writing,’ he said eventually.

‘That is untrue,’ said Geoffrey, indicating that Bale was to ride at his side. ‘Given the choice, I would far rather spend the day with a good book than on a battlefield.’

Bale regarded him uncertainly, then grinned. ‘You are teasing me, sir!’

Geoffrey changed the subject, suspecting he would be unlikely to persuade his squire that he would be more than happy to hang up his spurs.

‘What happened to Ulfrith?’ he asked. ‘I have not seen him today.’

Ulfrith was Roger’s squire, a big, stupid Saxon prone to falling in love with unsuitable women.

‘That is partly why I came to meet you. He has run away, and Sir Roger is vexed.’

Geoffrey was relieved, though. Ulfrith was a liability in a fight, because, unlike Bale, he did not possess the necessary aggression to become a soldier, and Geoffrey was constantly aware of the need to protect him. Moreover, he was by nature an honest, innocent lad, and Geoffrey did not like the fact that Roger was teaching him bad habits. Ulfrith would do better with another master – or, better still, by returning to his former life as a farmer.

Bale cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘I think he stole your dog, sir,’ he began worriedly. ‘Because he is nowhere to be found, either.’

Geoffrey did not think that likely: the dog was not pleasant company.

‘Do you know why Ulfrith left?’ he asked. The dog would appear in its own good time; he knew its habits too well to share Bale’s concern.

Bale shrugged. ‘Well, there was a girl in that group of pilgrims from Southampton who caught his eye. Perhaps he went after her.’

‘Good,’ said Geoffrey, kicking his horse into a gallop. ‘He was far too gentle to be a soldier.’

‘Not like me, then,’ said Bale, trotting after him. ‘I am not gentle.’

‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey under his breath. ‘You are not.’

It was nearly three days before the King’s letters were ready, during which time Geoffrey became increasingly irate with Eudo. Meanwhile, Roger fretted and fumed over Ulfrith’s desertion.

‘How dare he leave without so much as a word!’ he snarled.

‘Especially with my dog,’ agreed Geoffrey. He found he missed the dog and wished Ulfrith had stolen something else.

‘I doubt Ulfrith chose to take that thing,’ said Roger disparagingly. ‘I imagine it decided it would have a better life with Ulfrith, and that was the end of the matter. It was never loyal to you. Just like Ulfrith was not to me, it seems. Damn the boy! He swore to serve me.’

‘Take Bale instead,’ suggested Geoffrey hopefully. His tenants at Goodrich would not thank him for bringing the man home.

‘I might,’ snapped Roger. ‘Because it is your fault we are still here. If we had slipped away on a ship as I suggested, we would be halfway to the Holy Land by now, Ulfrith with us.’

‘I cannot go to the Holy Land,’ said Geoffrey, becoming impatient in his turn. ‘How many more times must I say it? I swore a vow.’

Roger opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the arrival of one of Eudo’s scribes, who came to say that Geoffrey was to report immediately to the Chapter House. Not sorry to be free of his friend’s testy company, Geoffrey walked there quickly, then sighed when he was ordered to wait because Eudo was out.

‘The letters are ready,’ said a portly Benedictine clerk named Pepin, pointing to a leather pouch on the table. ‘But he told me not to let you have them until he returned. He promised to be back before sext, so I cannot imagine where he might be. He is not normally late.’

‘Of course not,’ said Geoffrey, suspecting he would soon be told to return the following morning. It had not escaped his attention that most of the other petitioners had left, and his commission was one of the last to be completed.

‘No, really,’ said Pepin earnestly. ‘He is always extremely punctual, and it is not his fault you have been delayed. Indeed, he is anxious to get rid of this particular parcel.’

‘Oh?’ asked Geoffrey, instantly suspicious. ‘Why? Does it contain anything dangerous for the carrier?’

Pepin reached out to finger the material of Geoffrey’s surcoat. ‘You are a Jerosolimitanus, so nothing will trouble you. I heard that only the most dedicated warriors returned alive.’

That was true, although more soldiers had died from disease, thirst and starvation than in skirmishes with enemies. Geoffrey was not proud of what the Crusaders had done in other lands, and had considered abandoning the surcoat. Unfortunately, he, like all Tancred’s officers, had taken a vow to wear it whenever he donned armour.

‘Look inside the pouch,’ he suggested, when more time had passed and there was still no sign of Eudo. ‘To ensure everything is there. It would be unfortunate if I were to arrive in Kermerdyn and find someone forgot to put one of the missives in.’

Pepin bristled. ‘We may be slow, but we are not incompetent. I assure you, the package contains exactly what the King ordered us to include. No more and no less.’

‘Show me,’ ordered Geoffrey.

‘I suppose I can oblige, although you cannot take them until Eudo arrives.’

‘The letters,’ prompted Geoffrey.

Pepin opened the pouch and removed the contents. ‘There are five of them-’

‘ Five?’ interrupted Geoffrey. ‘The King told me there would be three.’

‘He changed his mind,’ said Pepin. ‘There is no point sending a second messenger when you can take the other two as well. Here is the first. It is the thickest and is for Bishop Wilfred. It tells him that some of his parish churches now belong to La Batailge – that the tithes accruing from them will come to this abbey, rather than to his own coffers.’

‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Geoffrey. ‘No prelate will be happy to receive that sort of news.’

‘No,’ said Pepin smugly. ‘I imagine he will be furious. But this endowment will make La Batailge the fifteenth richest house in England.’

‘I am sure Wilfred will be delighted to hear it,’ said Geoffrey acidly. ‘Especially as his See is in Wales. He will not mind his resources leeched away to fund already-wealthy houses.’

‘Has anyone ever told you that you have a caustic tongue?’ asked Pepin. ‘And it is not becoming in a man who has set eyes on the holiness of Jerusalem.’

‘Forgive me,’ said Geoffrey sourly.