A Dead Man's secret

Nine

Lanothni, Near Kermerdyn, Late October 1103

It was the end of another glorious day. The setting sun was a glowing amber ball in a haze of blue sky and salmon-tinged clouds, which presaged well for the morning. A blackbird sang somewhere in the forest, its voice a clear, clean trill above the lower murmur of the river, and the air was rich with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. Geoffrey breathed in deeply, feeling the satisfaction of having travelled a decent distance that day.

It had been two days since the last attack, although he was too experienced a traveller to assume their assailants had given up. He still had no idea what led the motley band to harry them with such dogged determination – another six skirmishes ensued after the incident in the barn – and he could only conclude that one of his companions had done something seriously wrong in Brechene. But no one would admit it, and he had other matters to occupy his thoughts.

He had concluded that William fitz Baldwin had been murdered seven years before, and the poison had almost certainly been in the butter. Despite Delwyn’s efforts to make him think otherwise, he strongly suspected that the killer was from a pool of Delwyn, Sear, Gwgan, Cornald and Pulchria. He had discounted Edward, Alberic, Leah and Richard – the first three because they had either been away or confined to bed when William had become ill, and Richard because it was clear he had loved his brother far too deeply to have harmed him.

Geoffrey had reached no firm conclusions about William’s secret, however. Sear and Alberic thought it was a mystical weapon; Mabon had believed it was something that had happened in the river, perhaps a vision; Pulchria still maintained William had discovered a potent herb; and Delwyn said it was a gift from the Virgin Mary. Richard also thought the Blessed Virgin was involved, and Cornald continued to claim that William had learned how to eat himself happy. Edward was firm in his conviction that there was no secret, and Gwgan laughingly asserted that William’s saintliness was all to do with him being in Wales.

As regards Mabon’s murder, Geoffrey’s suspects were Sear, Gwgan, Cornald, Pulchria and Alberic. He was inclined to dismiss Richard, Edward and Leah on the grounds of Father Adrian’s testimony, and Delwyn had too much to lose by his abbot’s death.

He was also convinced that Eudo had indeed tampered with his letters to Tancred, and he was now even more determined to travel to the Holy Land and set matters right – the moment Maurice released him from his vow. He had mulled over Eudo’s untimely demise, too, and thought it not entirely impossible that Eudo’s killer was among his travelling companions. One of them had killed William and Mabon, so why not Eudo?

The party was quiet that day, each longing for the journey to end. Roger, riding at the front next to him, had enjoyed a late night in a brothel and was still suffering from an excess of wine. So were Sear and Alberic, who were bringing up the rear.

In the middle, Edward was entertaining Pulchria and Leah with an amusing story, while Richard slouched next to him. Gwgan was with Hilde, listening to embarrassing revelations about Isabella’s childhood with an indulgent smile. Behind them, Delwyn was gabbling at Cornald, who was pretending to be asleep.

‘I have enjoyed the journey from Brechene,’ said Roger eventually. ‘I like a decent skirmish.’

‘I do not – not when my wife is with me.’

‘Eight separate incidents,’ said Roger. ‘Each one fiercer and more determined than the last.’

‘It is a pity Edward’s soldiers were ill,’ said Geoffrey. ‘They would have been useful.’

‘Not if they fight like him,’ said Roger scathingly. ‘Although I suppose his quick thinking did prevent Hilde and the others from being cut down in the barn.’

‘And he saved her in the first attack,’ added Geoffrey. ‘He may not be a warrior, but there is no question of his courage.’

‘Aye,’ acknowledged Roger reluctantly. ‘And Sear, Alberic and Richard cannot be faulted in that respect, either. Gwgan has proved himself useful, too. He may not be a knight, but he is better in a fight than any other politician I have met.’

‘He might not have survived the journey, had he not been,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Every one of the ambushes has concentrated on dispatching anyone in a white surcoat first.’

‘I noticed that, too. So I told him to wear something else, but he pointed out that it would be mean more arrows for the rest of us – that it would be numerically safer if the attacks were aimed at seven men, rather than six.’

‘I hope they do not harry us on the way home,’ said Geoffrey.

‘There will be no trouble going home,’ said Roger with utter conviction. ‘Because you will not have the letters. I have been thinking about it for several days now, and I am sure I am right.’

Geoffrey blinked. ‘What are you talking about? Robbers are not interested in what Henry has to say to vassals. Or do you think they are interested in preventing Maurice from telling Isabella where to buy raisins?’

Roger shot him an unpleasant look. ‘It is obvious from our baggage that we carry little of value – unless you happen to have a penchant for rotting corpses.’

‘I told you – they probably see the coffin as a ruse.’

‘But they have been nowhere near the coffin – they aimed for us. Besides, how many robbers do you know who wear armour? They are soldiers, not outlaws, and they were after the letters.’

‘That is not possible, Roger. No one but you and Hilde knows I have them.’

‘Delwyn found out about the one to his abbot, and you gave missives to Gwgan and Richard in Goodrich. I would say it is obvious that you have more. Why else would you be going to Kermerdyn?’

Geoffrey gazed at him. Was he right? But ambushing a cavalcade of six knights seemed an extreme way to prevent them from being delivered – and they had had no trouble at all between La Batailge and Brechene. Or did that explain why the attacks had concentrated on the knights, rather than the baggage cart; the intention was to kill the King’s messenger, but all knights tended to look alike, so the villains were obliged to target them all?

‘Do you still have them?’ asked Roger. ‘They have not fallen out?’

‘No,’ replied Geoffrey shortly.

It was not the first time Roger had posed the question, and it was beginning to make him nervous: he found himself constantly checking they were still there. He was not overly concerned about the one to Mabon’s successor, but he suspected Henry would be furious if Wilfred’s was lost, given that it involved money. And he was beginning to suspect that Sear’s was important, too, or Henry would not have issued such peculiar instructions for its delivery.

‘Good,’ said Roger. ‘The moment you have handed them over, we shall take the first ship we can find. Tancred will forgive you for any misunderstandings and will welcome us into his service. And then you will never have to accept a commission from Henry again.’

‘And what about my wife?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Do I abandon her in Kermerdyn?’

Roger shrugged. ‘From our experiences so far, I would suggest she is safer without you. Or perhaps Tancred will find her a post. With a few women like Hilde in his army, he would not need the likes of us.’

It was not long before the forest track emerged into more open countryside, where farmers had cleared away trees for crops. It was good land, made fertile by the meandering River Tywi, and the stubble indicated the harvest had been good that year.

‘Lanothni,’ said Hilde, pointing along the track to where a huddle of houses clustered around a simple little church. ‘I remember it from when I last visited my sister. The beds were clean, although the food left something to be desired.’

She urged her horse forward to lead the way. People came out of their houses to stare, unused to such large parties. Geoffrey saw recognition flash in the eyes of several when they settled on Hilde, and supposed she had said or done something to be remembered. He braced himself for trouble – she could be sharp-tongued when something displeased her. Unerringly, she rode towards the handsome building that stood next to the church. It was neat, clean, and had a tiled roof. A man emerged to see what was going on.

‘Lady Hilde,’ he said, his face falling. He swallowed audibly. ‘What a… a nice surprise.’

Hilde inclined her head. ‘And your name is Fychan.’

‘Yes,’ said the man uneasily. ‘Landlord of this fine inn. Will you be wanting to stay again? Despite all the complaints you levied last time?’

‘I imagine you have rectified those,’ said Hilde loftily. ‘You have had two years.’

Fychan gulped again, then shouted for boys to come and tend to the horses. The travellers dismounted and followed him into a low-ceilinged chamber, full of wood-smoke and the scent of roasting meat. There were fresh rushes on the floor, and the dogs that lounged near the fire were clean and sleek. It was far nicer than anywhere else they had stopped, and Geoffrey felt hopeful it would meet his wife’s exacting demands.

Hilde looked around appraisingly. ‘Yes,’ she said eventually. ‘It will suffice.’

Villagers were ousted from the tables nearest the hearth to make room for the newcomers, although Geoffrey would have preferred a seat by the door. It was warm in the room, and he knew he would quickly become uncomfortable in armour and padded surcoat. Politely, Edward saw the ladies and Delwyn settled, then claimed the next best seat for himself, quickly divesting himself of what little armour he wore and exchanging it for a long robe that matched his gloves.

‘You have been here before, too, sir,’ said Fychan, addressing Sear as he served his guests with a platter of roasted meat, bread and a peculiar mash of boiled vegetables that Geoffrey suspected had been prepared for the pigs. ‘I recognize your fine warhorse.’

‘The King gave it to me,’ replied Sear smugly. ‘I am one of his favourites. Which is why it is strange that Geoffrey was entrusted with the business His Majesty wanted done in Kermerdyn. There was no need for him to have made this journey.’

‘Well, I am glad he did,’ said Hilde mildly. ‘It has been two years since I saw Isabella, and I am eager to know how she fares.’

‘Is she anything like you?’ asked Roger, a little warily.

‘No,’ replied Hilde shortly. ‘She is thinner.’

‘She shares your love of cleanliness, though,’ said Alberic. ‘Gwgan’s home is always spotless. And your love of water has certainly rendered Geoffrey more congenial company, Lady Hilde. He let himself grow filthy between La Batailge and Goodrich, but now he wears clean clothes, shaves, and even washes on occasion.’

This was certainly true – Hilde’s fastidiousness extended to her husband as well as taverns – but Geoffrey did not think it was polite of Alberic to remark on it.

‘Then you could do with a wife, too,’ said Hilde frostily, before her husband could respond. ‘Do not criticize Geoffrey when you leave rather a lot to be desired yourself.’

‘Nonsense!’ cried Alberic, stung. ‘I washed just a week ago. Geoffrey, on the other hand, would probably not have seen a bowl of water since he left the Holy Land, were it not for you.’

‘Well, he is perfectly tidy now, and we should say no more on the matter,’ said Edward, ever tactful. ‘I should like to visit the Holy Land. Will you tell us about it, Geoffrey?’

‘ I will,’ offered Roger eagerly. ‘It is a lovely place, full of willing whores and fabulous brothels. What are the brothels like in Kermerdyn? Are they worth visiting?’

‘I would not know,’ said Edward in distaste. ‘I do not frequent such places.’

‘I do,’ said Sear. ‘The one by the church is better than the one in the market.’

‘Is it?’ asked Richard, startled. ‘I always thought it was the other way around. Of course, I have not visited a brothel in years – not since I was married. You should take a wife, Roger. You will find they are cheaper than whores. I would not be without mine.’

‘I imagine that rather depends on the wife,’ said Delwyn, lips pursed.

‘And the whores,’ drawled Gwgan, smothering a smile.

Talk of whores reminded Geoffrey of Pulchria, and he looked for her, but she was not in the tavern. Bale was still outside seeing to the horses, and Geoffrey stifled a sigh, knowing the woman was taking advantage of the situation. Cornald had not seemed to have noticed her absence and was stretching his plump hands towards the fire, humming to himself.

‘Richard knows as much about brothels as he does about soldiering,’ said Sear unpleasantly. ‘You want to listen to me, Roger. I know what I am talking about.’

‘I have a headache,’ said Leah quickly, as Richard surged to his feet, sword half out of its scabbard. ‘Will you take me upstairs, husband? I need to rest.’

Richard obliged, although he did so reluctantly; it was clear he would much rather have challenged Sear. Geoffrey thought Leah was right to distract him: Richard was competent, but Sear would chop him into pieces.

‘Is there anything in the Holy Land besides brothels?’ asked Cornald pleasantly. ‘There must be plenty of churches.’

‘Churches?’ echoed Roger in disbelief. ‘You do not want to hear about those! But do you remember Abdul’s Pleasure Palace, Geoff?’

Because they had stopped early, a long evening lay ahead of them. Geoffrey’s descriptions of Jerusalem’s churches had intrigued Gwgan, who responded about some in Wales. Edward added several intelligent observations, and the three of them were soon deep into a complex analysis of flying buttresses and crown posts. The others quickly grew bored.

Cornald berated Delwyn for leaving Abbot Mabon in the yard when there was a church to hand, and Delwyn responded with a snipe about Cornald not being in a position to offer advice about how to look after others when he was so patently bad at it himself. Cornald looked bewildered, although it gave Roger an idea. He jumped to his feet and made a feeble excuse about taking the air. Moments later, Bale appeared, rumpled and sullen. Sear and Alberic settled to a game of dice, and Richard joined them when he returned from settling Leah. The atmosphere around the three of them was tense and icy, and Geoffrey suspected it would not be long before there was a fight.

‘You will be pleased to see Hywel, I warrant,’ said Edward amiably to Gwgan. ‘I am sure you will want to know what has been happening in your absence.’

Gwgan smiled. ‘I will be glad to see him. He is like a brother to me, and I am proud to serve as his counsellor. But he does not require constant monitoring. He is wise, just and good, and there is no man I trust more to rule a kingdom.’

‘William was the same,’ said Edward, nodding. ‘Perhaps living at Rhydygors brings out the best in people.’

‘Or Hywel has inherited William’s secret,’ probed Geoffrey.

‘There is no secret,’ said Edward. ‘I have told you this already – it is a silly tale invented by foolishly gullible minds to explain something they cannot understand. Namely that some men do suddenly reflect on their past lives and decide it is time to turn over a new leaf.’

Gwgan agreed. ‘And if there is a secret, then it lies in the fact that this is Wales. Hywel is a good man, but he was decent long before he was given Rhydygors.’

‘He did not undergo some miraculous change, then?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Like William?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Gwgan. ‘Hywel has always been decent.’

‘In what way?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘Well, his men admire him and will follow him into any battle – as you will have heard last summer, when he fought on the Marches for Henry. He inspires confidence and respect, and he has an affable, likable disposition. He is compassionate to those less fortunate than himself, he is devout, and he exudes an aura of fairness that tells men he will deal honestly with them.’

‘It is true,’ agreed Edward. ‘You will like him, Geoffrey. Indeed, I would go as far to say that there is no man – Norman, English or Welsh – that I would sooner have as a neighbour. But it is getting late, and my wound still pains me. I shall bid you goodnight.’

Gwgan stood and stretched, too. ‘I am weary, too. But I have friends in the village, so will stay with them tonight. This tavern is too small for all of us, and I am tired of sharing a chamber with Sear and Alberic. They both snore.’

‘So does Leah,’ said Richard, overhearing. ‘Especially when she has taken her medicines. I will join you.’

As they opened the door to leave, Roger stepped inside, straightening his surcoat and pulling straw from his hair. Immediately, Bale aimed for the door, but Geoffrey was disinclined to stop him. If Cornald chose to be blind to his wife’s antics, then that was his affair.

‘I heard what Gwgan and Edward were telling you about Hywel,’ said Alberic, looking up from his dice. ‘It is true: he is a fine man.’

‘He is,’ agreed Sear. ‘He was awarded Rhydygors at the same time I was granted Pembroc, so we travelled to Westminster together. It gave us time to get to know each other. He is brave, as well as noble. Like me, he fought courageously on the Marches. You two were there, too, I understand.’

The implication was that Roger and Geoffrey had not performed well enough to have been rewarded. Roger immediately bristled, but Geoffrey laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

‘It is very warm in here,’ he said, to change the subject. ‘I am surprised you think it necessary to have such an enormous blaze, Master Fychan.’

Fychan glared at Hilde. ‘Yes, but, unfortunately, I have been told by visitors that a welcoming fire makes an important first impression. And I dare not disagree.’

‘That was because I was here in winter,’ said Hilde with a sigh. ‘And a dead hearth is not something a traveller wants to see when she arrives cold and wet.’

She and Fychan began to argue about the proper heights for fires at various times of year, and when Sear and Roger added their opinions, the conversation quickly grew acrimonious. Geoffrey did not join in. Now they were almost at their destination – Kermerdyn was no more than eight miles distant – he found himself pondering yet again about the tasks the King had set him. He let the angry voices wash over him, abrogating responsibility to Hilde to prevent spillages of blood.

Eventually, when he could stand the heat and the bickering no longer, Geoffrey rose, muttering about checking his destrier. He stood outside, breathing in deeply of the smoke-scented air, which carried with it a hint of frost in the offing as daylight faded to dusk. Then he went to the stable, reaching for his dagger when he saw two figures lurking in an empty stall.

‘Go inside, Bale,’ he ordered curtly, not liking to imagine what would have been said if it had been Cornald coming to look at the horses.

Head down so he would not have to meet his master’s eyes, Bale scuttled away. Pulchria was less easily intimidated, though.

‘You have no right to interfere,’ she hissed.

‘I have every right: Bale is my squire. But it is cold and dark out here, so I recommend you go inside, too. Doubtless your husband will be pleased to see you.’

He treated her hate-filled glower with the contempt it deserved, turning his back on her and giving his attention to his horse. A moment later, he heard her stamp towards the door. He spent a little while with the animal, rubbing its nose and checking its legs for signs of damage, but the raised voices from the inn were distracting. Craving silence, he walked towards the river.

The Tywi was wide and shallow, with golden stones littering its bottom and the occasional waving frond of green weed. It wound across a wide valley, much of which was cultivated, although he suspected it was prone to flood, when it would lose its gentleness and become a raging torrent. Two uprooted trees nearby indicated it probably happened frequently.

He thought about Roger’s contention that the attacks they had suffered since leaving Brechene were connected to the King’s letters. Roger had been concerned from the first ambush that the attack had concentrated on the knights, but Geoffrey had argued it was because their assailants wanted to eliminate the warriors before turning to the easier business of dealing with the women, servants, Cornald and Delwyn. But did Roger have a point?

Delwyn was sloppy in his care of Mabon’s coffin, and it would have been easy for thieves to make off with it at night, assuming – as Geoffrey believed – that they thought it was filled with treasure. Yet they had never bothered. Did it mean the ambushers were after something else? But, surely, no one could be interested in a letter to Wilfred about the transfer of property or an order telling Mabon to obey the Bishop, or in whatever was written in the missive to Sear?

Geoffrey sighed. More urgent was the fact that he was almost in Kermerdyn, and although he had spent weeks in company with people he suspected had killed William, Mabon and possibly Eudo, he was no nearer finding the truth. Soon they would part company, and he would never have answers for the King.

As he stared at the river, he became aware that one of the stones was an odd shape. He leaned down to retrieve it, plunging his arm up to the elbow in cold water. He was startled to find it was a small statue. He had seen similar ones in Italy, carved by the Romans, and he recalled Gwgan telling him that Romans had visited Kermerdyn and established a fort there. He gazed at the little sculpture, awed to be holding something that had been crafted hundreds of years before.

It was a pretty piece, and he recognized in it Aphrodite’s alluring beauty. It was made of marble, and when he rubbed it on his surcoat, the algae came off to reveal the white underneath. It was not very big, although too large to close his fingers around. He decided to keep it and present it to Hilde at some opportune moment. Perhaps this pagan charm would help her conceive, given that prayers in churches did not seem to be working.

He was about to return to the tavern when he saw Delwyn walking towards him. The monk was pulling uncomfortably at his habit, and his face was red. Geoffrey was not the only one who had found the room unpleasantly close.

‘Your return to Kermerdyn tomorrow will be tainted by sadness,’ said Geoffrey, thinking he had better remind Delwyn that he was sorry Mabon had died while a guest in his home. He did not want the abbey being told he did not care, so they could complain to the King about him. ‘I wish that we had brought his killer to justice.’

‘It would have been good to string the villain up,’ agreed Delwyn. ‘He condemned me to a miserable journey, because it has not been pleasant, toting a rotting corpse around.’

Geoffrey tried to conceal his distaste for the man’s selfishness. ‘It will be a sad homecoming, regardless of odours. I imagine Mabon was popular.’

‘Then you would be wrong. He was rather worldly, and most of my brethren will be delighted to learn he is no longer with us. Especially Ywain.’ Delwyn looked concerned. ‘I hope he does not think I killed Mabon.’

‘Why would he think that?’

‘Because I was always complaining about the fact that Mabon would insist on aggravating Wilfred. But he was wrong to annoy the Bishop – it is no way to ensure we are left alone.’

‘Left alone?’ asked Geoffrey, puzzled

‘Allowed to exist,’ elaborated Delwyn. ‘Without Normans coming along and trying to turn us into Benedictines or Cistercians. We are happy as we are, but Mabon’s belligerence was a danger.’

‘Will Ywain be less confrontational?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Delwyn bitterly. ‘He is no brash fool. But I would like to impress him anyway. Please give me the letter from the Archbishop, Sir Geoffrey. He will be much more kindly disposed towards me if he sees the King trusted me with it.’

‘I cannot,’ said Geoffrey shortly. He did not want yet another debate on the subject.

‘Do you have any more?’ asked Delwyn rather desperately. ‘You must have a missive for Hywel. He is the most important man in this region, after all. Give me the one for him.’

Geoffrey shook his head, hoping Hywel would not be offended when he learned that Henry had not deigned to acknowledge him.

Delwyn sighed heavily. ‘You are a hard man, Sir Geoffrey. I can only pray that it will not count against you when your sins are weighed on Judgement Day. And that may come sooner than you think, given the way that you court danger.’

‘I do not court danger,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether he was being threatened.

Delwyn regarded him haughtily. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

And, with that enigmatic remark, he sauntered away.

Hilde had obtained four separate chambers on the upper floor, with hay-filled stable lofts for the servants. Geoffrey was uncomfortable when Hilde confided that the one for them was the landlord’s own, but she assured him that Fychan had not minded going to sleep in the kitchen.

Privacy was rare while travelling, and it was not often they had the luxury of a separate room. Usually, Roger and Bale were with them, which Geoffrey did not mind – it was safer with three of them listening for signs of trouble as they slept – although Hilde was less sanguine about the arrangement and preferred nights when they could be alone.

‘I shall be glad when Roger leaves,’ she remarked, as she doused the candle and slid into the bed, in the now pitch-black room. ‘God save us, Geoffrey! You are still wearing boots and full armour! We will not make an heir with fifty pounds of steel and leather between us.’

‘You want me to take them off?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily. He rarely divested himself of his mail when travelling.

‘If you would not mind. Besides, I am cold, and snuggling up to metal is hardly pleasant.’

‘I would not know,’ muttered Geoffrey, prising himself out of the bed to oblige. It did not take long, although he felt cold and strangely naked without his mail, and shivered as he climbed back into the bed. Then he winced. ‘Are you still wearing a dagger?’

‘I like one readily available on a journey,’ she replied, placing an ice-cold hand on his stomach. He was hard-pressed not to fling it off, and strongly suspected the gesture was more to warm it up than for affection.

‘Why will you be glad when Roger leaves?’ he asked.

Hilde sighed. ‘I know you have been through many battles together and saved each other’s lives more often than you can count, but I cannot take to him. He is uncouth, greedy, dishonest and ruthless. Did you know that he regularly rifles through your saddlebags?’

‘Yes.’ It was a habit Roger had acquired in the Holy Land. Geoffrey did not care, because he rarely had anything that Roger coveted, but Hilde objected to her possessions being mauled. ‘However, he is not doing the searching now – it is Delwyn, although he denies it.’

‘Roger is always saying that your literacy is a skill learned from the Devil,’ Hilde went on, declining to be sidetracked. ‘And Bale said that, in Brechene, he even paid a witch for a spell to make you forget how to read. He thinks that if you are stupid, Henry will leave you alone.’

‘Then he will want his money back,’ said Geoffrey, laughing. ‘Because the spell did not work.’

‘Spells are dangerous,’ said Hilde angrily. ‘I shall never forgive him if you are turned into a drooling idiot.’

There was not much to be said to such a remark, so Geoffrey closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him. Hilde had other ideas.

‘Are you comfortable with him releasing you from your vow?’

‘What?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering whether he had dropped off and missed some vital part of the conversation. ‘Roger?’

‘Bishop Maurice,’ said Hilde impatiently. ‘From what I hear, he is rather worldly, and God may not accept his intervention. You may bring His wrath down on yourself. Or on Goodrich.’

Geoffrey rubbed his chin. ‘I know. I have never broken a vow before – it is why I keep wearing my Crusader’s surcoat, when common sense urges anonymity. I did not know sacred oaths could be retracted until Maurice told me it was possible.’

‘Well, you did swear it against your will. But you must be sure that Maurice does possess the authority to absolve you, because if you make a mistake, you might have to undertake another Crusade to make up for it. And I would miss you.’

He could tell from her voice that she was smiling, and wished he could see her face, because it was an expressive one. He found himself wanting to know whether she was smiling fondly, or whether she was teasing him and rather liked the idea of an absent husband. He moved towards her, then wished he had not when her dagger jabbed him a second time.

‘Perhaps I should make you promise not to leave me until we have an heir,’ she said. ‘That would keep you safely in England, especially as it seems a somewhat lengthy process.’

‘We could try again now,’ he suggested.

Immediately, there came the sound of laces being unfastened and brooches being unsnapped. While he waited, Geoffrey listened to the other sounds of the night – an owl in the distance, the wind in the eaves. Roger, Alberic and Sear were still in the room below; their voices were loud, and he could tell they were drunk. Out in the stables, a horse whinnied suddenly, and he supposed Bale and Pulchria were using the stable again.

He thought a floorboard creaked outside their door, but Hilde hurled some garment to the floor at the same time, and he could not be sure. He sat up abruptly, straining to hear, then flopped back again when his head cracked against Hilde’s in the darkness.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded angrily. ‘That really hurt.’

Geoffrey signalled for her to be quiet, but she did not see him and continued to berate him in a voice that made it difficult to hear anything else.

‘Hush!’ he snapped. ‘I thought I heard something.’

At that moment, there was a cheer from downstairs, followed by a lot of jeering. Roger had won something – no great surprise, given that he always cheated.

‘I really will be glad when he is no longer with us,’ Hilde muttered.

Geoffrey sat up a second time when the merest of draughts touched his cheek; he knew the door was open. Reacting instinctively, he grabbed Hilde and hauled her off the bed, snatching the dagger from her belt as he did so. At the same time, he heard something thud into the mattress. Most other women would have screeched indignantly about being hurled around in the dark, but Hilde was blessedly silent. There was an advantage to marrying a woman who was a warrior.

Geoffrey was also silent. Then he heard the creak of a floorboard, this time to his left. He stabbed with the dagger, thinking that if someone was coming to rob them, then any injuries were the culprit’s own fault.

He heard a grunt as the blade connected, although he could not tell whether it had done any harm. He stepped forward, to place himself between the invader and Hilde. There was another creak, and he lunged again. This time, the dagger met thin air, but something crashed into his shoulder, making him stagger. He went on the offensive, suspecting he might not survive if he confined himself to defensive manoeuvres. He struck out wildly, moving towards the door as he did so, aiming to haul it open and yell for Roger.

Then something cracked into his head, and he saw stars. He lunged again, but he was disoriented, and the blow lacked the vigour of the previous ones. He had his attackers on the run, though, because he could hear footsteps moving away. He tried to estimate how many sets of feet, but it was difficult to be sure.

He sensed rather than saw someone flail at him, and fought by instinct, predicting which way the blows would come and parrying them with his forearm as he jabbed with the dagger. There was a howl and a curse, and then more footsteps. He became aware of Hilde next to him. She grabbed his arm, and he felt his sword shoved into his hand.

Howling his Saracen battle cry, he charged forward and saw at least three shadows in the hallway. How many were there, given that several had already fled? He swiped wildly, but he was dizzy and blood dripped into his eyes. He brushed it away impatiently, then whipped around when he heard someone behind him. A blow across the shoulders drove him to his knees.

He was not sure what happened next. He tried to tell Roger to give chase, but he could not make himself heard over the racket. He attempted to go himself, but his legs would not support him. He thought he heard Sear and Alberic coming to report that the culprits had disappeared, and was also aware of Pulchria regarding him in a distinctly unfriendly manner. Surely, she had not organized the attack, because she had objected to him depriving her of Bale?

He rubbed his head, knowing his wits were not working clearly. However, he was not so muddled as to miss the fact that the attackers had ignored everyone else in the tavern and come after him. Perhaps Roger’s theory about the letters was not so wild after all, and what he had feared from the first was coming to pass: that there was more danger in the King’s errand than Henry had led him to believe.