A Dead Man's secret

Eleven

‘Shields!’ yelled Geoffrey at the top of his voice. Like the warriors they were, Sear, Alberic and Richard heeded the warning without hesitation, which saved the lives of all as a hail of missiles came towards them. Geoffrey spurred his horse forward, aiming to put himself between the attackers and Hilde.

It was a mark of the frequency of the ambushes that the company knew exactly what to do. Hilde took charge of Pulchria, Leah, Delwyn and the servants, hauling them behind Mabon’s cart. Cornald joined them, crossbow at the ready, and he began to return fire as quickly as it could be wound. Sear, Alberic and Richard formed a tight cluster, using their shields to protect each other and themselves, and Gwgan galloped to join Geoffrey. Edward was the only one who dithered, looking back and forth like a trapped rat as he assessed which way to run.

‘Here!’ yelled Geoffrey, seeing he was going to be shot if he stayed where he was. ‘Now!’

Edward’s horse heard the urgency in Geoffrey’s voice, even if its rider was slow to obey, and cantered towards him. Edward gripped the pommel of his saddle to prevent himself from falling off, and a distant part of Geoffrey’s mind wondered how the King could have knighted a man with such dismal equestrian skills.

‘There!’ shouted Roger, stabbing a finger towards a thickly wooded copse. ‘Half are lurking there, and the rest are by the bend in the track.’

‘Attack!’ roared Sear, spurring his way towards the corner. ‘We have reacted defensively for long enough.’

Geoffrey was sure it was proximity to Kermerdyn that induced Sear to make such a rash decision. He was drawing breath to order him back when Roger broke formation and galloped towards the wood. Alberic and Richard tore after Sear, so Geoffrey had no choice but to support his friend. He was aware of Gwgan behind him, armed with a short stabbing sword.

Cursing under his breath – a wood was no place for mounted warriors, and the ambushers held all the advantages – Geoffrey plunged into the trees. He cursed even more when he became aware that the ground was thick with fallen leaves, hiding ruts and roots that were likely to see the horses stumble and their riders thrown. He began to howl his Saracen battle-cry, hoping that its strangeness would unsettle the attackers. The ploy worked, and several promptly turned and crashed through the undergrowth ahead in a bid to escape.

Unfortunately, rather more remained, and the continued hail of arrows indicated they were not about to give up. Geoffrey’s horse whinnied in pain as one scored a furrow across its chest; another glanced off his helmet. When he reached a section where the trees grew more thickly, hampering him further still, men poured out to do battle with him, hacking at his destrier and his legs in equal measure.

It was unlike the other attacks, when the action had been broken off relatively quickly. This time, there was a grim determination – desperation even – among the men who surged forward against him. But even without being able to manoeuvre, his horse gave him height, and he was devastating with his sword, slashing and chopping at anyone rash enough to come within his reach. His destrier, too, had been well trained and began to flail with its front hoofs at those who pressed around it.

Gradually, the ambushers began to fall back, although one continued a frenzy of blows. He howled furiously at his retreating comrades, and several returned to help him. Geoffrey launched another assault that scattered them, then concentrated on the man he was sure was the leader. He lunged with his sword, and when the man was off balance, followed it with a kick that took him in the chest. The fellow flew through the air and landed awkwardly, gasping for breath. Ignoring any knight’s cardinal rule – never to dismount in battle – Geoffrey leapt off his destrier and ran to press his sword against the man’s throat.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘Speak, and I will let you live.’

‘Go to hell,’ snarled the man, although Geoffrey could see fear in his eyes. He pressed down on the sword.

‘I will ask you once more. Who are you?’

‘I am-’

But the rest of his sentence was lost in a cry of agony as an arrow thumped into the man’s neck. Blood sprayed, and Geoffrey knew the fellow would not be revealing any deathbed secrets. He whipped around, scanning the trees, shield held in front of him. Had one of the man’s own comrades killed him to ensure he did not betray them? Or, he thought grimly, as a quarrel pounded into his shield, had they made a mistake and actually been aiming at him?

The fight had isolated him from his companions, although he could hear sounds of battle to his left. Keeping his shield raised, he ran towards it, unwilling to stay pinned down. He exploded into a clearing with another howl, and the sight of him caused several men to break from where they had been skirmishing with Roger and run for their lives.

Geoffrey’s horse had followed him, so he mounted it quickly and rode to his friend’s side. Roger was breathing hard and held his arm awkwardly.

‘Arrow,’ he muttered.

‘Go back to Hilde,’ ordered Geoffrey. ‘I will find the others.’

Roger wheeled around and was gone, leaving Geoffrey to penetrate farther into the woods. He was angry. It was foolish for experienced knights to let themselves be lured into such terrain, and he wondered what Sear, Alberic and Richard thought they were doing.

He found Sear first. One of the attackers lay dead at his horse’s feet, although he looked to have been shot, whereas Sear only carried a sword. It was curious, but there was no time for questions as more ambushers suddenly poured through the trees.

‘Back!’ yelled Sear. ‘Towards the road.’

He turned and thundered away, leaving Geoffrey with no choice but to follow: there were too many for him to tackle alone. Sear burst into another clearing, where Richard was heavily besieged. Most ran away when they saw reinforcements arrive.

They encountered Edward next, sword drawn and bloody, but his face pale. Gwgan materialized suddenly on foot, leading his horse. He was breathless but unhurt.

‘My horse bolted,’ he gasped. ‘I always considered him a steady beast, and he has never baulked at a battle before. I cannot imagine what-’

‘Back to the road,’ Geoffrey ordered urgently, wondering whether they had been enticed into the woods on purpose, so as to leave the cart unattended.

But he need not have worried. The cart was unscathed and so was Hilde. Roger was sitting on it as she and Leah tended his arm, although he had refused to relinquish either sword or shield while they did so. He relaxed his guard when Geoffrey appeared.

‘It is just a scratch,’ he said.

‘Where are Cornald, Pulchria and Delwyn?’ asked Geoffrey, dismounting and inspecting Roger’s wound.

‘Here,’ said Delwyn, arriving suddenly enough to make Geoffrey jump. ‘I told you: I tend to hide at the first sign of trouble. And thank God I did. That attack was the most vicious yet.’

‘It was,’ agreed Roger soberly. He glanced over Geoffrey’s shoulder. ‘And here comes our brave butterer. It does not look as though he dispatched many bolts after we rode into the forest, and God alone knows what Pulchria was doing.’

Geoffrey spoke in a low voice, so only Roger and Hilde could hear. ‘One of the attackers was about to tell me all, but he was shot before he could speak. It may have been an arrow intended for me, but, equally, one of our companions may have loosed it. Sear, Richard and Gwgan were all behaving oddly when I found them, and now Cornald and Pulchria…’

‘What about Edward?’ asked Roger. ‘What was he doing?’

‘He is the one man who cannot be behind these attacks,’ said Hilde. ‘He was wounded outside Brechene – if he had ordered these ambushes, he would have been safe from stray arrows.’

‘What about Delwyn?’ asked Roger. ‘He is sly enough to organize raids on his fellow travellers, and he is desperate to lay his hands on the Archbishop’s letter.’

‘I agree,’ said Hilde. ‘However, I do not trust any of them except Edward. And that includes Alberic, who is missing still. So is Bale.’

‘You had better go and find them,’ said Roger to Geoffrey. ‘We cannot leave until you do, and every moment here is another moment for those villains to regroup and come at us again.’

Aware that Gwgan, Richard and Sear were following, Geoffrey rode back into the trees. Roger had been right to fear another assault, because Geoffrey encountered a group of men who were massing for a second attempt almost immediately. He tore into them, wounding three with his first set of manoeuvres. He was surprised when they did not scatter, and was then hard-pressed to hold his own when they came at him en masse. He was aware of Gwgan at his back, although he had no idea what Richard and Sear were doing.

But none of the attackers was equal to his level of skill, and it was not long before his superior talents began to tell. One man dropped his weapon and ran, and then suddenly it was a rout. Another paused long enough to lob a dagger, which would have hit Gwgan, had Geoffrey not deflected it with his shield.

‘Thank you,’ gasped Gwgan. ‘It would have been a pity to die so close to home.’

As the knifeman had come very close to killing Gwgan, Geoffrey suspected the counsellor was innocent of hiring the men. He was glad. He liked Gwgan and had enjoyed his company. He was pleased Edward was exonerated from suspicion, too, and supposed that if the ambushers were under the command of one of their companions, the only remaining suspects were Sear, Alberic, Cornald and Pulchria. And Delwyn, of course, who had ensured he did not suffer injury by hiding.

Sear and Richard arrived at last, and the remaining attackers fled at the sight of them. A sudden crashing in the undergrowth behind them made Geoffrey whip around with his sword raised, but it was only Bale. Cornald appeared from another direction.

‘The villains have all escaped, sir,’ reported Bale apologetically. ‘I tried to question one, but he declined to answer, so I cut his throat.’

‘And he was definitely not talking after that,’ said Gwgan dryly. ‘I tried to get one to talk, too, but Cornald shot him just as he was opening his mouth to reply.’

‘I shot him because he had a knife,’ declared Cornald. ‘He was beckoning you towards him so he could stab you. I saved your life.’

‘Did you also shoot the one I was talking to?’ Geoffrey asked him.

Cornald shrugged. ‘I may have done. It is difficult to recall what happened – it was all very fast and very nasty. I know I hit several, although I do not think I killed any others. All I can say is thank God we are almost home.’

‘Did I see you leap off your horse earlier, Geoffrey?’ asked Sear smugly. ‘You are lucky to be alive.’

‘I was trying to get answers,’ Geoffrey replied curtly. ‘Like Gwgan and Bale. I imagine we will all be safer once we know who these men are and what they want.’

‘They are just local felons,’ said Edward, coming to join them. ‘They cannot be the same ones who assaulted us before. Why would they follow us so far? It makes no sense.’

‘Unless one of us is involved in something nasty,’ said Richard, looking at no one in particular. ‘The attacks began in Brechene, so perhaps some bad business was conducted there. It was not me, because I was unwell. So was Gwgan. We had eaten that putrid fish soup.’

‘It was not me, either,’ said Sear. ‘I am not involved in anything unsavoury, because the King would expect better of me. Where is Alberic?’

They separated to look for the lost knight, and it was Richard who found him. Alberic was dead, his eyes gazing sightlessly towards the sky.

Sear accepted the death of his friend with no more emotion than a grimace, although he nodded his thanks when Geoffrey and Gwgan helped him put Alberic on the cart with Mabon. Afterwards, they all stood silently for a moment, until Roger reminded them that it would be unwise to linger longer than necessary. His warning galvanized them into action. Geoffrey, Roger and Gwgan reclaimed their horses, Leah packed away her medical supplies, and Hilde rounded up the frightened servants.

‘I say it again,’ said Edward, looking around with a shudder. ‘This would not have happened if my soldiers had been to hand. It was bad business that they were detained in Brechene.’

‘They would have made no difference,’ said Gwgan quietly. ‘These attacks have been ambushes, not frontal assaults. Your men would have done no more than provide additional targets for these archers to shoot at.’

‘You might want to talk less and ride more,’ said Richard sharply. ‘There is no more room on the cart for anyone else.’

It was good, if callous, advice. Geoffrey took up station between Roger and Hilde, ready to protect them again. The big knight was pale and quiet, a sure sign that they needed to find an inn where he could rest.

‘Did you see any of what happened?’ Geoffrey asked of Hilde.

‘Unfortunately, Leah was sobbing so loudly that I was afraid she would draw attention to us,’ said Hilde. ‘Most of my attention was on trying to keep her quiet. However, what little I did see told me that there was a desperation in them that was not present on previous occasions.’

Geoffrey looked at her. ‘I thought the same. Do you believe they were the same ones?’

Hilde nodded. ‘Yes, I do, and I would suggest their remit today was to ensure we did not reach Kermerdyn alive. They were also determined not to answer questions. One let Bale kill him rather than speak; another was too badly injured to move, and was clubbed to death by his fellows.’

‘Cornald shot a man Gwgan was trying to question,’ said Geoffrey uncomfortably. ‘And someone killed the one I was interrogating, too.’

‘It was a mess,’ said Hilde quietly. ‘It was difficult to tell what was happening, and all the time you were fighting, arrows were raining down from the trees. However, I suspect they could have dispatched Delwyn, Leah, Pulchria and me, had they really wanted. They focussed on you.’

‘On me, specifically?’ asked Geoffrey, supposing that Roger’s contention had been right that morning, and the trouble they had experienced since Brechene was connected to the letters. Or perhaps his orders to explore William’s murder and provide the King with a culprit and William’s secret.

Hilde shook her head. ‘No – on all the knights. Did you not notice that they withdrew quickly once Alberic fell?’

‘Did they?’ Geoffrey was not sure how long the skirmish had lasted, nor did he have any notion of when Alberic had died.

Hilde lowered her voice. ‘Sear did not seem overly distressed by his friend’s death, did he?’

‘It is hardly manly to wail and carry on.’

‘I imagine you would have shown more emotion, had it been Roger. You would not shed tears, perhaps, but there would be anger and vows of revenge.’

‘Not in this company,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I would keep my thoughts to myself.’

Hilde shrugged. ‘Well, let us hope we do not have to put it to the test. And if it was Alberic they came for, perhaps we shall be safe from now on.’

Geoffrey nodded to where a bridge lay ahead of them. ‘Fortunately, it does not matter any longer, because we have arrived.’

Kermerdyn nestled near a bend in the River Tywi. It comprised an ancient settlement on a rise, protected by a series of walls and ramparts. Geoffrey supposed they had been built the last time an invading army had foisted itself on the locals, which meant they were several hundred years old.

South of the town was a wharf with several piers, and Geoffrey could tell from the salty smell of the river that it was tidal to the sea. Several substantial ships were moored, indicating Kermerdyn was an important trading centre – there was certainly a bustle about the place that suggested money being made.

A second settlement was springing up in the shadow of the first, ranged along the river, and comprising warehouses and merchants’ homes. There was a wooden bridge across the river, with a tollhouse at its far end. The number of carts trundling across it suggested that the revenues from it alone would be substantial, further enriching the little town.

Just to the east was a walled enclosure dominated by a pretty church, and Geoffrey saw Delwyn cross himself when he saw it. He could only suppose it was Kermerdyn’s abbey, which he would visit when he delivered the Archbishop’s letter to Mabon’s successor.

He usually reserved judgement about the places he visited until he had had time to explore them, but there was something about Kermerdyn that appealed to him instantly. Perhaps it was the fine weather, which bathed it in a welcoming glow, or the warm grey stone from which its houses were built. Or perhaps he was just grateful to have arrived in one piece. Regardless, he found he was eager to look around it and hoped there would be time for leisure once he had finished his work.

‘Personally, I would have built my castle there,’ said Richard, pointing to the ridge above the river, just to the west of the town. ‘I think my brother made a mistake when he raised Rhydygors.’

‘Where is Rhydygors?’ asked Geoffrey, realizing it was nowhere to be seen.

Richard gestured to the east, where a third settlement had sprung up. It was some way down the river and apparently protected a ford across it. All that could be seen from that distance was a motte with a wooden tower on top of it, and a few houses scattered among the nearby trees. Some were large, and he supposed it was where Hywel’s people lived, so they would be close to hand if needed.

‘Well, your brother was a Norman,’ said Delwyn sneeringly. ‘What do you expect?’

‘What do you mean by that?’ demanded Richard, swinging around to glower at him.

‘That a Welshman would have put a fortress nearer the town,’ replied Delwyn, unmoved by his anger. ‘There is no point protecting a ford when there is a perfectly good bridge a mile away. We always thought it was odd. But, then, William was odd when he first arrived.’

‘Odd?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘He was a good man,’ declared Richard hotly. ‘No one should say anything bad about my brother, God rest his sainted soul.’

Delwyn crossed himself. ‘He was a good man, but only after he discovered his secret.’

‘There was no secret,’ said Edward. ‘He invented it to explain his change in character, because none of you would believe he just woke up one day and decided to become a better man.’

‘There is a secret,’ declared Richard fervently. ‘And I would not mind having it – I would be honoured if the Blessed Virgin appeared to me. Moreover, if I learn any of you had a hand in his death, I will kill you.’

‘You will do nothing of the kind,’ said Sear. ‘Because I will be there before you. But his secret will never be found because, as I have said all along, it was a holy sword, and he was the only one on this Earth good enough to hold it. It disappeared when he died, and will not reappear until another man is born who is his equal.’

‘Rubbish,’ declared Cornald. ‘He was a new man because he ate properly. You may all have noticed that I am a happy fellow, too, despite the trials and tribulations that beset me.’ Here he shot an unreadable glance towards his wife. ‘The secret to true happiness is food.’

‘Potions,’ countered Pulchria. ‘Some herb grows near Kermerdyn that made him what he was, and I still intend to find it. That sort of popularity will be very useful for a woman like me.’

‘If there is a secret, then it just goes along with being the master of Rhydygors Castle,’ said Gwgan dismissively. ‘Hywel has goodness in abundance. It is all to do with being in Wales.’

‘Yes, but Hywel’s is a different kind of goodness,’ said Edward. ‘He does have it in abundance, but William was saintly. They are not really comparable.’

They fell silent, pondering the matter. So, there they were, thought Geoffrey, regarding them one by one: his suspects – all of whom would exploit William’s secret, should it ever be revealed.

He turned his thoughts back to the latest skirmish, realizing that he had seen none of his companions actually engage the enemy – Richard’s encounter had been uncharacteristically lacklustre, and the others had only appeared once most of the ambushers were on the run. Did that mean one of them had hired mercenaries to do battle with the travellers? Was Roger right, and Geoffrey and his friends would be safe only once the remaining messages were in the hands of their intended recipients?

With a sigh, he led the way towards the bridge.

They arrived to find Kermerdyn a busy, bustling place that smelled of cows and fish. Cattle were being driven from every direction to the market, and there was a thriving fishing industry, the stalls on the riverside well stocked with silvery wares from both river and sea.

The market stood on the open ground near the bridge, and there was a staggering array of goods, ranging from livestock and foodstuffs, to cloth, building materials and pots. It seemed to Geoffrey that anything a person could possibly want was on offer in Kermerdyn, and he supposed he would not have to worry about Hilde becoming bored there.

Their companions did not linger once they had paid their toll to cross the bridge. Sear was the first to break away. He snapped his fingers at two passing soldiers and ordered them to help him carry Alberic to the church.

‘I cannot tote him to Pembroc, so I am going to bury him here,’ he said.

‘Alberic will understand,’ said Edward kindly. ‘St Peter’s is a pretty church with a spacious graveyard, and I will undertake to pay the priest to say masses for Alberic’s soul whenever I pass through the town.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sear gruffly. ‘I shall stay here until it is done, and then ride to Pembroc. Richard will lend me an escort.’

He rode away before Richard could say whether he would or not. Geoffrey fingered the letter in his shirt. Henry had ordered it delivered on arrival in Kermerdyn, but it seemed callous to do it when Sear was about to bury his friend. He decided to leave it until the next day.

Suddenly, Richard spat a colourful oath and surged towards a gaggle of men who were inspecting a display of ironware. When he reached them, he began to berate them for their slovenly appearances. They immediately tried to smarten themselves, and Geoffrey saw he was the kind of leader to rule by fear and bullying. Richard disappeared with them eventually, without so much as a backward glance towards his erstwhile companions.

Delwyn wasted no time with pleasantries, either. He ordered the servant driving the cart to follow him to the abbey, and also departed with no word of farewell or thanks.

‘I shall see you home, Leah,’ said Edward solicitously. ‘The journey has been arduous, and we should both rest. But I must bathe first. Just look at the state of me! God grant me a speedy return to the peace of Kadweli, where I can rule with pen and parchment; I was not built for charging around the country and engaging in battles.’

‘Thank you,’ said Leah to Geoffrey. ‘You have been kind and patient, and you kept my husband from killing anyone, for which I am grateful. He would have been sorry afterwards, and I am glad you spared him that.’

Geoffrey was not quite sure how to reply and left Hilde to murmur some suitably tactful remarks.

‘If you want any butter, you know where to come,’ said Cornald, smiling politely, although it was clear his mind was already on his home and business. ‘Travelling with you has been a pleasure, and I am grateful to you for keeping us all alive.’

‘It has been a pleasure,’ agreed Pulchria, smirking meaningfully at Bale before following her husband. Pointedly, she ignored Geoffrey.

Soon, only Gwgan was left. He sat on his horse, breathing in deeply of the familiar scents of home. Geoffrey knew how he felt, and wished he was back in Goodrich.

‘Where now?’ asked Roger, forcing a smile. ‘Shall I come with you to deliver the letters?’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey. He nodded to an inn called the Trout. It appeared respectable enough, with a smart thatch and clean white walls. ‘We shall rest there for a while first.’

Roger did not object when Geoffrey hired a room and ordered him to lie down. Geoffrey helped him drink some broth, then assisted Hilde as she bathed and dressed the wound properly. Gwgan stayed downstairs talking to the innkeeper and using his influence to ensure Roger was provided with the best possible care.

‘Stay with him, Bale,’ ordered Geoffrey. ‘No leaving to frolic with Pulchria.’

‘I will frolic with her here, then,’ said Bale practically. ‘Sir Roger will not mind.’

‘Actually, I will mind,’ countered Roger. ‘Sit by the window and sharpen your knives – quietly, if possible. And you go about your business, Geoff lad. I cannot sleep with you looming over me like an anxious vulture. It is making me nervous.’

‘He is right,’ whispered Hilde, tugging on Geoffrey’s sleeve to pull him out of the room. ‘Leave him in peace. I suspect he will be safer once you have discharged your duties, anyway. Where will you start?’

‘Not with the abbey,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I should give them time to deal with Mabon. The same goes for Sear with Alberic. That leaves Bishop Wilfred.’

‘You cannot meet a prelate looking as though you have just fought a battle,’ said Hilde. ‘You are splattered with blood and filth. You should wash and don suitable attire first. No, do not disturb Roger by invading his chamber again! Let the man rest. We shall find somewhere else to make you respectable.’

Geoffrey groaned, thinking it was a waste of time. ‘Then perhaps I should start asking questions about William instead. Perhaps the townsfolk have ideas about who killed him and what his secret might have been.’

‘Again, you are unlikely to secure their cooperation if you descend on them looking like a killer. You will frighten them and learn nothing.’

‘Then I shall start my hunt for William’s secret without their help,’ said Geoffrey, exasperated. ‘He lived in Rhydygors, so that seems a good place to begin. And if I have no luck there, I will search the abbey and the church, because William was said to be devout, and those are places he may have trusted.’

‘Rhydygors, then,’ said Hilde. ‘My sister spends a lot of time there, and she is sure to have hot water to hand. We shall just have to hope we do not meet Prince Hywel before I have been at you with a brush.’

Geoffrey was not sure he liked the sound of that, but acknowledged that the skirmish had left him somewhat soiled. He followed her down the stairs, carrying the saddlebag she handed him, in which were some of his clothes, laundered and neatly folded. They met Gwgan at the door, and he smiled when Hilde informed him that she wanted to see her sister.

‘Good. Isabella will skin me alive if she learns you are in Kermerdyn and that I failed to take you straight to her. She will be at Rhydygors; she always stays there when I am away. There is no man I trust more than Prince Hywel to look after my wife.’

They climbed on their horses, and Gwgan led the way back over the bridge and along a track across the marshes. The castle loomed in front of them.

‘Hywel will want to meet a friend of the King,’ said Gwgan as they went. ‘And I am sure His Majesty has messages for him, just as he sent one to me.’

‘Just verbal greetings,’ said Geoffrey, hoping Henry’s carelessness was not going to land him in trouble. ‘Besides, you said the letter he wrote to you would really have been for the Prince.’

‘Yes, it was, but that was all rather cold and businesslike,’ said Gwgan. ‘Pertaining to taxes and who owns the advowsons of various churches. There was nothing personal in it for Hywel.’

‘What about in Richard’s?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘He told me he was going to ask you to read it to him.’

‘His message was even briefer than mine.’ Gwgan’s rueful smile indicated that the sullen knight had not been best pleased when he had heard it. ‘It just ordered him to patrol the river, because Irish pirates have been at large.’

‘River patrols sound tedious,’ said Hilde. ‘Was he disappointed that the King did not ask him to do something more significant?’

Gwgan laughed. ‘He was livid! I suspect the instruction was Eudo’s, not Henry’s. But there is not much for Richard to do in this area. Hywel is more than capable of keeping the peace and does not need Norman help. Personally, I was hoping the letter would be an order to deploy elsewhere. So was he – he is wasted here.’

‘No wonder he has been surly all the way from Goodrich,’ said Hilde. Then she shrugged. ‘Of course, he was surly before he had his letter.’

‘Let us not spoil our day with talk of that black-faced villain,’ said Gwgan, spurring his pony into a trot. ‘We are almost home, and Isabella will be delighted to see you.’

Twelve

Rhydygors was a typical Norman castle, with a wooden tower atop a large mound. It afforded excellent views of the river, and although Geoffrey would have located it nearer the town, the site chosen by William fitz Baldwin had its advantages. Its garrison would be able to react sooner to an invasion by water, and the marshes that surrounded it conferred their own line of defence.

Besides the motte and bailey, there was also the usual jumble of outbuildings – halls for sleeping and eating, stables, kitchens and huts for storage. Hywel was in the process of rebuilding some of them in stone, and Geoffrey imagined that, in ten years or so, it would be as stalwart a bastion as any he had seen. He wondered how he was going to search it for William’s secret without anyone guessing what he was doing.

Isabella’s face split into a delighted grin when she saw Hilde, and Geoffrey saw immediately the resemblance between them – both had honey-brown eyes and thick hair – although Isabella had been rather more fortunate with her looks. She was exceptionally beautiful, and Geoffrey found himself uncharacteristically tongue-tied when Gwgan introduced her.

‘You have made my sister very happy,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘We had all despaired of her finding a man she considered worthy.’

‘She was given no choice in the matter, I am afraid,’ said Geoffrey, acutely aware of his filthy surcoat, battle-stained armour and grimy hands. He wished he had followed Hilde’s suggestion and washed in the river along the way. It had been wilful obstinacy that had led him to decline – a stubborn refusal to acknowledge that she was right.

Isabella shook his arm, releasing it quickly and surreptitiously wiping her hand on her gown. ‘You are wrong. She refused plenty of suitors before you came along, and our father could not have made her marry a man she did not like. She chose you.’

‘Oh,’ said Geoffrey uncomfortably.

‘Here is Prince Hywel,’ said Isabella, indicating with a graceful sweep of her hand a man walking down the stairs from the tower and heading towards them. ‘He will want to meet my sister and the man who captured her heart.’

‘Christ!’ muttered Geoffrey, wondering whether anyone would notice if he grabbed Hilde’s cloak and used it to conceal the worst of the mess.

Hywel ap Gronw looked every inch a Welsh prince. He had jet black hair and blue eyes, and was tall, handsome and strong. He wore a plain but elegant tunic of blue, and there was gold thread in his cloak. He carried himself with a light grace, and there was none of the arrogant swagger affected by Normans. His people smiled and nodded at him as he passed, and it was clear they served him for love, not like the frightened minions in Richard’s service.

He embraced Gwgan like a brother, his eyes shining with boyish delight at the return of his friend and most trusted counsellor.

‘I have missed you,’ he said in Welsh. ‘You have been gone too long. There is much we must discuss, but not now: today belongs to your wife.’

‘You shall come to my home tomorrow night, then,’ said Gwgan. ‘We shall prepare a feast and talk until the cockerels announce dawn. I have much to tell you.’

‘You have brought guests,’ said Hywel, turning his smile on Geoffrey and Hilde, and speaking Norman-French. ‘Your wife’s sister, I believe? And a Jerosolimitanus?’

‘Sir Geoffrey Mappestone,’ explained Gwgan. His eyes gleamed with wry humour as he continued to speak Welsh, knowing perfectly well Hilde would not understand a word of it. ‘He went to some trouble to make himself presentable, as you can see. But do not judge him by his surcoat. He speaks passable Welsh, which more than compensates for his wild appearance.’

Hywel laughed. ‘I hope you do not mind Gwgan’s mordant sense of humour, Sir Geoffrey. But he is your kin now, so you will have to forgive his liberties.’

He indicated they were to follow him to the hall, where food had been prepared. He led, his arm thrown around Gwgan’s shoulders, and Isabella and Hilde followed. Geoffrey brought up the rear, a little chagrined when a servant stepped forward to offer him a bowl of water. Once he had scrubbed his face and hands and had exchanged his stained surcoat for a clean one Hilde had to hand, he felt considerably more presentable.

The food was plain, but fresh and plentiful, and it was not long before someone began to play a harp. Isabella and Hilde sat together at one end of the table, talking incessantly, while the men took the other. Politely, Hywel enquired after their journey.

‘You might not have seen me, had Geoffrey not been with us,’ said Gwgan soberly. ‘He saved me this morning. We were ambushed constantly by outlaws after Brechene, and we are fortunate to reach Kermerdyn alive.’

‘Outlaws?’ asked Hywel, frowning. ‘But we have had no such trouble since Belleme’s louts were ousted last year.’

‘Well, we were plagued by them,’ said Gwgan firmly. ‘Alberic was killed today, and another knight wounded. Edward was injured just outside Brechene, and Geoffrey was knocked half-senseless last night in Lanothni. I have never known a journey like it; there was no trouble on the way to Gloucester.’

‘This is worrying news,’ said Hywel sombrely. ‘I had better send some patrols to find them. I cannot have my territories infected by law-breakers.’

‘They stole money from the taverner in Lanothni, too,’ Gwgan went on. ‘He is famous locally for having a lot of it, apparently. Foolish man! He should have kept it quiet.’

‘There should have been no need to keep it quiet,’ said Hywel sternly. ‘Every man has the right to keep what he has honestly earned. I shall see to it immediately.’

He started to rise, but Gwgan waved him back down. ‘I will do it. You can entertain our guests.’

After Gwgan left, Hywel began to tell Geoffrey about his plans for the region. The knight found him easy company, and he had an engaging, infectious laugh that made it impossible not to like him. How different it would be, Geoffrey thought, if Hywel, not Henry, had been King. Geoffrey would not have minded serving a man like the Prince.

After a while, Hywel stood and indicated Geoffrey was to walk with him outside. Like many military men, the Prince quickly grew restless sitting and preferred to be active.

‘Gwgan tells me you carried a letter to him from the King, about taxes and advowsons,’ he said. ‘I assume there is a personal message for me, too?’

He held out his hand.

‘It was a verbal one, My Lord,’ said Geoffrey, silently cursing Henry for his shabby manners. ‘He sends you his felicitations as a fellow prince and trusts he finds you well and strong.’

Hywel smiled wryly. ‘I suspect he forgot, and you are being tactful. But I appreciate your thoughtfulness in not wanting me to feel neglected. However, whereas other men might feel slighted, peace is important to me – to this region – and I shall not let Henry’s lack of grace spoil it.’

It was an admirable stance, and Geoffrey thought Henry could learn much from Hywel.

‘This is a fine castle,’ he said, trying to decide how best to assess it for William’s secret without making Rhydygors’ residents think him unacceptably nosy – or that Isabella’s sister had married a man not quite in control of his wits.

Hywel glanced around. ‘It will be, once it is finished in stone, although I wish William fitz Baldwin had sited it nearer the town. But I am always pleased to show guests my domain. Come. I shall take you around every nook and cranny.’

He was as good as his word, and, as he was willing to provide detailed information, it was easy for Geoffrey to identify which buildings had been extant in William’s time and which had been raised since. Hywel was proud of his little fortress, and Geoffrey might have found the extensive tour tedious had he not been assessing every inch of it for potential hiding places.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to find, because William’s buildings had been simple and functional, and there was little storage space. Geoffrey assessed the walls for hidden recesses, looked up the chimneys, and stamped across the floors to assess whether something might be buried underneath, but it was all to no avail. Moreover, it was obvious that William’s retainers would have noticed if their master had started digging holes or hacking at the walls.

Geoffrey suppressed a sigh when, once finished with the buildings, Hywel led him on an exhaustive expedition around the grounds. Again, there was nowhere William could have buried something he did not want anyone else to find, and Geoffrey was forced to conclude that whatever he was looking for was not in Rhydygors. He would have to look in the abbey and church.

When Gwgan had finished briefing Hywel’s troops about the outlaws, the Prince excused himself from Geoffrey to spend time with his counsellor. Geoffrey retrieved his horse from the stables and mounted up, intending to return to Kermerdyn to check on Roger. Hilde and Isabella came to intercept him.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Hilde worriedly. ‘It will be dark soon, and it is not wise to ride out alone, given what happened earlier today.’

‘Please stay,’ begged Isabella. ‘I have not thanked you for saving my husband’s life. He told me how you knocked away the knife that would have killed him today.’

‘There is no need to thank me,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But I have a letter for you, as it happens. From Bishop Maurice.’

‘Bishop Maurice?’ asked Isabella, startled. ‘Why would he write to me? I barely know him.’

Geoffrey could hardly say it was in order to disguise the fact that he was delivering more contentious letters from the King, so he said nothing and merely held it out to her, along with the now battered packet that contained the raisins.

‘Read it to her,’ instructed Hilde, taking the raisins and opening them. She began to eat them. ‘Or Isabella will have to wait for a clerk to become available, and I imagine she is impatient to know what it says.’

‘I am curious,’ admitted Isabella.

Geoffrey did not want to do it. ‘It might be personal,’ he hedged, suspecting they would all be embarrassed by its sentiments. Maurice had an unerring eye for beautiful women, and he would certainly have noticed Isabella.

‘It will not!’ laughed Isabella. ‘I did not help him with his unbalanced humours, if that is what you are thinking, so it can contain nothing to shock us. Besides, I am a married woman.’

Geoffrey broke the seal, forbearing to remark that a woman’s marital status was neither here nor there to Maurice when his humours were awry. He scanned the letter quickly, ready to omit anything indelicate. The first section contained some rather bald and inappropriate statements about her fine figure and alluring eyes, but the rest was, as Maurice had claimed, information about a place where good raisins might be bought. Geoffrey paraphrased the first part to render it innocuous, and read the second verbatim, while Hilde made inroads into the raisins.

‘Well,’ said Isabella, bemused. ‘It is good of him to remember me, but I am not sure why I should warrant such attention. Perhaps you will help me compose a suitable reply, Geoffrey?’

‘He did not send many of these raisins,’ said Hilde, shaking the packet to see whether there were any left. ‘You would think he would have been a little more generous. They cannot be easy to come by here.’

‘Oh, you can buy them readily in Kermerdyn,’ said Isabella. ‘We shall purchase some tomorrow, and Geoffrey will take them to Maurice as a gift when he returns to the court.’

‘So I am a raisin courier now?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering to what depths he would have to plummet before his duties to the King were complete.

‘We will buy you some, too,’ promised Isabella. ‘As payment.’

‘Please do not,’ said Geoffrey with a shudder. He took up his reins and prepared to leave, thinking he had abandoned Roger quite long enough.

‘Wait – I will come with you,’ said Hilde. She sounded disappointed that her reunion with her sister was going to be cut short.

Geoffrey smiled. ‘Stay. You and Isabella will have much to discuss.’ And, he thought but did not say, Hilde would be considerably safer in Hywel’s stronghold than in town.

He rode to Kermerdyn alone, alert for trouble. He thought about Hywel as he went, and decided it was not surprising that there was speculation that he had discovered William’s secret, because the man certainly possessed abilities and virtues in abundance. In fact, Geoffrey wondered whether that in itself would work against Hywel. There were men who would be jealous of such easy amiability, including King Henry.

When he arrived at the Trout, Geoffrey found Roger much improved and in the middle of consuming a gargantuan meal with Bale. He laughed when Geoffrey told him how Hywel had helped him search Rhydygors for William’s secret.

‘Let us hope he never learns the real reason for your interest in his domain,’ he said. ‘Incidentally, I have not been totally useless while you have been gone. I have done some investigating on your behalf.’

‘Have you?’ asked Geoffrey in alarm.

Roger grinned at his reaction. ‘Nothing to cause you trouble, so do not worry. I asked the landlord whether he knew where the Bishop might be, and he said we are fortunate, because Wilfred is in Kermerdyn this month. He spends a lot of time travelling, apparently.’

‘A few days’ rest will put Sir Roger back on his feet,’ said Bale, although Geoffrey could see the big knight would not need that long and suspected it was self-interest that prompted Bale’s remark. Pulchria lived in Kermerdyn, and Bale did not find it easy to recruit female admirers.

They talked a while longer, but Roger was tired and sleep soon claimed him again. Geoffrey lay on a pallet that he had placed against the door – anyone invading would have to move him first – and stared at the ceiling as he thought of all he would have to do the following day. At first light, he would visit the abbey, and deliver the Archbishop’s letter to Mabon’s successor. He would have to apologize for the fact that Mabon had died in his home, too, and then assess the new abbot for his report to Henry. He would also try to search the place for William’s secret.

When he finished that, he would deliver Henry’s letter to Bishop Wilfred and hope to spend long enough in his company to gather sufficient information for the second half of his report. That done, he would set about exploring the church. And if those places did not reveal William’s secret – and he had scant hope they would – he decided that he would tell Henry that a religious vision had turned William into a saint.

And William’s murderer? Geoffrey would just have to tell His Majesty that too much time had passed to allow him to investigate the matter properly. He was loath to pass on his list of suspects – now down to Delwyn, Sear, Gwgan, Cornald and Pulchria – lest royal retribution followed and four innocents paid the price for one guilty party. He would also admit that there was insufficient evidence to trap Mabon’s killer, and hoped the King would overlook the matter on the grounds that Mabon’s successor was likely to be more malleable and less likely to fight with the Bishop.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep. His rest was plagued by concerns that Henry was going to be less than satisfied with his performance and might demand another favour to compensate. He dreamed about Tancred, too, and the clerks whose poisonous pens had destroyed their friendship. One disturbing nightmare had Eudo rising from his grave to stab Bishop Maurice with a quill, for failing to lay hold of his killer. All in all, Geoffrey was relieved when the first glimmer of grey showed morning was approaching.

Although Roger claimed he was fully recovered, Geoffrey could tell by the stiff way he held his arm that he was not. Roger did not argue when Geoffrey declined his company; he seemed more than happy to spend the day in the tavern, getting to know the locals and treating them to a session with his loaded dice. Geoffrey left Bale with strict instructions to keep him out of trouble.

Supposing he should at least try to make himself presentable when visiting two high-ranking churchmen, he washed in water from the well, shaved, donned a fresh shirt and leggings, and set Bale to cleaning his armour. He even raked his fingers through his hair to remove the mud and bits of vegetation that had collected in it since leaving Goodrich. Eventually, feeling he was as respectable as a travelling knight could make himself, he left, electing to walk so that his horse would be rested should he need it for a later journey.

It was not fully light as he walked up the hill from the quay, past where little fishermen’s cottages hugged the side of the road. Eventually, he reached a gate in the ancient walls, which signalled the entrance to the town proper. He found the settlement was larger than he had thought, extending for some distance on its plateau. The walls were taller, too, and the houses inside were in good repair.

Just inside the gate was the church. As he passed it, he saw Sear in its graveyard with a tall, fierce-looking priest. Twenty or so soldiers were with them, all wearing conical metal helmets emblazoned with a small red castle. Geoffrey supposed the emblem represented Pembroc, and these were men Sear had left in Kermerdyn while he had travelled to Henry.

Geoffrey started to join them, to pay his own respects to Alberic, but Sear looked up with such a black scowl that he had second thoughts and continued on his way.

The monastery lay at the far end of the town, reached by means of a long, straight road that cut the settlement in two. He exited through the town walls by a second gate, and the abbey lay to his right. It was surprisingly grand, and the sturdy wall that ran around its entire circumference suggested its occupants thought it worth protecting. There was a large, stone-built church in the middle, as well as a dorter, refectory, stables and kitchens. It was considerably more luxurious than the castle, and rich aromas wafted from the bakery; the monks apparently enjoyed good food, as well as pleasant accommodation.

Geoffrey knocked on the gate and asked for an audience with Mabon’s successor. The lay-brother took one look at the Crusader’s cross on Geoffrey’s surcoat and asked whether he would mind waiting outside while he went to see whether Ywain was available. Fortunately, Delwyn happened to be passing.

‘It is all right,’ he told the lay-brother. ‘It is the King’s messenger – the one who was ordered to escort me safely home. Follow me, Sir Geoffrey. I shall conduct you to Ywain.’

‘How did your monastery receive the news about the death of Abbot Mabon?’ asked Geoffrey as they went, to gauge the level of the apology he would have to offer.

Delwyn shrugged. ‘Well, they were vexed at having to buy a coffin – the one you provided is now too full of arrow holes to go in our vault – but one of the lay-brothers offered to run us up a cheap one, so the expense will not be too great.’

Geoffrey was not sure how to reply to such an observation and said nothing.

‘Ywain is praying over the corpse,’ Delwyn went on. ‘But he will be glad of an excuse to do something else for a while, so do not feel you are intruding on his grief.’

He was right: Ywain leapt to his feet when Delwyn introduced Geoffrey, and shot out of the church with indecent haste. He was a short man with a shock of white hair. Delwyn was unimpressed when Ywain ordered him to take his place by Mabon’s bier.

‘But I have been minding the thing for days,’ he objected. ‘I have no prayers left!’

‘Then you will have to use your imagination,’ said Ywain tartly. ‘I am Abbot now, and you must do as I say.’

He was gleeful as Delwyn stalked inside the chapel with a face as black as thunder.

‘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?’

‘Bishop Wilfred,’ replied the priest. He waved an arm in a vigorous swinging motion, although Geoffrey was not sure what the gesture was meant to convey. ‘And this is my See.’

‘You do not look like a bishop,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether the priest was short of a few wits and in the habit of waylaying strangers with wild claims.

‘And you do not look like a Jerosolimitanus,’ retorted Wilfred. ‘Far too clean by half. Not that I have met many, of course. They are rare in Wales. But why do you say I do not look like a bishop? Am I not regal enough for you?’

‘Your manner is certainly regal,’ said Geoffrey tartly. ‘But most bishops I have met dress rather more grandly. Well, Giffard does not, but he is exceptional.’

Wilfred’s manner softened. ‘You know Giffard? He is a fine man, and it is a wicked shame that he was exiled for obeying his conscience. The Archbishop of York should not consecrate us. Only Canterbury can do that, and Giffard was right to reject York’s blessing.’

‘King Henry does not think so.’

Wilfred grimaced. ‘No, I imagine not. But do not judge me on my working clothes, if you would be so kind. I have been painting, and I can hardly wear my finery for menial work, can I? Would you like to admire my masterpiece?’

It was an odd invitation, but it suited Geoffrey’s purposes. He watched Wilfred unlock the door and followed him inside the church. The moment his eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, his heart sank.

St Peter’s was a large building, comprising a long nave, two aisles and an enormous chancel. Every available patch of wall was graced with an alcove in which stood a statue. Some were small, some were large, some finely wrought, others crude. Most were of St Peter and Mary, with a few local saints thrown in. He wondered if he would be able to determine which was William’s. Or should he merely pick one and present it to Henry, knowing His Majesty would never be able to tell the difference?

‘I have letters for you from the King,’ he said, reaching inside his shirt for the thick packet and the one Ywain had opened. He handed them over; he now only had Sear’s left to deliver.

Wilfred snatched them. ‘Yes! That was why I wanted a word with you. That rodent Delwyn hinted there might be something coming my way from His Majesty.’ He grinned gleefully. ‘I anticipate that I shall be the richer at the end of it. Not that I have any great love of wealth, of course.’

Geoffrey took a step away, knowing Wilfred was going to be disappointed. He was not wrong. As the bishop read what was written, his face went from pleasure to rage.

‘What is this?’ he cried. ‘I am to give seven of my churches to foundations in England! My taxes are raised, too. And why is the seal broken? It is addressed to Mabon on the outside, but me inside. Did you give it to the Abbot to read first?’

‘I am afraid so,’ admitted Geoffrey. ‘A clerical error, and not my fault.’

‘But it says I am to give the tithes and benefits of St Peter’s to La Batailge!’ shouted Wilfred, his furious voice ringing down the nave. ‘And it is my favourite church in the whole See!’

‘I am sorry,’ said Geoffrey quietly.

‘And Abbot Ywain knows about it?’ yelled Wilfred. ‘Damn you for a scoundrel, man!’

‘It was not deliberate,’ said Geoffrey, beginning to edge away. He stopped when a sly expression crossed Wilfred’s face.

‘Hah! Come and see this! You have made two errors, because here is a parchment that is addressed to me on the outside, but Mabon on the inside. It says the abbey is to obey me in all things. This is excellent news! I shall deliver it immediately. Better still, you can do it. They will be livid!’

‘Then I decline the honour.’

‘Ah, but wait,’ said Wilfred, frowning as he continued reading. ‘It says that, in compensation, Ywain can claim one hundred marks from the treasury. That is not fair! I am deprived of money, but he is given a fortune! I had better see what can be done to eliminate this final paragraph, and just give Ywain the first half of the letter. You can deliver the revised edition tomorrow.’

Geoffrey regarded him with distaste, feeling he had learned all he needed to know about the characters of Bishop Wilfred and the Abbot. ‘I will not do it.’

‘I do not blame you,’ said Wilfred, patting his shoulder. ‘I do not like visiting the abbey myself. But it cannot be helped; you will just have to grit your teeth and know you are earning your reward in Heaven.’

‘There is just one more missive,’ said Geoffrey, declining to debate the matter. ‘From Bishop Maurice of London.’

‘Dear old Maurice,’ mused Wilfred fondly, taking the letter and breaking the seal. ‘How is his medical condition? It must be a wretched nuisance to be so afflicted, and I admire him for overcoming adversity and continuing with his sacred work.’

‘He is a good man,’ said Geoffrey pointedly. ‘Not prone to cheating the abbeys in his See.’

‘It is a prayer. How thoughtful! And by Giffard, too. Actually, it is rather beautiful.’ Wilfred became sombre suddenly. ‘It is about forgiveness, compassion and kindness – virtues Giffard has in abundance, but not ones that come readily to me. Maurice is wise to remind me of them.’

Geoffrey read it. It was one he had heard Giffard use before, and reminded him that his friend was a deeply devout man, unlike most of the clerics he knew.

‘It is beautiful,’ he said, admiring the simple poetry of the words. ‘And you are right: he should not be exiled for following his conscience.’

For a while, both men were silent. Wilfred took the prayer and read it again, while Geoffrey stared towards the high altar, aware of the peace and stillness. It was a lovely building.

‘But I brought you here to admire my work,’ said Wilfred suddenly, making Geoffrey jump. ‘Not to stand here praying. Come with me.’

He led the way down the nave towards the rood screen, against which leaned a precarious piece of scaffolding. Pots and brushes were arranged neatly on a table nearby, and sheets had been spread across the floor.

‘It is a depiction of Judgement Day,’ explained Wilfred. ‘And to make it more terrifying for my flock, I have included local features. You can see Rhydygors at the top, being burned by a fire-breathing dragon, and the abbey is at the bottom, inviting the Devil in.’

‘ Mabon is inviting the Devil in,’ corrected Geoffrey.

Wilfred rubbed his chin. ‘So he is. I had better wash him off and insert Ywain instead. It is one thing attacking the living, but it is unfair to tackle the dead, who are not in a position to appreciate it. Do you recognize any familiar faces among the souls burning in Hell at the bottom?’

‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Geoffrey, as several jumped out at him. ‘Is that legal?’

Wilfred sniggered. ‘What are they going to do about it? Besides, I am doing them a favour. They should be thinking of their immortal souls, and I am reminding them of what will be in store if they do not do what the Church – me, in other words – demands.’

‘Is that William?’ asked Geoffrey, pointing to a bright figure that was winging its way upwards, away from the rest of Kermerdyn’s hapless residents.

Wilfred nodded. ‘He was a holy man, and it was a pity he died young. Still, we have Hywel now, who is just as valiant and honourable. I have been blessed with those at Rhydygors.’

‘I understand William had a vision,’ probed Geoffrey.

Wilfred nodded. ‘He was always rather cagey about it, although I did inform him he should tell me about the experience, because I am a bishop.’

‘And did he oblige?’ asked Geoffrey.

Wilfred grimaced. ‘Only on his deathbed, when he was not in control of his wits – and then I was obliged to listen for days before I had the full story from him. He claimed it happened when he was bathing in the river, and that it entailed the Blessed Virgin.’

‘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.’