A Dead Man's secret

Epilogue

Reddinges, November 1103

It did not take Geoffrey long to recover from the skirmish, and he set off towards England the moment he was able to ride. Hilde insisted it was too soon, but Geoffrey wanted his interview with the King concluded as soon as possible. There were no ambushes as they rode, and Hilde was safely deposited at Goodrich, along with her widowed sister.

Then Geoffrey, Roger and Bale rode fast and hard to Reddinges, a place for which Henry held an unaccountable affection. There were rumours that he intended to found an abbey there, to atone for his sins. Geoffrey wondered whether Hywel’s murder would be among them, because as he travelled and had time to reflect on all that had happened, he decided it would have been all but impossible for the King not to have known what was in Eudo’s letters.

Before leaving Kermerdyn, Bishop Wilfred had given him William’s statue, claiming he did not want a pagan goddess in his church. It was, he said, a gift to the King.

When they arrived at Reddinges, they found it full of the customary bustle associated with the royal presence, with clerks and scribes everywhere. They met Pepin, who informed them that he had been promoted to Eudo’s post, but was finding it a trial, and Geoffrey suspected he would soon be relieved of the position. Pepin was no Eudo, and Henry would be looking for someone more devious.

While they waited to be summoned, Geoffrey sat in the parish church, reading. It was not long before Roger came to sit next to him. He rarely strayed far from his friend’s side now, mortified that he had missed a battle that had nearly claimed Geoffrey’s life.

‘What is that?’ he asked.

‘A letter from Giffard,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I told him about William’s secret, and he writes that we are wrong to assume that a statue, or even a vision, can turn a man into a saint. He says goodness comes from within and is ignited by the hand of God.’

‘Well, he is a bishop,’ said Roger dismissively. ‘He would claim that sort of thing.’

‘What do you believe?’ asked Geoffrey, although he suspected he would be better not knowing.

Roger shook his head. ‘Not that the statue has any particular powers. I touched it several times, but it did not make me feel holy. But perhaps I am holy enough already, what with having been on the Crusade.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But William believed it.’

They were silent for a moment, listening to the coo of a dove somewhere in the rafters.

‘Tell me again what happened,’ said Roger. ‘I did not pay much attention back in Kermerdyn, and the King might ask for my views. I will look foolish if I do not understand it all.’

‘I am not sure I understand it,’ said Geoffrey, amused by the notion that Henry would ask Roger’s opinion on so complex a matter.

Roger cleared his throat. ‘It began when Eudo decided it would be better for Henry if a Norman held the castle in Kermerdyn, because Hywel was too popular. He was afraid Hywel would think he had better things to do than swear allegiance to a Norman king and might make trouble.’

Geoffrey nodded. ‘He thought Richard fitz Baldwin would be a better choice, and told me himself that he thought Henry was wrong to have given Rhydygors to Hywel.’

‘So Eudo wrote letters to Richard and Gwgan arranging Hywel’s murder,’ said Roger. ‘And he hoped that the “secret” that made William and Hywel decent would act on the surly Richard, too.’

‘Yes. But Edward overheard Eudo and managed to gain access to his strongbox, where his suspicions were confirmed. He tackled Eudo by the pond at La Batailge. Eudo told him that no letters had been written, and, rather stupidly, Edward believed him.’

‘And then Edward killed him,’ said Roger.

‘Edward thought that Hywel was safe, but Eudo had already written the letters.’

‘And Henry gave them to you,’ said Roger.

‘Yes, he did, and refused to let Maurice rewrite them. That may imply Henry knew what they contained and thought he had nothing to lose by letting the plot run its course – he could always deny culpability, and Eudo could not contradict him. But, equally, he might have not thought it worth the bother of inspecting the work of a trusted scribe.’

‘Which do you think?’ asked Roger.

‘That Henry is innocent,’ lied Geoffrey, unwilling for his friend to know the truth, lest he blurted it out at some inopportune moment.

Roger continued the tale. ‘So Edward rode west, thinking the plot was thwarted, and was appalled when he saw you deliver a message to Richard. He tried to kill you before you gave Gwgan his, then tried to kill Richard with poison, but Abbot Mabon took it by mistake.’

‘It horrified him, so he left the business of dispatching Gwgan and Richard to his troops after that, telling them that they should not reach Kermerdyn alive.’

‘But their efforts failed, and Richard and Gwgan murdered Hywel. Delwyn had already been hired, too, ready to step in and deliver the letters, should anything happen to you.’

‘Delwyn lost more than his life,’ said Geoffrey. ‘His abbey will soon be under a Norman.’

‘That is a pity, because you had brokered a sort of peace between Wilfred and the abbey.’

‘Giffard’s prayer of kindness, compassion and forgiveness did that; it had nothing to do with me.’

‘Well, at least you forced Edward’s men to return the money they stole from Fychan at Lanothni. However, it was unkind to insist that a portion went directly towards a new church. It was Fychan’s money; you had no right to tell him what he could do with it.’

Geoffrey shrugged. ‘I liked Lanothni’s priest, and the money will do more good with him than with Fychan, who would just sit counting it until someone else decided to rob him.’

‘Incidentally, did I tell you that I spoke to Pepin about the two letters that were confused?’ asked Roger. ‘Mabon’s epistle sent to Wilfred, and vice versa?’

‘What did he say,’ asked Geoffrey.

Roger smirked. ‘That he was very, very careful about what went where, because he had made mistakes before. He is certain he made no errors. But he left them for the King to seal.’

‘It was Henry who exchanged them?’ asked Geoffrey, shocked.

Of course it was, he thought. Henry wanted a report on the two churchmen, and what better way to test them than to arrange a ‘mistake’? He would not need Geoffrey’s report, because their reactions would tell him all he needed to know. La Batailge would receive St Peter’s tithes if Ywain was trustworthy and passed the letter to its intended recipient, and if Wilfred was honest, Ywain would write to Henry to claim the promised hundred marks.

‘But La Batailge did get the tithes,’ said Roger in confusion, when Geoffrey explained it to him. ‘And Ywain did not get the hundred marks. So why suppress the abbey? It was Ywain who was honest, not Wilfred.’

‘Quite. And an honest man is likely to lose in the long run. Or perhaps Henry appreciated the fact that Wilfred ensured a claim was not made on the treasury. Regardless, he prefers Wilfred, and my recommendation to let them find their own resolution was ignored.’

‘Leah will not be pleased,’ said Roger. ‘She vowed to stay in that abbey until she received a sign from God to say she is forgiven for murdering William.’

‘Perhaps she will think that is the sign,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Richard has agreed to take her back, so I imagine she will be looking for the first portent that appears. And she might pass Pulchria going the other way when she leaves the protection of the Church, because I understand that Cornald has finally been forced to recognize his wife’s illicit behaviour and is considering sending her to a nunnery. It would be appropriate justice.’

Roger nodded, then looked at Geoffrey’s dog lying contentedly at his feet. ‘Are you really pleased to have that thing back?’

‘Of course I am pleased,’ said Geoffrey, leaning down to ruffle the animal’s fur. It growled softly. ‘I missed him – more than you missed Ulfrith, I suspect.’

‘The King has a lot to answer for,’ said Roger grimly. ‘He had no right to poach Ulfrith from me, or to steal your dog. Still, he soon learned he made a mistake, because neither suited his plans – Ulfrith looks strong and competent, but he is too stupid to be a decent soldier, and your dog did rather a lot of damage to several prize bitches.’

Geoffrey laughed. The failure of Ulfrith and the dog to live up to Henry’s expectations had been one small gleam of victory in a dark and murky affair.

‘Well,’ sighed Roger, nodding to where the box with the statue was sitting with some of the King’s other recently acquired possessions. ‘Perhaps we should hope that goddess does bring out the goodness in people, because if there is one man who could do with some, it is Henry.’

The meeting with the King went better than Geoffrey had anticipated. News had come of trouble in Normandy, and Henry was little interested in events in Wales. He listened absently while Geoffrey gave a carefully worded account of all that had happened.

‘Pity,’ he said, when the knight had finished. ‘Hywel was a good man.’

‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey quietly. ‘He was a good man. And a good ruler, too.’

‘But justice has been served,’ Henry went on. ‘Gwgan is dead.’

‘Richard is not,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He has won himself Rhydygors.’

‘He should have had it anyway,’ said Henry. ‘Seven years ago, when his brother was killed. I do not know what Eudo was thinking when he advised me to hand the place to a Welshman. Rhydygors was built by a Norman and should have stayed in Norman hands.’

‘Yes, sire,’ said Geoffrey, deciding not to point out that this interpretation of events was somewhat at variance with the facts.

‘I shall need you to stay here for a few days, by the way,’ said Henry, as Geoffrey bowed and prepared to leave. ‘One of my ministers has been murdered, and I want you to find the culprit. But I shall tell you about it some other time, because I am busy now. You are dismissed.’

Seething, both at the King’s manners and because his departure for Tancred was going to be delayed yet again, Geoffrey went in search of Maurice. He had raisins to deliver from Hilde. He found the Bishop ushering a giggling serving wench from his rooms. Maurice looked well, and Geoffrey saw he was enjoying life as one of the most powerful men in the court.

‘So I was right,’ said Maurice, indicating that Geoffrey was to enter and sit by the fire. It was a cold day, and rain was pattering against the window shutters. ‘Those letters were evil, although there is nothing to say the King knew what was included in them.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey noncommittally.

‘He would never condone murder,’ continued Maurice. ‘Eudo obviously acted alone.’

‘Not entirely,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Someone appointed Delwyn to ensure the letters reached their destination. Eudo could not have done that, because he did not know his plan had been exposed until Edward confronted him, and he was killed before he could do anything about it.’

‘What are you saying?’ asked Maurice nervously. ‘That Eudo had an accomplice?’

‘We both know he did,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You knew exactly what he had done, although you grew worried after his murder and begged Henry to let you rewrite them.’

‘Geoffrey!’ cried Maurice, shocked. ‘How can you say such things?’

‘Because they are true. You did not dare break the seals on the letters to see whether Eudo had set the plan in motion, but you were desperate to know. You hired Delwyn to report back to you – and to make sure the letters were delivered if something happened to me along the way.’

‘No,’ said Maurice. ‘If you recall, I told you he was devious. Why would I hire such a man?’

‘Probably to ensure I did not associate him with you. Or to ensure I would not believe him if he ever told me the truth. And you were right to worry, because he was going to tell me the name of his master. Luckily for you, Sear killed him before he could.’

‘But I have no reason to dabble in such deadly affairs!’ claimed Maurice.

‘Yes, you do. You are loyal and devoted, and foresaw problems for the King with a popular Welsh leader in Kermerdyn. There is no reason for a proud, independent prince to subject himself to Norman rule, and Hywel probably would have rebelled in time.’

‘I am not a fool, Geoffrey. Putting Richard in Hywel’s place will be a disaster. He is likely to provoke a rebellion by dint of his unpleasant character.’

‘And that is why you encouraged me to find William’s secret but told me to leave it in Kermerdyn. You hoped it would make Richard as decent as Hywel and William.’

‘Rubbish!’ cried Maurice. ‘This is all rank superstition, and I am a bishop!’

‘It was not superstition as long as there was a possibility that the Blessed Virgin was involved. It was religion. And that is your business.’

‘The secret is a carving of a pagan goddess,’ said Maurice angrily. ‘It is not even Christian.’

‘But you did not know that at the time,’ pressed Geoffrey. ‘You had no idea what it entailed; only that it could be put to good use.’

‘You have no evidence,’ said Maurice, and for the first time since Geoffrey had known him, his face held something dangerous. Geoffrey realized that it took strength, ruthlessness and cunning to rise so high in King Henry’s realm; Maurice would not have been promoted to such a powerful post if he was a bumbling fool.

‘I have this,’ said Geoffrey, holding up the remains of the letter from Tancred. ‘Eudo was too wily to have left half-burned papers in his hearth. No, you caught him burning the documents and demanded an explanation. He gave you one, because you and he had an understanding.’

Maurice’s lips tightened into a firm line. ‘Very well, I admit that I know more of that matter than I admitted. Roger gave Eudo these letters – he had some tale about taking them from a squire of yours who is now dead. The squire made the forgeries, not Eudo.’

‘Durand,’ said Geoffrey heavily.

‘The one you claim is Angel Locks? I doubt she would have done anything so cruel.’

‘Why did you not tell me sooner?’ demanded Geoffrey coldly.

Maurice smiled. ‘Because it suited me to keep you confused and uncertain. And do not loom in a way that suggests you mean violence, because we both know you will not harm me. I am an unarmed bishop, and your principles will not let you. Besides, the King would kill you if you did.’

‘It would be worth it,’ said Geoffrey. The ice in his voice made Maurice regard him in alarm.

‘I did my best to protect you, Geoffrey,’ he said. ‘I gave you letters, so people would think you were my messenger, not Henry’s, and I tried hard to persuade him to send someone else. I am not such a terrible man, and our friendship means something to me.’

‘Does it?’ asked Geoffrey, thinking he had just lost a friend. Two, perhaps, given that Roger seemed to be complicit in the plot to deceive him.

Maurice leaned back in his chair. ‘Yes, it does. But if you are going to be unpleasant about this, let me remind you that I have evidence that shows you carried orders for two men to commit murder. Ergo, we know dubious facts about each other. And you will not want your family associated with this business.’

‘They have nothing to do with it.’

‘You are implicated in the death of a much-loved Welsh prince. I doubt Goodrich’s Welsh neighbours will be impressed by that. Joan and Hilde will never lie easy in their beds again.’

‘You bastard,’ snarled Geoffrey.

‘Oh, come now, Geoffrey. I am sure we can end this amiably. How about I release you from your vow, so you can travel to the Holy Land and make your peace with Tancred? Would that ease the animosity between us?’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey coldly. ‘Because your blessing means nothing. I will be bound by my promise until I can find a decent priest. If there is any such man in your Church, which I doubt. Go and take your medicine, My Lord Bishop. You are looking quite pale.’