A Dead Man's secret

Five

While Olivier and Joan went to oversee the final preparations for the hawking, Geoffrey lingered in the stable, rubbing his horse down with a piece of sacking. It was servants’ work, but there was something soothing about seeing to the animal’s needs. He was also content to be away from his travelling companions – and he had scant interest in meeting the new ones. Olivier and Joan had not painted a flattering picture of them, and he anticipated that the journey to Kermerdyn would be every bit as unpleasant as the one from La Batailge.

As he worked, he kept looking to see if Richard, Gwgan or Mabon might be approached discreetly. Unfortunately, Edward had cornered Mabon and was making him laugh with some tale, and Gwgan was chatting to Hilde. Richard was alone, slouching against a wall with a face as black as thunder, but there were too many servants nearby, and Geoffrey could not hope to deliver a letter without them seeing.

In the end, feeling he was shirking his responsibilities, he went to stand in the yard. It was not long before Sear spotted him. He was already wearing dry clothes, and his hands were full of food that had been set out on nearby trestle tables.

‘Your brother-in-law had better not be exaggerating the quality of his birds,’ he said coldly. ‘The fact that you decline to join us may be an indication that I am wasting my time.’

‘Olivier’s birds are magnificent,’ growled Roger, who had followed him. ‘And the reason Geoff cannot come with us this afternoon is because he needs to impregnate his wife. It is a tricky business, this begetting of heirs.’

‘Only if you do not know what you are doing,’ said Sear. ‘I would offer to show him, but his wife is hardly-’

He did not finish, because Geoffrey lunged suddenly, and the man found himself pressed against the wall with a dagger at his throat.

‘Kill him, Geoff,’ suggested Roger. ‘Or cut out his tongue.’

‘I was going to say that your wife is hardly the type to dispense favours like a common whore,’ gasped Sear, trying without success to shake free. ‘It was intended as a compliment.’

Geoffrey released him, thinking it was not much of one. ‘My apologies,’ he said flatly.

‘Accepted,’ said Sear, rubbing his neck. ‘You are fortunate in your wife. You could have had a beauty, like Cornald, but Pulchria strays from the wedding bed, and everyone knows it except him. She has offered me a tumble later, when we return.’

‘Me, too,’ said Roger. ‘You had better take her first, then, because she will not want anyone else once I have finished with her.’

‘Go, or they will leave without you,’ said Geoffrey shortly, nodding to where Olivier was sitting astride a small pony. ‘And please do him the courtesy of not quarrelling with each other.’

‘I have better things to do than spar with the likes of Sear when there is decent hawking,’ said Roger. ‘I shall be the perfect gentleman.’

Sear made no such promise, though, but within moments the party was gone, clattering out of the bailey. Delivering the letters would have to wait.

‘Good,’ said Joan when they had gone, and she was standing in a billow of dust with Hilde and Geoffrey. ‘You two can retire to the bedchamber, while I organize tonight’s meal.’

‘I am not a performing bear,’ said Geoffrey irritably, thinking that far too many people had ideas about what he should do with his wife.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Joan briskly. ‘Because that would be no use to Goodrich. We need a performing husband. Now off you go.’

Hilde blushed scarlet, and to spare her more embarrassment – he could well imagine the smirks of the servants if they marched purposefully through the hall and up the stairs together – he indicated she should go without him. Gratefully, she sped away.

He returned to the stable to give her time to compose herself, and discovered a small nail embedded in his horse’s hoof. His fingers were too thick to lay hold of it, and there was no convenient implement to hand. He grew exasperated, and released several colourful oaths that he never used in company. Then he became aware of someone behind him. He whipped around fast, reaching for his sword, but let his hand drop when he saw it was only the shy, grey creature who was Richard’s wife. He struggled to remember her name. Leah. She looked, he thought, nothing like her violent kinsman Belleme.

‘I was looking for Edward,’ said Leah, backing away in alarm. ‘We heard he has been granted permission to start building Kadweli in stone, and I wanted to congratulate him. He deserves the honour, because he is a good man.’

‘He is not in here. May I escort you to the hall? You seem unwell.’

Leah smiled, an expression that transformed her face into something approaching prettiness. ‘Just another of my headaches, but I can reach the hall on my own, thank you.’

Geoffrey felt he owed her some explanation for his bad language. ‘There is a nail in my horse’s foot, but I cannot tease it out. I am sorry-’

Leah stepped forward. ‘Let me try. I know horses.’

Before he could stop her, she had lifted the hoof with deft efficiency and had grasped the nail in her tiny fingers. As if it sensed it was in the presence of someone who meant it no harm, the animal was unusually docile, and it was not long before Leah had extracted the offending sliver of metal.

‘Will you stay in Goodrich long?’ she asked before he could thank her. ‘I imagine we shall all travel west together, but as you have only just arrived, you will want to linger for a few days. But I long to be back in Kermerdyn, although Richard has not been happy there since his brother died. I am so very homesick.’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Geoffrey, thinking he had never seen an expression of such sadness. ‘There is no need to stay here any longer than that.’

‘Thank you,’ whispered Leah with a wan smile. And then she was gone.

Geoffrey lingered by the stable door, enjoying the smell of clean hay and the earthy scent of horse sweat and manure, wondering how long he should wait before advancing on Hilde. He saw Edward a few moments later, leading Leah to the well, where they sat talking. He was glad she had a friend, because she had seemed lonely and vulnerable, although her skill with horses made her more to Geoffrey than the shadowy nonentity Joan had described.

He was inspecting a fierce black stallion that he was sure could not belong to Olivier when a rustle in the straw made him turn quickly, hand moving automatically to his sword.

‘He is a fine beast, do you not agree?’ asked Abbot Mabon, striding towards him, his black surcoat billowing. He gave the animal a pat on the nose, and it snickered its appreciation.

‘He seems spirited,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Very,’ agreed Mabon proudly. ‘I would have taken him out today, but I did not want to ruin him on rough tracks. I rode one of your sister’s nags instead, but he turned lame before we were through the village, so I was forced to come back. Pity. I enjoy hawking.’

Close up, Mabon looked even less like an abbot than he had at a distance. He was an enormous man, and his black attire made him seem bigger. There was something of the pirate in his gap-toothed grin, and Geoffrey could not imagine him on his knees at an altar.

‘I have a letter for you from the Archbishop,’ said Geoffrey, grateful for the opportunity to discharge one of his tasks. He started to rummage for the package Pepin had given him, tucked well inside his shirt. ‘It comes via the King.’

‘Does it?’ asked Mabon without enthusiasm. ‘I doubt either of them has anything I want to hear. I cannot read anyway, so hang on to it until we reach Kermerdyn, where a scribe can tell me what it says.’

‘Delwyn will oblige,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He has been trying to take charge of it ever since we left.’

‘He would,’ said Mabon disparagingly. ‘But I would rather lose my sword arm than let him loose on my correspondence. We shall take it to Ywain when we reach Kermerdyn – he is my deputy and the man who will succeed me. He can read.’

‘So can I,’ said Geoffrey, unwilling to be lumbered with the responsibility of looking after the letter for longer than was necessary. ‘And I will read it to you now, if you like.’

‘Really?’ asked Mabon, regarding him with disappointment. ‘Why would a knight waste time on that?’

‘That is an unusual stance for an abbot,’ said Geoffrey.

Mabon laughed uproariously. ‘I am an unusual abbot. But please keep the letter. I will only lose it, and then Ywain will be vexed. Besides, it is a lovely day and I do not want it sullied by unwelcome news – and all news that comes via that meddling usurper Henry is bad news. I cannot abide the man.’

Geoffrey warmed to Mabon. ‘I understand you have a feud with Bishop Wilfred,’ he said, supposing he may as well start one of his enquiries.

‘That venomous Norman snake,’ spat Mabon. ‘Not that I have anything against Normans, of course, but they have no right to march into our country and award themselves all the best posts. I should have been Bishop of St David’s.’

‘The King does not know what he is missing,’ said Geoffrey, suspecting Henry very much did, and that was why Wilfred had been appointed.

‘Indeed!’ agreed Mabon. ‘It is a pity William fitz Baldwin died, because I did not mind him in a position of power. He was a lovely man, and I liked having him in Rhydygors.’

‘You do not like Hywel?’

‘Oh, yes – he is lovely, too, although he is Welsh, so that is to be expected. Of course, poor William was murdered. It was put about that he died of fever, but that was a lie. I was the one who first said he was poisoned, and I stand by my claim.’

‘With what evidence?’ Geoffrey felt his spirits sink. He had hoped to be able to report that William’s death was natural and the tales about his secret no more than rumour.

‘Evidence!’ sneered Mabon. ‘I do not need evidence when my gut screams foul play. Besides, his fingers were black.’

‘Black?’ asked Geoffrey, puzzled.

‘Decayed, like a corpse. It was very peculiar. And there was a nasty scene around his deathbed. Of course, it was the butter that killed him.’

‘Butter?’ Geoffrey was bemused by the confidences.

‘It was made by Cornald, was a gift from Pulchria, delivered by Richard. Then Delwyn was seen loitering around the kitchens where the stuff lay, talking to Bishop Wilfred. And Gwgan, Isabella, Hywel and Sear were at the meal after which William became ill. They are all suspects for the crime.’

‘I see,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Where were you?’

‘In my abbey, seeing to a sick horse, as my monks will attest. Edward was away at the salient time, too, while poor little Leah was ill and confined to her bed. We three are innocent, but the rest are guilty until proven innocent, as far as I am concerned.’

‘What nasty scene happened at William’s deathbed?’

‘He took several days to die, and muttered and whispered almost the entire time. Little of it made sense, but we were all keen to hear as much as possible, lest he gave up his secret.’

‘What secret?’ asked Geoffrey, feigning innocence.

‘The secret that turned him into the fine man he was, and gave him his fabulous luck,’ replied Mabon. ‘Surely, you have heard this tale? It is famous all over the world.’

‘Enlighten me.’

Mabon grimaced. ‘He would never say what the secret was, and even denied that he had one on occasion, although he was a poor liar. I happened to be alone with him at one point during his fever, and he told me he found the secret in the river.’

Geoffrey frowned. ‘What do you think he meant?’

Mabon shrugged. ‘It made no sense, but he was religious, and I know he liked to immerse himself in the water as though he were John the Baptist. Perhaps he had a vision. He certainly had great respect for the Blessed Virgin.’

‘Many people do,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But-’

‘I do not bother with her,’ interrupted Mabon. ‘When I want favours, I go straight to the top – to God the Father.’

‘Oh,’ said Geoffrey, feeling the discussion was blasphemous.

‘But never mind all this religious claptrap. Let me see your destrier. There is no man in Wales who is a better judge of horseflesh than me.’

Mabon was indeed knowledgeable and regaled Geoffrey with all manner of opinions about horses and weapons. He left eventually, and Geoffrey was about to go to Hilde when he sensed yet another presence. It was Pulchria, and her expression was predatory.

‘The lord of Goodrich,’ she crooned, mincing towards him. ‘I was hoping for an opportunity to make your acquaintance. Joan and Olivier have been waxing lyrical about you.’

‘Have they?’ asked Geoffrey warily.

‘Oh, yes,’ whispered Pulchria, swaying closer. ‘All the time. And my husband is very eager to meet you. He would like to learn the secret of your success.’

He could smell her heady perfume, and her eyes were dark with promise. Her beauty was rather dangerous, Geoffrey thought, taking a step back, and it would see him in trouble if he yielded to it.

‘Secret?’ he asked, struggling to keep his mind on the conversation. ‘I have no secret – and I am not successful, either.’

‘Of course you are. We both want to know how you turned Goodrich – an impoverished outpost – into the envy of the region.’

‘That had nothing to do with me,’ said Geoffrey, as she leaned closer still, treating him to a view of her bosom. ‘Joan is the one who has done the transforming. Ask her.’

‘I would rather talk to you,’ breathed Pulchria. Her perfume was similar to that worn by his duchess, and he felt his heart begin to pound. He forced his thoughts to more practical matters.

‘Abbot Mabon has been telling me about some butter William ate before his death,’ he began.

Pulchria stepped away from him. ‘You mean William fitz Baldwin?’ she asked incredulously. ‘He died seven years ago. I thought everyone had forgotten about those silly rumours. There was no truth in them – just gossip and spite.’

‘Mabon said the butter was made by your husband and was a gift from you.’

‘It was,’ said Pulchria sullenly. ‘And perhaps it was a little past its best – dairy produce spoils quickly – but it was certainly not rancid. And nor was it poisoned.’

‘So you think William died of natural causes?’

Pulchria pouted. ‘Of course! Half the town visited him on his deathbed, because he was considered such a saintly man, and when I went he had some sort of seizure – he shuddered and thrashed about, then went limp. Clearly, an ague killed him – perhaps one caught sitting by the river in the damp.’

‘Mabon said he had black fingers.’

‘I did not notice. To be frank, I was watching his face, to see whether he might whisper his secret. Unfortunately, all I could hear were prayers to the Blessed Virgin. What do you think of virgins, Sir Geoffrey? I consider them overrated.’

‘I do not know many,’ said Geoffrey, as she moved towards him again.

‘Neither do I.’ She gave a slow, smouldering smile that turned her eyes silvery black. ‘Can you think of anything we might do to pass the time until the hawkers return?’

Geoffrey nodded as he stepped around her. ‘Yes – see my wife.’

Despite his efforts to save Hilde’s blushes, Geoffrey was still acutely aware of the grins and nudges of the servants as he crossed the hall and walked up the stairs. Trying to ignore them, he looked at the changes Joan had made since he had left.

During his childhood, the great hall had been a dark, forbidding place, with little in the way of comfort. Joan had changed it almost beyond recognition, with tapestries on the walls, clean rushes on the floor, and smart, well-polished furniture. A fire always blazed in the hearth, and he was amused to see there were even one or two rugs scattered around. Edward would be pleased.

He ran up the spiral steps and opened the door to the bedchamber. He was startled to find Hilde fast asleep, and supposed she had not required as much time to prepare as he had allowed her. She was lying on her back with her mouth open, and several bottles of unguents indicated she had gone to some trouble to render herself alluring. Touched that she should bother, he sat on the edge of the bed, which woke her.

‘I thought you were not coming,’ she said, rubbing her eyes drowsily. Then she shot him a sharp glance. ‘Was my mouth open?’

‘No,’ lied Geoffrey. ‘I was waylaid – first by Leah, then by Mabon, and then by Pulchria.’

‘Pulchria,’ muttered Hilde. ‘She is a tremendous beauty, with her elegant figure and golden locks. Joan and I dislike being in the same room with her. She makes us feel fat and old.’

‘You are both worth ten of her,’ said Geoffrey gallantly.

Hilde’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did she make a play for you? I imagine she did, because she has been through every other man in the household. Except Olivier, who would not have her.’

‘Neither would I. She has Roger and Sear lined up for later, so I hope they do not quarrel over times.’

‘She will ensure they do not, lest one decides to find someone else instead, and she misses out. But never mind her. I have been thinking about Kermerdyn. You can order me to remain here, but I swore marriage vows in a church to stand with you in times of trouble. I do not intend to break them.’

It was a difficult stance to counter, given that Geoffrey took oaths seriously himself. He sighed, wishing he was in the Holy Land, fighting at Tancred’s side. It would be a lot safer and less complicated.

‘You can talk to me,’ Hilde went on quietly. ‘You will find me a good listener, and I can see you are troubled. Tell me what is happening.’

Geoffrey had not talked seriously to anyone since Bishop Maurice. He had confided in Roger to a certain extent, but the big knight was impatient with the mission’s complexities and had again encouraged Geoffrey to abandon his responsibilities for the Holy Land. Geoffrey realized it would be a relief to tell someone about the worries that plagued him.

‘Henry has set me three tasks,’ he began. ‘But the more I learn about them, the more I see he is sending me into some very troubled waters. First, I have five letters to deliver, four of them to men who are here in Goodrich. Sear is not to have his until we reach Kermerdyn, although Henry declined to tell me why. Richard and Gwgan can have theirs today, but I just tried to pass Abbot Mabon his, and he declined to take it.’

‘He is not very interested in administrative matters,’ said Hilde with a shrug. ‘And he does not like the King, so I am not surprised he wants his deputy to deal with whatever it contains.’

‘The last letter is to Bishop Wilfred. The second task is to assess whether Mabon or Wilfred is more deserving of the King’s approbation. They dislike each other apparently, but he wants to know who will emerge victorious, so he can be sure of supporting the winning side.’

Hilde laughed without humour. ‘And the last task?’

‘To investigate a suspicious death that occurred seven years ago.’

Hilde sat up. ‘Not William fitz Baldwin’s?’

‘You know about it?’ asked Geoffrey, surprised.

‘Yes, from Isabella. Apparently, he was just some sullen Norman when he arrived in Kermerdyn, but by the time he finished building Rhydygors, he had become good, kind and saintly. His luck improved, too, and everything he did was successful.’

‘Except for the fact that he died before his time.’

‘People were jealous of him, even his friends – Sear, Alberic, Mabon, Cornald, his brother. It was common knowledge that he had discovered a secret, which accounted for his transformation, but he would never say what it was to anyone, until he raved about it on his deathbed.’

‘Did he rave enough to let anyone guess what it might be?’

‘He gave snatches to different people. He told Isabella it was something to do with water.’

‘He told Mabon it occurred in the river,’ mused Geoffrey. ‘A vision perhaps. Mabon is a curious man, do you not think? Rather irreligious for a monastic.’

Hilde laughed again. ‘He has startled us all with his pagan remarks, and Joan will be glad to be rid of him.’

‘What else do you know about William? Were there rumours regarding culprits for his murder?’

‘Oh, yes. Isabella said everyone who attended his deathbed should be considered a suspect, because they were all so keen to have his secret – Sear, Alberic, Cornald and Pulchria, Bishop Wilfred and Abbot Mabon, Hywel, Gwgan, Richard and Leah, Edward, Delwyn. It will not be an easy case to solve, because none of them is likely to confess.’

‘Mabon says he, Edward and Leah are innocent, because they had no contact with the butter that he believes killed William.’

‘Isabella also mentioned the possibility that the butter was to blame, but she said it could not be substantiated, because the stuff was thrown away before it could be inspected. However, William had been eating it over several days.’

‘Have any of these suspects inherited William’s success? In other words did anyone acquire his secret?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Lord!’ muttered Geoffrey, thinking again that Henry had burdened him with an impossible task. He said as much to Hilde and then he told her about Tancred’s letters and Eudo’s murder, and about the shipwreck and his vow never to return to the Holy Land.

‘I am sorry,’ he said eventually, realizing he had been speaking for a long time. ‘You do not want to know all this.’

‘Of course, I do,’ said Hilde softly. ‘Because now I will be able to help you when we travel to Kermerdyn – and I am going with you, Geoffrey. We shall discuss what you learn and make sense of it together. But we have talked enough today, and there are other matters to attend.’

She moved towards him with grim purpose.

It was late afternoon by the time Olivier brought his guests home, and, judging from the laughter around the bailey, a good time had been had by all, even Sear and Alberic, who gushed about Olivier’s birds. Geoffrey tried to manoeuvre Richard and Gwgan into a position where he could speak to them alone, but there were too many people, and it would have looked suspicious had he persisted. Reluctantly, he decided to wait.

The party trooped into the hall, where Joan had prepared a feast fit for kings, with plenty of roasted meat, fresh bread, boiled eggs, fish, custard and even a small dish of cabbage for the rare few who liked a little greenery on their platters.

There was a raised table near the hearth, where the most important guests were seated. As lord of the manor, Geoffrey sat in the middle, with Hilde on one side, and Joan and Olivier on the other. Cornald and Pulchria sat next to Hilde, and Gwgan by Joan. Mabon, Sear, Alberic, Edward, Roger, Richard and Leah were opposite. Delwyn was relegated to the servants’ table, much to his indignation.

‘Ignore him,’ boomed Mabon irritably, as the monk’s whine buzzed around their ears like an annoying insect. ‘He has ideas above his station.’

‘Did you do much looting in the Holy Land, Sir Geoffrey?’ asked Cornald conversationally. He looked exactly as a butterer should – portly, with a greasy face and soft hands. He smiled a lot and had rosy cheeks and shining eyes. Geoffrey immediately liked him and was sorry he was saddled with such a wanton wife. ‘We heard great riches were there for the taking.’

‘ I did plenty,’ said Roger, before Geoffrey could reply. ‘ I returned a wealthy man.’

‘It is easy to take from the weak,’ declared Sear challengingly. ‘But I have always considered it more noble to tackle those better able to defend themselves.’

‘It is certainly more fun to remove treasure from a man who puts up a decent fight,’ agreed Abbot Mabon amiably. ‘I have never enjoyed raiding peasants.’

‘I am glad to hear it, My Lord Abbot,’ said Gwgan softly. His intelligent face was alight with amusement, and it was clear he was enjoying himself. ‘I doubt Prince Hywel would approve of you marauding those of his subjects who are helpless.’

‘Not his subjects,’ snapped Richard. ‘The King’s.’

‘Hear, hear,’ echoed Sear, while Alberic raised his cup in salute at the sentiment. Leah put a calming hand on her husband’s arm, and he shot her what Geoffrey supposed was a smile.

‘ I would not have enjoyed the Crusade,’ said Edward. ‘I understand there were flies. I do not like flies.’

‘You mean Saracens?’ asked Roger, puzzled. ‘There were plenty of those.’

‘I mean flies,’ said Edward with a fastidious shudder. ‘Creatures that land on rotting meat and then buzz around your head afterwards. Dreadful things!’

‘I kill them by the hundred,’ said Richard. ‘My brother made me a gift of a special implement with which to swat them. That was before his change, of course. Afterwards, he told me they are God’s creations and so worthy of mercy. I ignored him.’

‘Flies are not God’s creations,’ proclaimed Mabon authoritatively. ‘They are the Devil’s. So swat away.’

‘Tell us more about your loot, Sir Roger,’ invited Cornald. ‘Did anyone try to stop you, or were you given free rein to take what you liked?’

‘People did try to stop me,’ admitted Roger. ‘But I usually killed them.’

Hilde regarded him coolly. ‘You had better not try to kill Geoffrey, should he ever attempt to instil a sense of honesty into you.’

‘He knows better than to try,’ said Roger carelessly. He turned to Sear. ‘Why did you not volunteer for the Crusade? Was it beyond your martial skills?’

‘Not everyone can jaunt off for pleasure when there is work to be done,’ replied Sear tartly. ‘I remained to tend to my responsibilities, like any decent man.’

‘Tell us about your adventures in battle, Abbot Mabon,’ said Olivier quickly.

‘Later, perhaps.’ Mabon raised a small phial and shook it jovially at the little knight. ‘It is time to take my tonic, you see. This miraculous substance is what makes me the man I am.’

‘Really?’ asked Pulchria. She shot a speculative glance at her husband. ‘Where do you buy it?’

‘In Kermerdyn,’ replied Mabon. ‘The apothecary makes it for me.’

‘It contains mandrake juice,’ said Gwgan. ‘And other ingredients to make a man feel invincible.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Edward. ‘I appreciate that a counsellor is obliged to amass a wealth of knowledge if he is to serve his prince, but I would not have thought an intimacy with the contents of Abbot Mabon’s medicine would be necessary.’

Gwgan laughed. ‘My wife told me – she is interested in herb lore.’

‘My sister Isabella,’ nodded Hilde. ‘She has always been fascinated by the medicinal properties of plants.’

‘Well, I do not care what is in it, only that it does me a power of good,’ declared Mabon. ‘And not just me, either. Richard swears by it, too.’

Richard produced an identical pot. ‘Three sips a day. But this expedition has taken longer than I expected, and I have run out. Give me some of yours, Mabon.’

‘I certainly shall not,’ said Mabon fervently. ‘Because then I will not have enough to see me home, and I do not want to be found lacking by the ladies.’

Richard scowled, and Geoffrey braced himself to intervene when it looked as though he might take the potion by force. Roger’s hand went to his dagger, giving the impression that he thought a brawl would round the evening off very nicely.

‘Music!’ declared Olivier quickly. ‘Where is my lute?’

Without further ado, he began to sing a popular ballad about a lovelorn maiden. He had a beautiful voice and played well. Richard’s scowl faded, Gwgan’s mocking smile was replaced by something softer, Edward clapped his hands in girlish delight, and Mabon closed his eyes to listen.

‘Look at Richard,’ murmured Hilde in Geoffrey’s ear. ‘He will have Mabon’s potion later, no doubt about it. I only hope they do not kill each other over it.’

So did Geoffrey – at least, not before he had given them the King’s letters.

Warm and dry for the first time in weeks, Geoffrey allowed himself to relax. It was a mistake, because Hilde plied him with wine on one side and Joan from the other. By the time people began to withdraw to their sleeping quarters, he was decidedly unsteady on his feet. It also encouraged him to be reckless, and he decided he would deliver the letters to Richard and Gwgan that night.

He cornered Richard first, withdrawing the missive from inside his shirt, and checking that Richard’s name and Pepin’s diamond were on it before following him outside. It was a clear night, with masses of stars pricking the black sky. Had he been sober, he would have waited longer before grabbing Richard’s shoulder and shoving the letter in his hand. Fortunately, Richard was drunk, too, and did not understand that it was Geoffrey’s fault that he reeled and almost fell.

‘That is from King Henry,’ said Geoffrey in response to the questioning glance.

Richard regarded it warily. ‘Does it contain orders? Or is it just from Eudo, telling me how much meat to feed my garrison? He is constantly pressing me with stupid instructions.’

‘I am afraid neither of them confided its contents to me.’

Richard started to break the seal, but then stopped. ‘I shall ask Gwgan to read it tomorrow. I doubt it is urgent.’

‘I was sorry to learn about your brother,’ said Geoffrey, taking the opportunity to question him. Then he winced. William had been dead seven years, so condolences were late, to say the least, and he realized he should leave his investigations until his wits were not floating in wine. Fortunately, Richard was drunker than he was, and it did not occur to him that sympathy for the death of a man so long in his grave was peculiar.

‘Everyone liked William.’ Richard’s expression grew pained. ‘I would have liked his secret, because I would not mind being popular myself.’

‘You think his secret made him popular?’

Richard nodded so earnestly that he almost toppled over. ‘He was like me before he found it – he had a temper and was disinclined to laugh at frivolous things. Then along came his secret, and he changed. He became kindly and tolerant, just and wise. And people loved him for it. I still grieve for him.’

‘What was his secret?’ asked Geoffrey tipsily.

‘I wish I knew, but it was something to do with the Blessed Virgin. Mabon thinks it was connected to William’s swims in the river, but he is wrong. It does not matter any more, though, because the secret is gone. He did not tell any of us enough on his deathbed to allow us to find it.’

‘Are you sure?’

Richard nodded again. ‘Yes. My brother was a saint, and no one else fits that description in Kermerdyn. If anyone did find his secret, then it did not have the same effect.’

‘Was he murdered?’ asked Geoffrey. The question was out before he realized he should have phrased it more tactfully.

Richard’s scowl was back. ‘No one would have killed William, although there were tales to the contrary. It was probably because his fingers turned black, but the physician said that can happen with many ailments. He was not murdered, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.’

‘I was only asking,’ said Geoffrey, backing away with his hands in the air when Richard’s dagger started to come out of its sheath. ‘I meant no disrespect.’

‘Good,’ snarled Richard. ‘Because I will kill anyone who speaks dishonourably about William. He was the best man who ever lived.’

‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, startled to see tears begin to flow.

He watched Richard stagger away and was inclined to believe his grief was genuine. It was difficult to feign emotions after swallowing so much wine, and there was no doubt that Richard had loved his brother dearly. Did that mean he would not have killed him? Geoffrey found he was not yet ready to say.