A Dead Man's secret

Eight

Brechene, October 1103

Unlike the journey to Goodrich, the track into Wales was dry and hard, and made for excellent riding. Geoffrey’s companions did not object to his rapid pace, although it still took longer than it should have done. Hilde and Pulchria did not slow them down, but Leah’s debilitating headaches did, and concern for her well-being forced them to stop early nearly every day. The men did not object to the shorter journeys, happy that the presence of women meant the party tended to find shelter in inns and villages, rather than under hedges or in barns.

It was a large company – Richard and Cornald each had several servants – and an ostentatious one. All six knights – Geoffrey, Roger, Sear, Alberic, Richard and Edward – wore white surcoats, and so did Gwgan. Cornald, Pulchria and Leah dressed in a way that said they were people of substance, and, with such an overt display of affluence, Geoffrey expected them to be ambushed at every turn. Richard and Gwgan almost came to unfortunate ends when an unseen attacker threw knives at them, but otherwise there was no trouble, and Geoffrey supposed the presence of so many warriors deterred casual robbers.

Within the company, meanwhile, there were more feuds and factions than Geoffrey could number, and they seemed to alter with every mile. Sear and Alberic switched back and forth from being Richard’s bosom friend to his bitter enemy with bewildering rapidity. Concurrently, Geoffrey and Edward were increasingly hard-pressed to prevent Sear and Roger from fighting. Throughout it all, Pulchria caused divisions with her assignations, and Cornald continued to give the impression that he was blithely unaware of her activities.

Delwyn annoyed everyone by complaining about the weather, the horses, the conversation and, most of all, the fact that Geoffrey had put him in charge of Abbot Mabon’s body, which was being carried on a cart. Geoffrey was glad the weather had cooled, because Goodrich had no resident embalmer. Delwyn saw to the corpse on its cart each night, but his duties were perfunctory, and he gave no indication that he grieved.

Geoffrey was pleasantly surprised by Gwgan, who transpired to be intelligent and urbane. The Welshman was delighted to discover that Geoffrey spoke his language, and encouraged him to converse as often as possible. Geoffrey liked learning languages and was more than happy to oblige. He often sought out Gwgan’s company and was even happier when Edward joined them in lively, intellectual discussions of the kind Geoffrey experienced too infrequently in his life as a soldier. They talked about Mabon’s death, too.

‘Did you ever reach any conclusions about who killed the abbot?’ Edward asked Gwgan one day, as the three rode together. He spoke Latin, as they always did when they did not want the rest of the party to eavesdrop. ‘I know you tried to investigate the matter for Prince Hywel.’

Gwgan grimaced. ‘Unfortunately not. I am inclined to discount Richard, because he is too savage to use poison. Besides, he hates the notion of killing by toxins after the way William died.’

Edward shuddered. ‘I was not at William’s deathbed, but the affair sounded terrible.’

‘It was,’ agreed Gwgan. He crossed himself suddenly, something Geoffrey had not seen him do before. ‘I was appalled by the length of time it took him to die.’

‘Days,’ said Edward, shaking his head.

Gwgan nodded slowly. ‘If William was poisoned, then his killer is evil beyond words. I am no expert in the field, but I know there are substances that can end a man’s life far more quickly and without the agonies poor William suffered.’

‘What a grim discussion!’ said Edward, after a reflective silence. ‘I should never have raised the subject of murder. Forgive me. We shall talk about Socrates instead.’

‘Only if we do not dwell on the fact that Socrates was poisoned, too,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Or the fact that he asked a lot of questions, but did not answer many.’

Gwgan laughed. ‘It sounds safer to concentrate on his philosophy.’

‘Then we shall debate a Socratic paradox,’ determined Geoffrey. ‘How about the notion that all virtue is knowledge?’

Roger disapproved of their discussions, especially as they were conducted in a language he did not understand. Meanwhile, Sear and Alberic mocked them incessantly, and Richard obviously itched to, but Leah had whispered something the first time he had started to make a disparaging remark, and he had desisted since. Geoffrey was grateful to Edward, who was blessed with a remarkable ability to keep the peace, which he achieved with unfailing cheerfulness and a battery of diplomatic interruptions.

Geoffrey enjoyed the company of Hilde and Leah, though. Leah kept Richard’s surliness in check, and, though often ill, she was gentle and considerate with the servants. Hilde and Geoffrey grew closer as they spent more time together, and he looked forward to the evenings, when they were usually alone. Pulchria was a liability, though, especially at night, and she was the cause of several quarrels between Roger, Sear and Alberic.

‘I am tempted to stay in Brechene and travel to Kermerdyn later with my garrison,’ said Edward one day, having endured a lengthy tirade against knights who preferred discussing geometry to slaughter. ‘I have had enough of this rabble.’

If the company had upset Edward’s patient equanimity, then Geoffrey knew it was bad.

‘Please stay with us, Sir Edward,’ pleaded Hilde. ‘We might never reach Kermerdyn if you are not here to help us keep these brutes from each other’s throats. I would not care, but I do not want Geoffrey blamed when he and I are the only ones who arrive without slaughtering each other.’

‘We will not have their company on the way home, thank God,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Will you stay in Kermerdyn long?’ asked Edward. He smiled boyishly. ‘I certainly hope so, because I would like you to see Kadweli. In fact, you should come with me directly, because it would be nicer and certainly safer.’

‘You do not like Kermerdyn?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘Oh, it is lovely – it was an old Roman town, and the ancient walls can still be seen. I was thinking more of the inhabitants.’

‘But my sister has always said there is no one more charming than a person from Kermerdyn,’ said Hilde.

‘And she is right,’ said Edward. ‘Especially now all the nasty folk are currently riding along behind us. It must be wonderful there at the moment. Kermerdyn does not deserve the likes of Sear and Richard. Or Alberic, who seems more pleasant than his touchy friend, but who is sly.’

It was the first time Edward had made disparaging remarks about their companions, and Geoffrey was inclined to listen.

‘And Cornald?’

Edward was thoughtful. ‘I like him, but can he really be so stupid as not to know what Pulchria does in her spare time? He is an astute businessman, so I do not see him lacking in wits.’

‘You think he might harbour grudges behind his amiable facade?’ asked Hilde.

Edward shrugged. ‘It is not for me to say, but I cannot help but wonder.’

Geoffrey and Hilde exchanged a glance. Had Cornald lobbed the knives at Richard and Gwgan, and shot at Geoffrey in Goodrich? If so, then it was unfair, because none of them had accepted Pulchria’s invitations – Geoffrey had Hilde, Richard had Leah, and Gwgan would not stray from the straight and narrow with his sister-in-law watching.

‘Do you happen to know whether William enjoyed Pulchria’s favours?” asked Geoffrey, thinking fast. ‘Or Mabon?’

‘William did regularly when he first arrived in Kermerdyn,’ replied Edward. ‘But not once he became a saint, which vexed her greatly. And Mabon would only take her when he was sure no one else would see. Well, you cannot blame him: he was an abbot, after all.’

Geoffrey and Hilde exchanged a second glance. Perhaps Cornald was innocent, and it was Pulchria who had the penchant for poison.

Edward sighed. ‘I am glad we will soon be at Brechene. My knees ache today. It must be the cold weather.’

‘And the fact that your saddle is on backwards,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It cannot be comfortable.’

‘Is it?’ Edward was astonished. ‘Lord! That is what comes of rushing this morning. I was hoping Bale would help me, but he was busy with Pulchria.’

‘Was he?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily, glancing behind him to where the pair in question rode side by side. Bale was grinning rather inanely, and Pulchria seemed unusually content.

‘Surely, you can saddle your own horse, Sir Edward,’ said Hilde, laughing. ‘You are a knight.’

‘In name only, dear lady,’ said Edward, unabashed. ‘Although I do know horses. I bought this one in La Batailge and have been more than pleased with it.’

Geoffrey would not have been, because it was a poor animal that was easily winded. But he supposed it would suit someone like Edward, who was unlikely to push it too hard. He fell back to ride with Roger when he heard raised voices.

‘My father is not a traitor,’ the big knight was declaring hotly, while Sear’s expression was vengeful. ‘He is a godly, noble man.’

Geoffrey grabbed the reins of Roger’s horse when it was not only Sear who started to laugh. The Bishop of Durham was one of the most unpopular men in the country, and Roger was alone in thinking he had virtues. Even Leah chuckled at the notion.

‘Ride point with me,’ he said, as Roger’s hand dropped to the hilt of his dagger. ‘Brechene cannot be far now, and it would be a pity to fall prey to an ambush.’

‘What ambush?’ snarled Roger. ‘There has barely been a sniff of trouble since we left La Batailge, and I am disappointed, to tell you the truth. What is wrong with thieves these days, that they cannot stage a decent robbery? I itch to use my sword.’

‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey, suspecting he was about to use it on Sear. ‘So we will let the others rest in Brechene, and we will spar a little.’

Roger nodded acquiescence and spurred his warhorse ahead of the main party. Fortunately, Edward was able to prevent Sear from following by initiating a conversation about hawks.

‘How is your investigation?’ asked Roger rather stiffly, when they were some distance ahead and could not be overheard.

‘Only one thing is clear. If William did have a secret that turned him into a better person, it is not one he shared with anyone in this party.’

‘Especially not Sear,’ growled Roger.

Brechene was an impressive fortress under the command of an efficient Norman baron named Bernard de Neufmarche. It comprised a motte and bailey with enough outbuildings of wood and stone to house a substantial garrison. A short distance away was a Benedictine abbey, and the town was strewn between them. It was a pretty place, set in a gently wooded valley.

‘I am not staying in another Benedictine house,’ declared Roger. ‘Not after La Batailge. We shall go to the castle.’

‘It is not a good idea to take ladies into a fortress with a garrison,’ said Geoffrey mildly. ‘Although I imagine Pulchria would not mind.’

‘I suspect she would, now she has Bale,’ said Roger resentfully. ‘God knows what they do of an evening, but she never has any energy for the rest of us.’

‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Geoffrey. ‘Does Cornald know?’

‘He has not said anything. On the contrary, he has offered to show Bale how to make butter when we arrive in Kermerdyn, although we had better go with him, or he may “fall” inside some vile churning machinery and be chopped to pieces.’

‘It would be no more than he deserves. What about an inn, then? That one looks reasonable.’

He pointed to a large, neat building with a thatched roof that looked big enough to house them all. It seemed respectable, with well-swept stables. Roger’s eye strayed hopefully to the rather more dingy establishment opposite, where several scantily clad women hovered, eyeing passers-by with hungry speculation and shivering in the bitter wind that swept down from the hills.

‘You can visit them later,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Take Bale with you. It may leave Pulchria free for her husband.’

Geoffrey’s choice of inns did not meet with anyone’s approval. Edward and Delwyn declared it too shabby; Sear, Alberic and Richard thought it too fancy; Gwgan sniffed that there were too many Englishmen; Cornald said it smelled of fish; and Pulchria was vexed because the landlord took one look at her and ordered her to behave herself on pain of eviction.

‘The only one not complaining is Mabon,’ said Geoffrey to Roger. ‘And he is dead.’

‘I am not complaining,’ said Leah shyly. ‘Ignore them, Sir Geoffrey. They would find fault with Nebuchadnezzar’s Palace.’

‘I have not been there,’ said Roger, frowning. ‘And I know most of the Holy Land brothels. I am well acquainted with Abdul’s Pleasure Palace, of course, which is-’

‘You must be cold,’ said Geoffrey, before Leah could be provided with details she would not want to hear. ‘Let me escort you inside.’

The inn’s main room was a pleasant place, with a clean floor, a high ceiling and a fire that did not smoke. It smelled comfortably of burning wood, new ale and damp wool. The landlord, a plump man in a white apron, offered them food. There was no meat on the menu because it was Friday; the choice was fish soup, pea pottage or bread with cheese.

‘Fish soup!’ exclaimed Richard, with an expression as close to pleasure as Geoffrey had yet seen. ‘Excellent. We shall all have that.’

‘We will not,’ said Geoffrey firmly. He had never liked fish soup, but his aversion had intensified after someone had tried to poison him with some.

‘Aye,’ agreed Roger. ‘We will have bread and cheese here, and then go across the road and see if they have any meat. That did not look like a place for silly Lenten customs.’

‘And this from a son of a bishop,’ murmured Gwgan. ‘But I will have fish soup, landlord. Good and hot, if you please. I am chilled to the bone.’

The others ordered pea pottage, which transpired to be an unappetizing brown sludge. It was a considerable improvement on the fish soup, though, which reeked of ingredients past their best. Sear arrived just as everyone was finishing, because he had taken his horse to the stables. He ordered fish soup, and his face grew dark when he was told there was none left.

‘You ate it all deliberately,’ he said to Richard. ‘You know it is my favourite.’

‘I know nothing of the kind,’ retorted Richard coldly. ‘I have better things to do than recall your likes and dislikes. Besides, it was not very nice as it happens.’

‘Well, I hope it makes you vomit,’ said Sear.

Geoffrey braced himself to intervene, but Richard made no reply, indicating with a wave of his hand that he could not be bothered. He and Leah retired to their chamber shortly afterwards, and Sear and Alberic accompanied Roger to the brothel opposite. Cornald went to visit a fellow butterer in the town, Edward went to the castle to tell his garrison that they were to be ready to leave the following day, and Bale slipped away with Pulchria. Geoffrey heaved a sigh of relief, grateful to be rid of them all.

If Geoffrey had been hoping to enjoy some quiet time with Hilde, he was to be disappointed. She had no more started to tell him about the poor state of Goodrich’s high summer pastures – not a subject that greatly interested him, but one that beckoned like paradise compared to the bickering of his companions – when Delwyn came to sit with them.

‘I will share everything I know abut William fitz Baldwin’s death if you let me give the Archbishop’s letter to Ywain,’ the monk said. ‘He does not like me, but if I carry important documents from prelates, he cannot dismiss me as though I am nothing.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey, tired of being asked. ‘I have my orders.’

‘Besides, I doubt you know anything of import about William, anyway,’ said Hilde.

‘Do I not?’ bristled Delwyn. ‘Well, you are wrong, because I know a lot. I was at his deathbed.’

‘So was half of Kermerdyn,’ goaded Hilde with calculated disdain. Geoffrey watched in astonishment; he knew exactly what she was doing and was amazed when the monk rose to the bait.

‘I was there longer, because Abbot Mabon wanted a monk present, lest William needed spiritual comfort.’ Delwyn sighed at her openly sceptical expression. ‘All right, he left me there in case William mentioned his secret, and I have the sharpest ears in the monastery.’

‘And what did your sharp ears tell you?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘That William most certainly did have a secret, and if anyone tells you otherwise, then he is lying or a fool. I heard it from his own lips that the secret was what made him good and holy. He wanted to tell his friends and family about it, so they could use it to the greater good. He said he had hidden it in a special place.’

‘What special place?’ demanded Hilde.

Delwyn’s eyes flashed with annoyance at her tone. ‘Unfortunately, I did not quite catch that part, although it must still be in Kermerdyn, because no one has become good and holy like him – and they would have done, had they claimed this secret for themselves.’

‘Perhaps it does not work on everyone,’ suggested Geoffrey.

‘Oh, it will,’ declared Delwyn with absolute conviction. ‘Personally, I think it is something to do with the Blessed Virgin. Perhaps she gave him something. Regardless, I wish he had told me where he had put it. I would have-’

‘Retrieved it and given it to your abbey?’ asked Geoffrey mildly.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Delwyn unconvincingly. ‘Or taken it to King Henry, who would have rewarded me.’

‘I hardly think that information warrants my husband disobeying his King and giving you the Archbishop’s letter,’ said Hilde coolly. ‘He already knew all this.’

‘Then what about the fact that William was poisoned?’ demanded Delwyn. ‘And I know, because he told me so. I asked him whom he thought was responsible, and he said it was a dear friend. Well, his dear friends were Sear, Alberic, Edward, Mabon and Cornald. And his brother Richard, of course, whom he loved greatly.’

‘Edward and Alberic were away when Richard died,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘They did not poison the butter.’

‘Why assume the butter was responsible?’ Delwyn shot back. ‘Anyway, for all you know, the poison could have been left before they went on their patrol. William took days to die in sweating agony, so it was not a fast-acting substance. Now give me the letter.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey curtly. ‘You will have to find another way to worm yourself into Ywain’s good graces.’

Delwyn’s face hardened. ‘You will be sorry you crossed me, Geoffrey Mappestone. I do not forget slights, and I will soon be in a position to do you serious harm.’

He scuttled away when Geoffrey started to come to his feet. Geoffrey could have caught him, but he was not worth the effort. Hilde shook her head in disgust.

‘That did not help much,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I thought I had discounted Edward and Alberic as suspects, but Delwyn has just reinstated them on my list.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Hilde. ‘Think about it: no one else became ill from this poison, so it must have been in something eaten or drunk by William alone, and the butter still seems the obvious candidate. However, we have learned that the secret is probably real.’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey heavily. ‘We have learned that William thought the secret was real, but he was raving, remember? I do not think I am capable of solving this case, Hilde. I only hope Henry does not vent his spleen on Goodrich when I tell him so.’

Hilde muttered soothing words, but Geoffrey could see she was concerned, too. They discussed the case until Gwgan came to join them, and although he felt they were going around in circles, it was good to have a trusted friend with whom to debate.

After a while, Gwgan persuaded Hilde to visit the market with him to buy homecoming gifts for Isabella, and Geoffrey asked the innkeeper where he might find a physician. He was directed to a house near the church, where a man named Huw plied his trade.

‘You do not look as if you are in need of my services,’ said Huw, a kindly, smiling man with a demeanour that inspired confidence. ‘I have rarely seen a man more shining with health and vitality. Although I might recommend that you worry less and sleep more. You seem weary.’

Geoffrey suspected neither of those options was going to be available for a while. ‘If I describe what I know of the death of a man who died before his time, could you give me a diagnosis?’

‘No!’ Huw laughed.

‘Then will you be able to tell me whether poison might have played a part?’

Huw looked alarmed. ‘Murder?’

Geoffrey told Huw all he had learned about William’s demise, including the theory that butter might have been responsible. He described the days William had taken to die, during which he had been delirious. He also mentioned the seizures Pulchria had noted, the spells of vomiting observed by Gwgan, and the blackened fingers seen by Mabon, Richard and Cornald. When he had finished, Huw sat back thoughtfully.

‘Vomiting, convulsions and blackening of the extremities are all signs of poisoning from bad grain. It is known by many names – ergot, fire-dance, wolf-tooth or rye-bane.’

‘Wolf-tooth?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily. ‘There was wolf-tooth in a potion that killed another man recently, but he died very quickly.’

‘Then something else was added to this potion, because wolf-tooth is not a rapid killer.’

Geoffrey thought about what Gwgan had said: that Mabon’s tonic had included henbane, too. Did that mean the killer was someone skilled in the use of such substances – such as Gwgan? Or did it imply an amateur, who just added whatever deadly toxin was to hand?

‘Is wolf-tooth ever used to kill rats?’ asked Geoffrey, recalling what Pulchria had claimed about Joan’s medical supplies – which Olivier had denied.

The apothecary’s eyebrows went up. ‘Not sensibly – there are far more effective substances for that.’

Geoffrey frowned. ‘You said wolf-tooth is also called ergot. I was fed ergot not long ago, but my fingers did not turn black, nor did I have fits.’

‘It depends how much was administered,’ explained Huw. ‘Clearly, yours was diluted, whereas your first victim was subjected to a much larger dose. Perhaps you are right, and it did reach him via butter – especially as no one else seems to have partaken of the stuff.’

‘It was said to be rancid. The others must have tried a little or they would not have known.’

‘A little might have had no discernible effect. Or perhaps the wolf-tooth was concentrated in one area – in the middle, perhaps – so that those paring off the edges were spared.’

‘How would wolf-tooth come to be in the butter?’

Huw shrugged. ‘It could have been added when the butter was churned, or later, when it was being delivered to your victim or while it sat unattended in the kitchen. Regardless, it is a vicious thing to have done, and I recommend you be on your guard if you are travelling with the person you suspect for this crime.’

Geoffrey had every intention of being careful. ‘How easy is wolf-tooth to acquire?’

‘Oh, very easy. You merely gather up the diseased grains. I do it myself; if applied properly, wolf-tooth can be a useful therapeutic tool.’

‘But such harvesting suggests the crime was premeditated.’

‘Unquestionably. To collect and store wolf-tooth, then slip it into butter that might have been consumed by a large number of people… well, it suggests a callous ruthlessness.’

When Geoffrey returned to the inn, all his travelling companions except Richard and Edward were already there. Roger, Sear and Alberic were in high humour, the brothel having exceeded their expectations. Bale and Pulchria sat side by side with dreamy smiles on their faces, while Delwyn regaled them with complaints about the local abbey – they had taken one look at his filthy habit and declined to let him in. Gwgan appeared without a word and did not say where he had been, but his face was pale and he was in discomfort. Leah was lying down with a headache, and Cornald’s tunic was spotted with crumbs from the repast he had enjoyed with his fellow butterer.

‘You were right to avoid the fish soup,’ said Richard, slumping down a few moments later, one arm across his middle. ‘I think it was tainted. Trust you to select an inn that serves its guests rancid food, Geoffrey.’

Sear released a spiteful bray of laughter. ‘Hah! Perhaps it is divine justice, because you failed to save me some. God struck you down for selfishness.’

‘God had nothing to do with it,’ said Gwgan in a quiet voice that was indicative of his own suffering. ‘Neither did Geoffrey. Sometimes food is just bad.’

‘I thought the soup smelled bad,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I was surprised you did not notice.’

‘You let us eat rotten food?’ snarled Richard. ‘If I felt better, I would run you through!’

‘I thought it smelled rotten, too,’ said Delwyn smugly. ‘But had I said so, you would have accused me of being girlish, so I held my tongue. Clearly, Sir Geoffrey and I have better noses for that kind of thing.’

He smiled ingratiatingly, which Geoffrey supposed was either a form of apology for his earlier threat or an effort to encourage him to lower his guard. Richard began to berate the landlord for providing putrid wares, although his diatribe came to an abrupt end when he was obliged to dash outside. Gwgan followed quickly, and Sear and Alberic sniggered at their discomfort.

‘There was nothing wrong with my soup,’ declared the innkeeper angrily. ‘It was made from the finest trout giblets. Why do you think there was not much left? Because it is popular with my regulars, and they ate most of it before you arrived! None of them is ill.’

He stamped away, leaving Sear crowing about divine vengeance and Cornald defending the food industry by blaming the sickness on Richard and Gwgan drinking from streams. Then Edward arrived, his plump pink face a mask of consternation.

‘We cannot linger in Brechene,’ he said urgently, purple-gloved hands flapping in alarm. ‘I have just been with Bernard de Neufmarche, and he tells me there is a contagion in the castle. Half my men have been affected, and he has ordered me to leave my whole garrison there, lest they carry the disease with them and spread it around the country.’

‘What kind of contagion?’ asked Delwyn uneasily, glancing to where Richard and Gwgan had just returned from the latrines.

‘One that has the capacity to kill within hours,’ said Edward. ‘So I recommend we leave before we fall victim to it.’

Delwyn stood quickly, his face pale. ‘Then let us go. I have heard about such agues, and I have no intention of succumbing to one myself. I will collect Abbot Mabon from the stable.’

‘He is right,’ said Richard, struggling to his feet. ‘I do not want to be trapped here. I have been gone from Kermerdyn too long already. I never wanted to attend that silly ceremony in Gloucester – the King knows I am loyal; he does not require a scrap of parchment telling him so.’

‘It gives him peace of mind to know he has loyal officers,’ said Edward quietly. ‘I am happy to sign and swear anything he likes.’

‘He does not need anyone else when he has me,’ declared Sear loftily. ‘My loyalty is worth that of ten men, and I have never been asked to swear fealty. His Majesty knows it is not necessary.’

‘You do not look well,’ said Geoffrey to Richard and Gwgan, cutting across the argument he saw was about to begin. ‘I have observed no signs of contagion in Brechene and see no harm in resting here until tomorrow.’

‘I disagree,’ said Cornald, crossing himself. ‘We should all leave immediately, lest Bernard de Neufmarche decides to put the town under quarantine. We might be trapped here for weeks.’

‘Then perhaps we should stay,’ said Hilde quietly. She glanced at Richard and Gwgan. ‘It would be unconscionable to carry a deadly disease to other parts of the country.’

‘Gwgan and Richard do not have what had afflicted my men,’ said Edward, crossing himself soberly. ‘ They are completely covered in bleeding red blotches.’

Geoffrey had never seen his companions move so quickly, and whereas he and Roger were usually the first to be ready of a morning, they were last that day. Even Leah was there before them, her face pale and beaded with perspiration from the agony of her headache.

‘This is not a good idea,’ said Geoffrey, regarding her with concern. ‘We should wait.’

‘Do not worry about me,’ whispered Leah, giving him a wan smile. ‘I am used to these pains, and they will pass whether I lie in bed or sit astride a horse. It makes no difference.’

‘Your husband should rest, too,’ said Hilde. ‘Or at least not stray too far from a-’

‘He can manage,’ interrupted Sear briskly. ‘And so can Gwgan. They are both warriors and used to discomfort. We are not talking about monks here.’

Without further ado, Sear led them at a brisk canter out of Brechene, following a track that ran along the side of a wide, shallow river. Once clear of the town, he slackened the pace; the road was rutted and he did not want to spoil his horse. Geoffrey and Roger brought up the rear.

The first Geoffrey knew of trouble was a yell from Alberic, followed by a sudden hail of arrows. The path was narrow at that point, hemmed in by trees on one side and the river on the other, and there was scant room for manoeuvre. Sear and Alberic immediately raised their shields and prepared to ride towards the point of attack. Geoffrey opened his mouth to stop them – woods were no place for horsemen, and they would be killed by hidden archers – but they saw the danger for themselves, and his warning was unnecessary.

An arrow bounced off Geoffrey’s shield and told him attackers were behind, as well as in front. Unfortunately, those in the middle of the convoy, which comprised servants, the women and Cornald, stopped dead in hopeless confusion. So far, the attack had focussed on the two ends of the cavalcade, where the knights were able to defend themselves with their shields, but Geoffrey sensed that would not last, and staying still would see them all shot.

‘Ride on!’ he yelled.

Fortunately, Sear and Alberic understood the reasons behind his orders and galloped forward to clear the way. Richard followed, although Gwgan took time to control his prancing horse, putting Hilde directly in the line of fire. Geoffrey watched in horror, certain the Welshman’s ineptitude was going to see his wife dead. Then Edward spurred forward, placing himself and his shield between Hilde and the point of attack, and escorted her out of danger.

Delwyn and Pulchria screamed in terror, although Leah gamely put her head down and kicked her horse after her husband’s. Delwyn’s fear transmitted itself to his nag, which reared and threw him. With Roger howling like a Saracen behind him, Geoffrey grabbed the monk by the back of his habit and hauled him across his saddle, vaguely aware that Cornald had produced a small bow and was returning fire in a manner that suggested his paltry efforts at the competition had been a front.

Once safely away from the hail of arrows, Geoffrey threw Delwyn to the ground and galloped back towards the woods, aware of the attackers scattering before him. Roger was at his heels, and they almost succeeded in laying hold of one of the villains, but the fellow dived through a thicket of brambles, a place where Geoffrey had no intention of taking his horse.

‘Shall we track them?’ asked Roger, breathing hard from his exertions. He glanced around as Sear, Alberic, Bale and Edward joined them, ready to help. Richard and Gwgan were behind, although the pallor of their faces said they would not be much assistance.

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘That might be what they are hoping for – leaving the baggage cart unattended.’

‘But there is nothing on it except Abbot Mabon,’ Sear pointed out.

‘Yes, but they do not know that,’ explained Geoffrey. ‘It would not be the first time a coffin was used to transport riches, and I do not want to leave Hilde and the other women without protection.’

He expected Sear to argue, but the older knight merely inclined his head in acknowledgement and trotted away, taking Alberic with him. Bale looked disappointed that there was to be no bloodshed, but obediently trotted back to see whether Pulchria needed any comfort.

‘I saw what you did,’ said Geoffrey gratefully to Edward. ‘Thank you for protecting Hilde.’

Edward smiled, but his unsteady seat in the saddle suggested he was already suffering from the weakness that often followed such incidents for those unused to them. Geoffrey handed him a flask that contained medicinal wine, and watched the colour seep back into the man’s cheeks. Then he rode back and reorganized the column, with him and Roger at the front, and Sear and Alberic bringing up the rear.

‘Sear and Alberic gave a good account of themselves,’ said Roger begrudgingly, as they led the way out of the wood, alert for more trouble. ‘I would not have expected it. Richard and Gwgan did not, though.’

‘They are both unwell. It is unfair to judge them today,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Cornald reacted well, too. He began shooting at the robbers almost instantly.’

‘I saw,’ said Roger with a grin. ‘Cunning old Cornald, hiding his talents! Do you think we should turn back? We escaped harm, by and large, but it will be dark soon.’

‘There are lights ahead,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Let us hope the villagers are friendly.’

The villagers were not friendly, but Cornald’s heavy purse encouraged them to let the travellers use a large barn, in which there was plenty of clean straw. Gwgan, Richard and Leah lay down immediately, and Roger lit a fire and began to prepare a basic meal. Geoffrey, Edward, Cornald, Sear and Alberic sat with him, recounting the relatively easy way they had defeated the ambush.

‘Wisely, they concentrated their attack on us,’ said Roger. ‘They shot at the knights at the front and rear of the column, intending to dispatch the warriors first. Then, with us dead or incapacitated, they would have moved in on the cart and the women.’

‘White surcoats,’ said Alberic. ‘We all wear white surcoats, which makes us easy targets.’

‘Mine has a red Crusader’s cross,’ said Roger proudly. ‘And so does Geoff’s. We are different.’

‘Not that different,’ said Cornald. ‘They are both rather grubby, and the crosses do not stand out as well as they did when we left Goodrich.’

‘Perhaps we should don something else, then,’ suggested Edward nervously. ‘I have enough gowns for everyone. Perhaps if we wore no surcoats, the next attack would not be so fierce. I have a lovely red one that will suit you, Sear.’

‘There will not be another ambush,’ predicted Roger confidently, as Geoffrey struggled not to laugh at the image of Sear in a womanly kirtle. ‘We saw the last one off with ease, and the villains will not risk a second one.’

‘I do not want to think about it,’ said Edward, accepting a bowl of soup from Roger with hands that still shook. ‘I will not sleep a wink tonight.’

Geoffrey was just returning from a foray outside, on which he had circled the barn three times to ensure all was in order, when he saw Bale and Pulchria exchange a smouldering look, then aim for the shadows at the back of the building.

‘Bale,’ he said sharply, unwilling to stand by while his squire insulted the butterer quite so flagrantly. ‘Sit with Roger.’

‘But there is something I want him to do,’ said Pulchria.

‘I am sure there is,’ said Geoffrey coolly. ‘But he is not available.’

He nodded curtly to Bale, who looked from master to lover in dismay, but did as he was told, bald head well down so he would not have to see the disappointment in Pulchria’s eyes.

‘You have no right to interfere,’ Pulchria hissed to Geoffrey, coming close so she would not be overheard. ‘You declined my services in favour of your hag of a wife, but-’

‘You would be advised to say no more, madam,’ snapped Geoffrey with barely controlled anger. ‘Or we both might regret it.’

The expression on his face told Pulchria she would be wise to back away, although she continued to glower. He glanced to where Hilde was talking to the servants, calming their uneasiness with her easy confidence. He felt a surge of affection for her, feeling he was much more fortunate in his spouse than Cornald was.

Restlessly, he went to stand in the doorway, scanning the darkness outside. He wished he still had his dog, knowing it would have growled to warn him of danger. He was not alone for long, though, because Delwyn came to join him.

‘The next time you save me, perhaps you would do it a little more gently,’ he said. ‘I have a bruise where you grabbed me.’

‘My apologies,’ said Geoffrey caustically. ‘If there is a next time, perhaps I shall not bother.’

‘There is no need for that sort of talk.’ Delwyn stepped closer. ‘You are vexed, because I made a remark to you in anger earlier today, but I did not mean it. I would never harm you.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

‘And to prove it, I have been considering William’s murder for you. Would you like to hear my conclusions?’

‘Only if they do not come accompanied with another demand for the Archbishop’s letter.’

Delwyn grimaced. ‘I think you should not confine your suspicions to the people in this barn – or the ones who are still alive. Do not dismiss Abbot Mabon from your musings, or Bishop Wilfred and Prince Hywel.’

‘Right,’ said Geoffrey tiredly.

Delwyn leaned closer still. ‘And also bear in mind that Hywel is something of a saint, too. He is not as goodly as William was, but everyone likes him.’

‘Was he “something of a saint” before William died?’

‘I suppose he was, but you should not dismiss the possibility that he killed William for his secret and is now reaping the benefits.’

‘Or perhaps he is just a decent man. They do occur from time to time.’

‘Not in my experience,’ said Delwyn. ‘Of course, if Hywel is naturally godly, then it means William hid his secret well. I have searched Rhydygors thoroughly and found no sign of it.’

It was distasteful listening to the gossip of such a man, and Geoffrey cursed the King for obliging him to do so.

‘Tell me who visited William when he was dying,’ he instructed.

‘Virtually the entire town. Most doubtless came to pay their respects to a fine man, and there was certainly a lot of weeping. They included Robert the steward, Osmund the stationer…’

The list continued for some time, and Geoffrey began to despair of ever finding the culprit, when his list of suspects was expanding into the dozens.

‘The only people not there were Alberic and Edward, who were out on patrol – and they really did leave Kermerdyn, because twenty soldiers were able to confirm their alibi. I checked.’

‘You suspected them?’

‘I suspect everyone. The other person who cannot be a suspect is Leah. She had a fever and could not leave her bed. Her physician confirms the tale, and so does her health – she has never fully recovered and remains frail.’

‘Tell me about the day William was taken ill. You were talking to the Bishop in the kitchens where the rancid butter was. Why? I thought your abbey was at war with Wilfred.’

‘ Mabon was at war with the Bishop,’ replied Delwyn. ‘If you must know, I was offering Wilfred information about the abbey in an attempt to bring Mabon down. It is not healthy for the Church to indulge in internal squabbles. I acted as my conscience dictated.’

‘You betrayed the man you said you loved as a father?’ asked Geoffrey.

Delwyn’s face creased into a sneer. ‘I did love him like a father – it just so happens that I hated my sire, damn his evil soul.’

‘Go away, Delwyn,’ said Geoffrey in distaste. ‘You cannot speak without lying and scheming, and I am sick of it. Stand back!’

‘I stand where I like,’ declared Delwyn. ‘It is not for you to-’

The rest of his sentence was lost as Geoffrey shoved him in the chest, bowling him from his feet and dropping into a fighting stance as he did so, sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Seeing him, Roger kicked out his fire and flew to his side. Sear and Alberic were not far behind, and Edward leapt to his feet with an uneasy whimper. Cornald grabbed his bow.

‘What is it?’ whispered Roger, silencing Delwyn’s outraged spluttering with a glare.

‘Someone is out there,’ replied Geoffrey softly.

Sear relaxed. ‘It will be one of the villagers checking on their animals – or checking we are not stealing their wretched pigs. You saw how unwilling they were to house us-’

He stopped speaking when an arrow thudded into the door above his head.

With a wild cry, Sear launched himself into the night, Roger and Alberic at his heels. Geoffrey was more concerned with defence than attack: the arrow was alight, and the intention was clearly to set the barn ablaze and incinerate everyone within. He raced for the bucket of water the villagers had provided, and dashed it over the flames, but they had no more sizzled out before another fire-arrow took its place.

‘There!’ said Hilde, stabbing a finger in the direction from which the missile had sailed. ‘Go and stop him, Geoff. I will deal with the fire.’

Geoffrey did not waste time arguing. He sped across the darkened yard, jerking back when another flaming arrow passed so close to him that he felt its heat sear his face. Then he was among a pile of broken barrels, and two shadows, both carrying bows, were running away. He hared after them, but they were fleet-footed and terrified, and mail-clad Norman knights were not built for speed. He managed to jab one with his outstretched sword, but his companion whipped around with his bow. Geoffrey staggered as it caught him in the face, and lost momentum, which was just enough time for the pair to escape into the surrounding woods.

‘They were too fast for us,’ said Roger, coming to join him a moment later. ‘But they were soldiers of a sort – they wore leather jerkins, or at least two of them would be dead.’

‘Three,’ said Geoffrey. Armour explained why his jab had done so little damage.

‘Sear and Alberic are scouting the woods,’ said Roger. ‘We should help them.’

Geoffrey obliged, and by the time they converged to report that the attackers had gone, Hilde had doused the flames and was kneeling next to Edward, whose face was contorted with pain.

‘It is not serious,’ she was saying. ‘The arrow has just scored a furrow in your arm. Clean water and a little salve will see it right in a day or two.’

‘Well, it hurts,’ said Edward weakly. ‘I was not built for this kind of thing.’

‘And I was not built to be knocked around by bullying knights,’ said Delwyn to Geoffrey. ‘You did not have to shove me quite so hard. I shall have another bruise tomorrow.’

‘He should not have shoved you at all,’ said Cornald, his face uncharacteristically cool. ‘And then you might be lying here instead of Edward.’

‘This would not have happened if my troops had been here,’ said Edward. ‘We would have posted guards, and robbers would have come nowhere near us.’

‘Your rabble?’ asked Richard unpleasantly. ‘I doubt they would have made any difference. They are not as good as my men.’

‘You were very brave, Edward,’ said Pulchria kindly. ‘Your quick thinking in shutting the door saved us all; those archers would have had arrows in us otherwise.’

‘It is true, sir,’ said Bale to Geoffrey. ‘Several bowmen appeared near the door when you dashed after the others, and I ran towards them, but Sir Edward shoved the door closed, so they could not fire in on us. They would have killed me, Richard, Gwgan and the ladies, and he took an arrow protecting us.’

‘Were they the same ones who ambushed us earlier?’ asked Cornald.

‘I could not tell,’ said Gwgan. His face was white, and he looked as though he might be sick. ‘They were just shadows. I am sorry I was useless, Geoffrey. These pains in my innards make it difficult to stand, let alone fight.’

‘What did they want?’ asked Edward shakily. ‘Burning down the barn was not sensible; anything of value would have been consumed in the flames, along with us.’

‘Not if we dashed outside to escape, carrying our fortunes with us,’ Roger pointed out. ‘I imagine the aim was to have us all silhouetted by the flames, so we could be picked off.’

‘Strange,’ mused Gwgan. ‘Surely, they would have questioned the villagers first and learned that we carry a dead abbot in the coffin, not treasure. Unless they are interested in the butter-making equipment Cornald bought in Brechene.’

‘They might be,’ said Cornald. ‘It was expensive. And do not deceive yourself that robbers are only interested in gold and jewellery. Our country is poor, and even a decent cloak is a worthy prize to many men.’

‘ Were they the same men?’ asked Roger in an undertone to Geoffrey.

Geoffrey nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’

‘I was bored travelling between La Batailge and Brechene,’ said Roger with a rather diabolical grin. ‘But things are definitely picking up. I love a decent skirmish.’

‘Well, I hope it is not going to happen every few hours,’ said Geoffrey tiredly. ‘Because it will be a very long journey, if so.’

‘Aye lad,’ said Roger. ‘But what fun!’