Dead Man's Secret (20 page)

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 façade?' 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 Neufmarché. 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.'