Dead Man's Secret (3 page)

Several of Henry's barons approached when Eudo had finished, but Henry waved them away. Then he took Geoffrey's arm and steered him into the north transept, indicating with a haughty flick of his hand that he was not to be disturbed. Geoffrey did not miss the resentful looks that followed. There were many at court who would love to be taken into Henry's confidence, and they were jealous of the favour this unkempt, minor knight was shown.

‘As you are riding west, there is something you can do for me along the way,' began Henry. ‘I have received word that there may be trouble in Kermerdyn.'

Geoffrey regarded him blankly. ‘Where?'

‘In the south of Wales. About two thirds of the way towards the western seas.'

Geoffrey stared at him. ‘But that is miles beyond Goodrich! It is not on the way at all.'

And, he thought, there was always going to be trouble with the Welsh, and he could hardly remain at Henry's beck and call until an entire nation was subdued. Secretly, Geoffrey thought the Welsh were right to fight for their independence from the acquisitive, ruthless and greedy Normans.

‘It is still my country,' Henry pointed out. ‘And I need a knight who can speak Welsh – preferably one who understands the politics of the region.'

‘But I do
not
understand them,' objected Geoffrey. ‘Not down there. They are not the same as around Goodrich. Moreover, the language is not the same either. It varies from region to region, and the people there will find me incomprehensible.'

‘I am sure you will find a way around it,' said Henry dismissively. ‘But, as it happens, my commission is very simple. I want you to deliver a letter that I hope will avert any trouble.'

‘Deliver a letter?' echoed Geoffrey suspiciously. This was hardly work for a knight – kings had trained couriers for that sort of thing.

‘Yes, and I am doing you a favour, because the recipient is your kin – the husband of your wife's sister Isabella.'

Geoffrey regarded him warily. He had never met Gwgan or Isabella, although his wife had mentioned them. He hoped his new relation was not the kind of man who indulged in rebellion.

‘Is he accused of treason or some such crime? This letter is one he will not want to receive?'

Henry grimaced. ‘Why must you always think the worst of me? It is hardly seemly, and there is only so long I can be expected to tolerate your insolence.'

‘I am sorry, sire,' said Geoffrey. ‘Recent weeks have been difficult, and I am overly tired.'

‘You look tired,' conceded Henry, softening a little. ‘Dirty, too. It seems suppressing revolts has left you scant time to wash.'

Geoffrey thought it best not to respond to such a remark.

‘The letter to Gwgan is nothing to do with treason,' Henry went on. ‘It is one he will be quite happy to receive, I assure you, loyal subject that he is. But its contents are sensitive nonetheless.'

‘You mean you want it delivered with no one knowing about it?'

‘Precisely! I shall write a missive to the local bishop, too – one that will involve a princely amount of money, and so warrants a knight to deliver it. And I shall include one to Abbot Mabon, for the same reason. They do not like each other, and I do not want Mabon to take offence because I wrote to Bishop Wilfred and ignored him.'

‘Who is Abbot Mabon?' asked Geoffrey, a little bewildered.

‘Head of Kermerdyn's abbey,' explained Henry. ‘Mabon is Welsh, and Bishop Wilfred itches to replace him with a Norman. They bicker constantly and are always writing to me about it. Indeed, there is a messenger from Mabon here now.'

‘Is there?' Henry's court was vast, and Geoffrey had not tried to work out who was who.

‘A sly monk named Delwyn. Doubtless, he will want to travel with you when you go west, because it will be safer in a larger party.'

Geoffrey did not like the sound of that. But he made no comment and brought the subject back to Kermerdyn's religious squabbles.

‘What will you do?' he asked. ‘Back the Norman bishop who will have the support of the Church, or the Welsh abbot who will have the support of the people?'

‘You see?' asked Henry with a wry smile. ‘You
do
understand the politics! You show more insight by that question than my clerks have revealed in great discourses. And I, of course, want to be popular with both Church
and
people. So I shall resolve the matter by doing nothing.'

‘I do not understand,' said Geoffrey, intrigued despite himself.

‘One of them will emerge triumphant, and I shall back whoever it is,' explained Henry. ‘I cannot be seen to be on the losing side, but the winner will be worthy of my approbation.'

‘But the winner might not be a man you wish to own as an ally,' Geoffrey pointed out. The moment he spoke, he wished he had not, because a predatory smile suffused Henry's face.

‘Then there is something else you can do for me – send me your impressions of these two churchmen, recommending which is more deserving of my support.'

‘I am not suitable for such a delicate task, sire,' objected Geoffrey. ‘I am a soldier, not a diplomat, and may inadvertently give you poor counsel.'

‘You will not,' said Henry, making it sound more like a threat than a vote of confidence. ‘And I shall be happy to have your views regardless. Besides, I am sure you are grateful for me giving you this opportunity to prove yourself.'

‘To prove myself?' asked Geoffrey, bemused. Surely, he had done that by risking his life to prevent rebels from trying to take Henry's throne.

‘I am in the process of exiling anyone affiliated with my brother, the Duke of Normandy – and you became a knight under his tutelage. However, I am willing to overlook that in return for this small service. Refuse me, and you lose Goodrich – and I am sure your sister will not be happy about that.'

Joan would be livid, and Henry knew it. Geoffrey felt his temper begin to rise. He was not one of Henry's creatures, to be ordered hither and thither, but a knight who had survived the Crusade – his white surcoat with its red cross told all who saw it that he was a
Jerosolimitanus
, one who had liberated Jerusalem from the Infidel. He bitterly resented being manipulated.

‘I have no allegiance to Robert, and neither does Joan,' he said shortly.

Henry nodded. ‘Then you will do as I ask. You will deliver the letters to Abbot Mabon and Bishop Wilfred, and spend a little time in their company to provide me with impressions. And you will deliver my missive to Gwgan without anyone else knowing.'

‘Yes, sire,' said Geoffrey, making no effort to keep the resentment from his voice.

The letters were not ready when Geoffrey went to collect them from the Chapter House – which had been commandeered by the King's clerks – and he sighed irritably when he saw he was going to be made to wait yet again. He was eager to be on his way now he had permission to leave. It was not yet noon – with good horses, he could be twenty miles away by nightfall.

‘I am sorry,' said Eudo, not sounding at all contrite. ‘But we have more pressing business to attend than yours.'

‘I am sure you do,' said Geoffrey shortly. ‘But it will not take you a moment to gather these letters together, and then I can be away to do the King's bidding.'

‘I will do it as soon as I can,' snapped Eudo. ‘But you looming over me will not expedite the matter, so go away. I shall summon you when they are ready.'

Infuriated that a mere clerk should try to dismiss him, Geoffrey promptly sat on a large chest and folded his arms.

‘I would not like you to forget,' he said in a voice that carried considerable menace.

‘I will not forget,' said Eudo, alarmed. Crusader knights had a reputation for ruthless ferocity, and Geoffrey's battle-stained armour and the compact strength of his body said he was a dangerous man.

‘Good,' said Geoffrey, watching Eudo sort deeds into two neat piles with unsteady hands. He sighed, never easy with intimidation, and tried to engage Eudo in polite conversation instead, sensing friendliness might better serve his cause. ‘What can you tell me about Kermerdyn?'

Eudo shrugged. ‘Not much. It is under the dominion of a Welsh prince named Hywel. The King installed him there on the advice of influential nobles, because he helped quell the rebellion on the borders. But it was a mistake.'

‘Why?'

‘Because everyone likes him.'

‘And that is a problem?'

‘It is. He is powerful in his own right, and I doubt he will want to remain the King's vassal. He will rebel, and he will have a strong base, because we installed him in a fortress called Rhydygors.'

‘But if Hywel has any sense, he will see that it is safer to live in harmony than to wage a war.'

‘You would think so, but, in my experience, rebels are usually rather short on sense. Moreover, there is always the danger that he will encourage other Welsh princes to join him. Not everyone appreciates that the best rulers are Normans, and that we are acting for their own good when we subjugate a people.'

‘Right,' said Geoffrey, amused.

‘It is true!' declared Eudo. ‘I know, from studying tax returns, that your father turned Goodrich into a highly profitable venture, whereas it was struggling under the Saxons.'

Geoffrey nodded. Godric Mappestone had been a ruthless tyrant, who had subdued his tenants with a fist of iron and had made up for any shortfalls by helping himself to his neighbours' resources and supplies.

‘Is that all you know about Kermerdyn?' he asked. ‘That its ruler is popular?'

‘I do not waste time learning about distant outposts.' Eudo flinched as Geoffrey stood, although the knight had not intended to frighten him. ‘But I can tell you that Hywel represents a threat to the stability of the entire region.'

‘Really? But alliances have been made with marriages. My wife's sister, for example. Surely, these count for something?'

‘They may keep
some
Welsh leaders from taking up arms,' acknowledged Eudo. ‘But the longer I chat here with you, the longer it will be before your letters are ready. With your permission, I shall be about my duties.'

It was bad enough that Geoffrey had again been coerced into doing Henry's bidding, but to be forced to wait for scribes was outrageous. Tiredness exacerbated his irritation, and he was sufficiently annoyed that he did not trust himself to hunt out Sir Roger, who had been travelling with him to the Holy Land before the storm had intervened. Roger might react with violence if he felt Geoffrey was being insulted.

Instead, he went for a walk, his dog loping at his side. It galled him that Henry should manipulate him quite so readily, and it occurred to him to leave without waiting for the letters. But that would be a mistake: Henry was vengeful, and Geoffrey did not want Hilde and Joan to suffer the consequences.

It was difficult to find a place to be alone when the abbey was full of Henry's retainers, but a bell chimed to announce that a meal was ready, and the church emptied quickly. Geoffrey walked to the chancel, which was blessedly free of kings and clerks.

‘Geoffrey! I had no idea you were still here,' came a cheerful voice from behind him.

Geoffrey spun around quickly, vexed that he was not to be permitted even a few moments of peace, but his pique faded when he found himself facing Maurice, the portly Bishop of London. Maurice was famous for his absolute loyalty to the King, his building of a magnificent cathedral, and his insistence that he suffered from a medical condition that necessitated regular frolics with pretty women. Geoffrey had worked with him in the past and liked him.

He smiled, feeling his bleak mood lighten. Maurice extended his be-ringed hand for the traditional episcopal kiss, but the moment the formal greeting was over, he gave the knight an affectionate hug.

‘It is good to see you, my friend!' he cried. ‘Bishop Giffard often asks for news of you in his letters and will be delighted when I can report that you are safe and well.'

‘You look well, too,' said Geoffrey, meaning it. The prelate was rosy-cheeked and shone with health and vitality.

Maurice leaned close. ‘I have just had a couple of
very
pretty damsels, and my humours are in perfect alignment. Of course, it will not last, and I shall have to find another one before long. I do not suppose
your
lady is with you, is she?'

‘You mean my wife?' asked Geoffrey, sincerely hoping the lecherous prelate did not intend to put Hilde on his list of conquests.

‘No,' whispered Maurice, looking around hopefully. ‘Your other lady. The one who was with you last summer, whom I dubbed Angel Locks. She gave me such pleasure one night!'

‘Oh, my squire,' said Geoffrey flatly. ‘Durand.'

It was a sore point. With his flowing golden hair and mincing gait, Durand had often been mistaken for a woman from behind and had not minded at all. Geoffrey did not like to imagine what he had done with Maurice one dark evening to convince the prelate that he was a member of the fairer sex. He knew only that Maurice was keen to repeat the experience and that Durand had been paid extremely well.

‘Is she here?' demanded Maurice eagerly.

‘He is no longer with me,' replied Geoffrey shortly. ‘I have another squire now. Bale.'

Maurice grimaced. ‘I do not know why you persist with this charade of pretending she is a man, Geoffrey. There is no other woman like her.'

‘We can agree on that,' said Geoffrey. He changed the subject. ‘How is the construction of your cathedral in London?'

‘St Paul's,' said Maurice with a fond smile. ‘It proceeds apace, thank you. But I am surprised to see you here. I thought you would be in the Holy Land by now.'