Dead Man's Secret (30 page)

Geoffrey did not want to do it. ‘It might be personal,' he hedged, suspecting they would all be embarrassed by its sentiments. Maurice had an unerring eye for beautiful women, and he would certainly have noticed Isabella.

‘It will not!' laughed Isabella. ‘I did not help him with his unbalanced humours, if that is what you are thinking, so it can contain nothing to shock us. Besides, I am a married woman.'

Geoffrey broke the seal, forbearing to remark that a woman's marital status was neither here nor there to Maurice when his humours were awry. He scanned the letter quickly, ready to omit anything indelicate. The first section contained some rather bald and inappropriate statements about her fine figure and alluring eyes, but the rest was, as Maurice had claimed, information about a place where good raisins might be bought. Geoffrey paraphrased the first part to render it innocuous, and read the second verbatim, while Hilde made inroads into the raisins.

‘Well,' said Isabella, bemused. ‘It is good of him to remember me, but I am not sure why I should warrant such attention. Perhaps you will help me compose a suitable reply, Geoffrey?'

‘He did not send many of these raisins,' said Hilde, shaking the packet to see whether there were any left. ‘You would think he would have been a little more generous. They cannot be easy to come by here.'

‘Oh, you can buy them readily in Kermerdyn,' said Isabella. ‘We shall purchase some tomorrow, and Geoffrey will take them to Maurice as a gift when he returns to the court.'

‘So I am a raisin courier now?' asked Geoffrey, wondering to what depths he would have to plummet before his duties to the King were complete.

‘We will buy
you
some, too,' promised Isabella. ‘As payment.'

‘Please do not,' said Geoffrey with a shudder. He took up his reins and prepared to leave, thinking he had abandoned Roger quite long enough.

‘Wait – I will come with you,' said Hilde. She sounded disappointed that her reunion with her sister was going to be cut short.

Geoffrey smiled. ‘Stay. You and Isabella will have much to discuss.' And, he thought but did not say, Hilde would be considerably safer in Hywel's stronghold than in town.

He rode to Kermerdyn alone, alert for trouble. He thought about Hywel as he went, and decided it was not surprising that there was speculation that he had discovered William's secret, because the man certainly possessed abilities and virtues in abundance. In fact, Geoffrey wondered whether that in itself would work against Hywel. There were men who would be jealous of such easy amiability, including King Henry.

When he arrived at the Trout, Geoffrey found Roger much improved and in the middle of consuming a gargantuan meal with Bale. He laughed when Geoffrey told him how Hywel had helped him search Rhydygors for William's secret.

‘Let us hope he never learns the real reason for your interest in his domain,' he said. ‘Incidentally, I have not been totally useless while you have been gone. I have done some investigating on your behalf.'

‘Have you?' asked Geoffrey in alarm.

Roger grinned at his reaction. ‘Nothing to cause you trouble, so do not worry. I asked the landlord whether he knew where the Bishop might be, and he said we are fortunate, because Wilfred is in Kermerdyn this month. He spends a lot of time travelling, apparently.'

‘A few days' rest will put Sir Roger back on his feet,' said Bale, although Geoffrey could see the big knight would not need that long and suspected it was self-interest that prompted Bale's remark. Pulchria lived in Kermerdyn, and Bale did not find it easy to recruit female admirers.

They talked a while longer, but Roger was tired and sleep soon claimed him again. Geoffrey lay on a pallet that he had placed against the door – anyone invading would have to move him first – and stared at the ceiling as he thought of all he would have to do the following day. At first light, he would visit the abbey, and deliver the Archbishop's letter to Mabon's successor. He would have to apologize for the fact that Mabon had died in his home, too, and then assess the new abbot for his report to Henry. He would also try to search the place for William's secret.

When he finished that, he would deliver Henry's letter to Bishop Wilfred and hope to spend long enough in his company to gather sufficient information for the second half of his report. That done, he would set about exploring the church. And if those places did not reveal William's secret – and he had scant hope they would – he decided that he would tell Henry that a religious vision had turned William into a saint.

And William's murderer? Geoffrey would just have to tell His Majesty that too much time had passed to allow him to investigate the matter properly. He was loath to pass on his list of suspects – now down to Delwyn, Sear, Gwgan, Cornald and Pulchria – lest royal retribution followed and four innocents paid the price for one guilty party. He would also admit that there was insufficient evidence to trap Mabon's killer, and hoped the King would overlook the matter on the grounds that Mabon's successor was likely to be more malleable and less likely to fight with the Bishop.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep. His rest was plagued by concerns that Henry was going to be less than satisfied with his performance and might demand another favour to compensate. He dreamed about Tancred, too, and the clerks whose poisonous pens had destroyed their friendship. One disturbing nightmare had Eudo rising from his grave to stab Bishop Maurice with a quill, for failing to lay hold of
his
killer. All in all, Geoffrey was relieved when the first glimmer of grey showed morning was approaching.

Although Roger claimed he was fully recovered, Geoffrey could tell by the stiff way he held his arm that he was not. Roger did not argue when Geoffrey declined his company; he seemed more than happy to spend the day in the tavern, getting to know the locals and treating them to a session with his loaded dice. Geoffrey left Bale with strict instructions to keep him out of trouble.

Supposing he should at least try to make himself presentable when visiting two high-ranking churchmen, he washed in water from the well, shaved, donned a fresh shirt and leggings, and set Bale to cleaning his armour. He even raked his fingers through his hair to remove the mud and bits of vegetation that had collected in it since leaving Goodrich. Eventually, feeling he was as respectable as a travelling knight could make himself, he left, electing to walk so that his horse would be rested should he need it for a later journey.

It was not fully light as he walked up the hill from the quay, past where little fishermen's cottages hugged the side of the road. Eventually, he reached a gate in the ancient walls, which signalled the entrance to the town proper. He found the settlement was larger than he had thought, extending for some distance on its plateau. The walls were taller, too, and the houses inside were in good repair.

Just inside the gate was the church. As he passed it, he saw Sear in its graveyard with a tall, fierce-looking priest. Twenty or so soldiers were with them, all wearing conical metal helmets emblazoned with a small red castle. Geoffrey supposed the emblem represented Pembroc, and these were men Sear had left in Kermerdyn while he had travelled to Henry.

Geoffrey started to join them, to pay his own respects to Alberic, but Sear looked up with such a black scowl that he had second thoughts and continued on his way.

The monastery lay at the far end of the town, reached by means of a long, straight road that cut the settlement in two. He exited through the town walls by a second gate, and the abbey lay to his right. It was surprisingly grand, and the sturdy wall that ran around its entire circumference suggested its occupants thought it worth protecting. There was a large, stone-built church in the middle, as well as a dorter, refectory, stables and kitchens. It was considerably more luxurious than the castle, and rich aromas wafted from the bakery; the monks apparently enjoyed good food, as well as pleasant accommodation.

Geoffrey knocked on the gate and asked for an audience with Mabon's successor. The lay-brother took one look at the Crusader's cross on Geoffrey's surcoat and asked whether he would mind waiting outside while he went to see whether Ywain was available. Fortunately, Delwyn happened to be passing.

‘It is all right,' he told the lay-brother. ‘It is the King's messenger – the one who was ordered to escort me safely home. Follow me, Sir Geoffrey. I shall conduct you to Ywain.'

‘How did your monastery receive the news about the death of Abbot Mabon?' asked Geoffrey as they went, to gauge the level of the apology he would have to offer.

Delwyn shrugged. ‘Well, they were vexed at having to buy a coffin – the one you provided is now too full of arrow holes to go in our vault – but one of the lay-brothers offered to run us up a cheap one, so the expense will not be too great.'

Geoffrey was not sure how to reply to such an observation and said nothing.

‘Ywain is praying over the corpse,' Delwyn went on. ‘But he will be glad of an excuse to do something else for a while, so do not feel you are intruding on his grief.'

He was right: Ywain leapt to his feet when Delwyn introduced Geoffrey, and shot out of the church with indecent haste. He was a short man with a shock of white hair. Delwyn was unimpressed when Ywain ordered him to take his place by Mabon's bier.

‘But I have been minding the thing for days,' he objected. ‘I have no prayers left!'

‘Then you will have to use your imagination,' said Ywain tartly. ‘I am Abbot now, and you must do as I say.'

He was gleeful as Delwyn stalked inside the chapel with a face as black as thunder.

‘I cannot abide that man, and he will not have the liberties he enjoyed when Mabon was in power. I shall see to that.'

‘I am sorry Mabon is dead,' began Geoffrey. ‘Especially as he died in my home.'

‘Delwyn said he was poisoned,' said Ywain. ‘Nasty stuff, poison. Very indiscriminate. I doubt anyone would have wanted to murder Mabon, so you should ask yourself whether it was a case of mistaken identity.'

Geoffrey stared at him. Could he be right?
Had
the poison been intended for someone else?

‘Sit with me on this wall,' ordered Ywain, after he had instructed the lay-brother to bring them cups of warmed ale. ‘I feel the need for fresh air after being closeted with that reeking corpse, and you do not look like a man who objects to being outside.'

When they were seated, Geoffrey handed him the letter, careful to ensure it was the one bearing Mabon's name and the green circle.

‘I am sure Delwyn told you about this,' he said. ‘Mabon declined to take it when I tried to pass it to him at Goodrich, and then he died . . .'

‘Mabon was not a man for reading,' said Ywain, breaking the seal. ‘I dealt with all his correspondence, which is why I was elected his successor. Delwyn thought the honour should fall to him, but none of us likes the man. But what is this? This epistle is not addressed to Mabon – it is for that scoundrel Bishop Wilfred!'

‘Mabon's name is on the outside,' said Geoffrey, after a brief moment of panic. And there was the green circle that Eudo had drawn to represent Mabon; Wilfred's epistle was the fat one.

Ywain grimaced. ‘Yes, it is, but obviously the King's clerk made an error, because it is addressed to Wilfred on the
inside
. It is about St Peter's Church and says that, from now on, all tithes and benefits will go to La Batailge instead of to him! Hah! The old devil will be livid. You had better make sure he gets it.'

‘God's teeth!' muttered Geoffrey, a quick glance telling him that Ywain was right. He could not imagine the Bishop would be pleased that his enemy should have perused it first.

‘If you have one for Wilfred, too, then you had better give it to me,' said Ywain gleefully. ‘The clerk will have confused them – so that the one for him will actually be for us.'

Geoffrey was unwilling to risk it. ‘It is more likely that Eudo forgot to include yours at all.'

Ywain scowled. ‘If you do give the other letter to Wilfred, and it
does
transpire to be to me, I shall not be amused. In fact, I shall write to the King and order you boiled in oil.'

‘Please do not,' said Geoffrey tiredly. ‘He might do it.'

Ywain made an impatient gesture. ‘Eudo is not very efficient. He is one of those men who has risen higher than his abilities should have allowed, and he has made mistakes before. Do you know the kind of fellow?'

‘Oh, yes,' said Geoffrey.

‘The court is full of them,' Ywain went on bitterly. ‘All Normans, who itch to see an end to Welsh foundations like this one, and want a Benedictine or Cistercian house established here instead. With a
Norman
abbot. Our days are numbered.'

‘What will you do?' asked Geoffrey.

Ywain shrugged. ‘Delwyn thinks we should ingratiate ourselves with the King – he went to court to try – but it was a waste of time. Our only hope is to support Hywel in all things, because
he
will not let a Welsh monastery be supplanted by Normans.'

‘He seems a good man.'

‘He is an
excellent
man – even better than William, and
he
was a saint. William was inclined to think nice things about people, whereas Hywel is more realistic and knows that people have human failings. We are safer with Hywel than we were with William.'

‘Do you know anything about William's secret?' asked Geoffrey.

‘I do, as a matter of fact,' replied Ywain. ‘He mentioned it to me when it first happened to him – he needed to consult a priest, you see, and I was the best one available. But it pleased me to see all those greedy Normans scrabbling around for it, so I have never confided in anyone else.'