Dead Man's Secret (38 page)

‘And Henry gave them to you,' said Roger.

‘Yes, he did, and refused to let Maurice rewrite them. That may imply Henry knew what they contained and thought he had nothing to lose by letting the plot run its course – he could always deny culpability, and Eudo could not contradict him. But, equally, he might have not thought it worth the bother of inspecting the work of a trusted scribe.'

‘Which do you think?' asked Roger.

‘That Henry is innocent,' lied Geoffrey, unwilling for his friend to know the truth, lest he blurted it out at some inopportune moment.

Roger continued the tale. ‘So Edward rode west, thinking the plot was thwarted, and was appalled when he saw you deliver a message to Richard. He tried to kill you before you gave Gwgan his, then tried to kill Richard with poison, but Abbot Mabon took it by mistake.'

‘It horrified him, so he left the business of dispatching Gwgan and Richard to his troops after that, telling them that they should not reach Kermerdyn alive.'

‘But their efforts failed, and Richard and Gwgan murdered Hywel. Delwyn had already been hired, too, ready to step in and deliver the letters, should anything happen to you.'

‘Delwyn lost more than his life,' said Geoffrey. ‘His abbey will soon be under a Norman.'

‘That is a pity, because you had brokered a sort of peace between Wilfred and the abbey.'

‘Giffard's prayer of kindness, compassion and forgiveness did that; it had nothing to do with me.'

‘Well, at least you forced Edward's men to return the money they stole from Fychan at Lanothni. However, it was unkind to insist that a portion went directly towards a new church. It was Fychan's money; you had no right to tell him what he could do with it.'

Geoffrey shrugged. ‘I liked Lanothni's priest, and the money will do more good with him than with Fychan, who would just sit counting it until someone else decided to rob him.'

‘Incidentally, did I tell you that I spoke to Pepin about the two letters that were confused?' asked Roger. ‘Mabon's epistle sent to Wilfred, and vice versa?'

‘What did he say,' asked Geoffrey.

Roger smirked. ‘That he was very, very careful about what went where, because he had made mistakes before. He is certain he made no errors. But he left them for the King to seal.'

‘It was Henry who exchanged them?' asked Geoffrey, shocked.

Of course it was, he thought. Henry wanted a report on the two churchmen, and what better way to test them than to arrange a ‘mistake'? He would not need Geoffrey's report, because their reactions would tell him all he needed to know. La Batailge would receive St Peter's tithes if Ywain was trustworthy and passed the letter to its intended recipient, and if Wilfred was honest, Ywain would write to Henry to claim the promised hundred marks.

‘But La Batailge
did
get the tithes,' said Roger in confusion, when Geoffrey explained it to him. ‘And Ywain did
not
get the hundred marks. So why suppress the abbey? It was Ywain who was honest, not Wilfred.'

‘Quite. And an honest man is likely to lose in the long run. Or perhaps Henry appreciated the fact that Wilfred ensured a claim was not made on the treasury. Regardless, he prefers Wilfred, and my recommendation to let them find their own resolution was ignored.'

‘Leah will not be pleased,' said Roger. ‘She vowed to stay in that abbey until she received a sign from God to say she is forgiven for murdering William.'

‘Perhaps she will think that
is
the sign,' said Geoffrey. ‘Richard has agreed to take her back, so I imagine she will be looking for the first portent that appears. And she might pass Pulchria going the other way when she leaves the protection of the Church, because I understand that Cornald has finally been forced to recognize his wife's illicit behaviour and is considering sending her to a nunnery. It would be appropriate justice.'

Roger nodded, then looked at Geoffrey's dog lying contentedly at his feet. ‘Are you really pleased to have that thing back?'

‘Of course I am pleased,' said Geoffrey, leaning down to ruffle the animal's fur. It growled softly. ‘I missed him – more than you missed Ulfrith, I suspect.'

‘The King has a lot to answer for,' said Roger grimly. ‘He had no right to poach Ulfrith from me, or to steal your dog. Still, he soon learned he made a mistake, because neither suited his plans – Ulfrith looks strong and competent, but he is too stupid to be a decent soldier, and your dog did rather a lot of damage to several prize bitches.'

Geoffrey laughed. The failure of Ulfrith and the dog to live up to Henry's expectations had been one small gleam of victory in a dark and murky affair.

‘Well,' sighed Roger, nodding to where the box with the statue was sitting with some of the King's other recently acquired possessions. ‘Perhaps we should hope that goddess does bring out the goodness in people, because if there is one man who
could
do with some, it is Henry.'

The meeting with the King went better than Geoffrey had anticipated. News had come of trouble in Normandy, and Henry was little interested in events in Wales. He listened absently while Geoffrey gave a carefully worded account of all that had happened.

‘Pity,' he said, when the knight had finished. ‘Hywel was a good man.'

‘Yes,' said Geoffrey quietly. ‘He
was
a good man. And a good ruler, too.'

‘But justice has been served,' Henry went on. ‘Gwgan is dead.'

‘Richard is not,' said Geoffrey. ‘He has won himself Rhydygors.'

‘He should have had it anyway,' said Henry. ‘Seven years ago, when his brother was killed. I do not know what Eudo was thinking when he advised me to hand the place to a Welshman. Rhydygors was built by a Norman and should have stayed in Norman hands.'

‘Yes, sire,' said Geoffrey, deciding not to point out that this interpretation of events was somewhat at variance with the facts.

‘I shall need you to stay here for a few days, by the way,' said Henry, as Geoffrey bowed and prepared to leave. ‘One of my ministers has been murdered, and I want you to find the culprit. But I shall tell you about it some other time, because I am busy now. You are dismissed.'

Seething, both at the King's manners and because his departure for Tancred was going to be delayed yet again, Geoffrey went in search of Maurice. He had raisins to deliver from Hilde. He found the Bishop ushering a giggling serving wench from his rooms. Maurice looked well, and Geoffrey saw he was enjoying life as one of the most powerful men in the court.

‘So I was right,' said Maurice, indicating that Geoffrey was to enter and sit by the fire. It was a cold day, and rain was pattering against the window shutters. ‘Those letters
were
evil, although there is nothing to say the King knew what was included in them.'

‘No,' said Geoffrey noncommittally.

‘He would never condone murder,' continued Maurice. ‘Eudo obviously acted alone.'

‘Not entirely,' said Geoffrey. ‘Someone appointed Delwyn to ensure the letters reached their destination. Eudo could not have done that, because he did not know his plan had been exposed until Edward confronted him, and he was killed before he could do anything about it.'

‘What are you saying?' asked Maurice nervously. ‘That Eudo had an accomplice?'

‘We both know he did,' said Geoffrey. ‘You knew exactly what he had done, although you grew worried after his murder and begged Henry to let you rewrite them.'

‘Geoffrey!' cried Maurice, shocked. ‘How can you say such things?'

‘Because they are true. You did not dare break the seals on the letters to see whether Eudo had set the plan in motion, but you were desperate to know. You hired Delwyn to report back to you – and to make sure the letters were delivered if something happened to me along the way.'

‘No,' said Maurice. ‘If you recall, I told you he was devious. Why would I hire such a man?'

‘Probably to ensure I did not associate him with you. Or to ensure I would not believe him if he ever told me the truth. And you were right to worry, because he
was
going to tell me the name of his master. Luckily for you, Sear killed him before he could.'

‘But I have no reason to dabble in such deadly affairs!' claimed Maurice.

‘Yes, you do. You are loyal and devoted, and foresaw problems for the King with a popular Welsh leader in Kermerdyn. There is no reason for a proud, independent prince to subject himself to Norman rule, and Hywel probably would have rebelled in time.'

‘I am not a fool, Geoffrey. Putting Richard in Hywel's place will be a disaster. He is likely to provoke a rebellion by dint of his unpleasant character.'

‘And that is why you encouraged me to find William's secret but told me to leave it in Kermerdyn. You hoped it would make Richard as decent as Hywel and William.'

‘Rubbish!' cried Maurice. ‘This is all rank superstition, and I am a bishop!'

‘It was not superstition as long as there was a possibility that the Blessed Virgin was involved. It was religion. And that
is
your business.'

‘The secret is a carving of a pagan goddess,' said Maurice angrily. ‘It is not even Christian.'

‘But you did not know that at the time,' pressed Geoffrey. ‘You had no idea what it entailed; only that it could be put to good use.'

‘You have no evidence,' said Maurice, and for the first time since Geoffrey had known him, his face held something dangerous. Geoffrey realized that it took strength, ruthlessness and cunning to rise so high in King Henry's realm; Maurice would not have been promoted to such a powerful post if he was a bumbling fool.

‘I have this,' said Geoffrey, holding up the remains of the letter from Tancred. ‘Eudo was too wily to have left half-burned papers in his hearth. No, you caught him burning the documents and demanded an explanation. He gave you one, because you and he had an understanding.'

Maurice's lips tightened into a firm line. ‘Very well, I admit that I know more of that matter than I admitted. Roger gave Eudo these letters – he had some tale about taking them from a squire of yours who is now dead. The squire made the forgeries, not Eudo.'

‘Durand,' said Geoffrey heavily.

‘The one you claim is Angel Locks? I doubt she would have done anything so cruel.'

‘Why did you not tell me sooner?' demanded Geoffrey coldly.

Maurice smiled. ‘Because it suited me to keep you confused and uncertain. And do not loom in a way that suggests you mean violence, because we both know you will not harm me. I am an unarmed bishop, and your principles will not let you. Besides, the King would kill you if you did.'

‘It would be worth it,' said Geoffrey. The ice in his voice made Maurice regard him in alarm.

‘I did my best to protect you, Geoffrey,' he said. ‘I gave you letters, so people would think you were
my
messenger, not Henry's, and I tried hard to persuade him to send someone else. I am not such a terrible man, and our friendship means something to me.'

‘Does it?' asked Geoffrey, thinking
he
had just lost a friend. Two, perhaps, given that Roger seemed to be complicit in the plot to deceive him.

Maurice leaned back in his chair. ‘Yes, it does. But if you are going to be unpleasant about this, let me remind you that I have evidence that shows
you
carried orders for two men to commit murder.
Ergo
, we know dubious facts about each other. And you will not want your family associated with this business.'

‘They have nothing to do with it.'

‘You are implicated in the death of a much-loved Welsh prince. I doubt Goodrich's Welsh neighbours will be impressed by that. Joan and Hilde will never lie easy in their beds again.'

‘You bastard,' snarled Geoffrey.

‘Oh, come now, Geoffrey. I am sure we can end this amiably. How about I release you from your vow, so you can travel to the Holy Land and make your peace with Tancred? Would that ease the animosity between us?'

‘No,' said Geoffrey coldly. ‘Because
your
blessing means nothing. I will be bound by my promise until I can find a
decent
priest. If there is any such man in your Church, which I doubt. Go and take your medicine, My Lord Bishop. You are looking quite pale.'

Historical Note

There is a reference to a castle near Kermerdyn (Carmarthen) in 1093, when it seems the Sheriff of Devon, one William fitz Baldwin, raised what was probably a simple motte topped with a wooden fortified tower. He probably did so on the orders of King William Rufus. It was called Rhydygors (
rhyd
meaning ford, and
cors
meaning marsh or bog), suggesting it protected a crossing of the River Tywi just south of the present-day town, which remains salt-marsh to this day. Its location is uncertain, although an Ordnance Survey map of 1830 shows some earthworks, all of which were flattened for the railway line a few years later.

Three years later, William was dead, and the garrison seems to have withdrawn. King William Rufus was killed in the New Forest during a hunting accident in 1100, and his younger brother, Henry, seized the throne. There is no evidence that Henry was complicit in his brother's death, but he was certainly quick to capitalize on the situation and turn it to his advantage. He was to become one of the strongest and most efficient of English kings.

Henry immediately faced serious trouble all along the Welsh borders, mostly led by his own barons, especially the notorious tyrant Robert de Bellême, but the tide was turned in his favour when a number of Welsh princes fought on his side. One of these was Hywel ap Gronw, a Welsh noble who was described as a ‘king' in contemporary records. He came to real power in 1102, when Henry rewarded him for his help against Bellême with a gift of Rhydygors Castle and the area known as Ystrad Tywi. At the same time, an unknown knight named Sear was granted Pembroc (Pembroke), although he did not keep it for long – it was soon passed to the better-known and more powerful Gerald of Windsor, who began rebuilding it in stone.