Dead Man's Secret (24 page)

‘You will be pleased to see Hywel, I warrant,' said Edward amiably to Gwgan. ‘I am sure you will want to know what has been happening in your absence.'

Gwgan smiled. ‘I
will
be glad to see him. He is like a brother to me, and I am proud to serve as his counsellor. But he does not require constant monitoring. He is wise, just and good, and there is no man I trust more to rule a kingdom.'

‘William was the same,' said Edward, nodding. ‘Perhaps living at Rhydygors brings out the best in people.'

‘Or Hywel has inherited William's secret,' probed Geoffrey.

‘There is no secret,' said Edward. ‘I have told you this already – it is a silly tale invented by foolishly gullible minds to explain something they cannot understand. Namely that some men
do
suddenly reflect on their past lives and decide it is time to turn over a new leaf.'

Gwgan agreed. ‘And if there
is
a secret, then it lies in the fact that this is Wales. Hywel is a good man, but he was decent long before he was given Rhydygors.'

‘He did not undergo some miraculous change, then?' asked Geoffrey. ‘Like William?'

‘Oh, no,' said Gwgan. ‘Hywel has always been decent.'

‘In what way?' asked Geoffrey.

‘Well, his men admire him and will follow him into any battle – as you will have heard last summer, when he fought on the Marches for Henry. He inspires confidence and respect, and he has an affable, likable disposition. He is compassionate to those less fortunate than himself, he is devout, and he exudes an aura of fairness that tells men he will deal honestly with them.'

‘It is true,' agreed Edward. ‘You will like him, Geoffrey. Indeed, I would go as far to say that there is no man – Norman, English
or
Welsh – that I would sooner have as a neighbour. But it is getting late, and my wound still pains me. I shall bid you goodnight.'

Gwgan stood and stretched, too. ‘I am weary, too. But I have friends in the village, so will stay with them tonight. This tavern is too small for all of us, and I am tired of sharing a chamber with Sear and Alberic. They both snore.'

‘So does Leah,' said Richard, overhearing. ‘Especially when she has taken her medicines. I will join you.'

As they opened the door to leave, Roger stepped inside, straightening his surcoat and pulling straw from his hair. Immediately, Bale aimed for the door, but Geoffrey was disinclined to stop him. If Cornald chose to be blind to his wife's antics, then that was his affair.

‘I heard what Gwgan and Edward were telling you about Hywel,' said Alberic, looking up from his dice. ‘It is true: he
is
a fine man.'

‘He is,' agreed Sear. ‘He was awarded Rhydygors at the same time I was granted Pembroc, so we travelled to Westminster together. It gave us time to get to know each other. He is brave, as well as noble. Like me, he fought courageously on the Marches. You two were there, too, I understand.'

The implication was that Roger and Geoffrey had not performed well enough to have been rewarded. Roger immediately bristled, but Geoffrey laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

‘It is very warm in here,' he said, to change the subject. ‘I am surprised you think it necessary to have such an enormous blaze, Master Fychan.'

Fychan glared at Hilde. ‘Yes, but, unfortunately, I have been told by
visitors
that a welcoming fire makes an important first impression. And I dare not disagree.'

‘That was because I was here in winter,' said Hilde with a sigh. ‘And a dead hearth is not something a traveller wants to see when she arrives cold and wet.'

She and Fychan began to argue about the proper heights for fires at various times of year, and when Sear and Roger added their opinions, the conversation quickly grew acrimonious. Geoffrey did not join in. Now they were almost at their destination – Kermerdyn was no more than eight miles distant – he found himself pondering yet again about the tasks the King had set him. He let the angry voices wash over him, abrogating responsibility to Hilde to prevent spillages of blood.

Eventually, when he could stand the heat and the bickering no longer, Geoffrey rose, muttering about checking his destrier. He stood outside, breathing in deeply of the smoke-scented air, which carried with it a hint of frost in the offing as daylight faded to dusk. Then he went to the stable, reaching for his dagger when he saw two figures lurking in an empty stall.

‘Go inside, Bale,' he ordered curtly, not liking to imagine what would have been said if it had been Cornald coming to look at the horses.

Head down so he would not have to meet his master's eyes, Bale scuttled away. Pulchria was less easily intimidated, though.

‘You have no right to interfere,' she hissed.

‘I have every right: Bale is my squire. But it is cold and dark out here, so I recommend you go inside, too. Doubtless your husband will be pleased to see you.'

He treated her hate-filled glower with the contempt it deserved, turning his back on her and giving his attention to his horse. A moment later, he heard her stamp towards the door. He spent a little while with the animal, rubbing its nose and checking its legs for signs of damage, but the raised voices from the inn were distracting. Craving silence, he walked towards the river.

The Tywi was wide and shallow, with golden stones littering its bottom and the occasional waving frond of green weed. It wound across a wide valley, much of which was cultivated, although he suspected it was prone to flood, when it would lose its gentleness and become a raging torrent. Two uprooted trees nearby indicated it probably happened frequently.

He thought about Roger's contention that the attacks they had suffered since leaving Brechene were connected to the King's letters. Roger had been concerned from the first ambush that the attack had concentrated on the knights, but Geoffrey had argued it was because their assailants wanted to eliminate the warriors before turning to the easier business of dealing with the women, servants, Cornald and Delwyn. But did Roger have a point?

Delwyn was sloppy in his care of Mabon's coffin, and it would have been easy for thieves to make off with it at night, assuming – as Geoffrey believed – that they thought it was filled with treasure. Yet they had never bothered. Did it mean the ambushers
were
after something else? But, surely, no one could be interested in a letter to Wilfred about the transfer of property or an order telling Mabon to obey the Bishop, or in whatever was written in the missive to Sear?

Geoffrey sighed. More urgent was the fact that he was almost in Kermerdyn, and although he had spent weeks in company with people he suspected had killed William, Mabon and possibly Eudo, he was no nearer finding the truth. Soon they would part company, and he would never have answers for the King.

As he stared at the river, he became aware that one of the stones was an odd shape. He leaned down to retrieve it, plunging his arm up to the elbow in cold water. He was startled to find it was a small statue. He had seen similar ones in Italy, carved by the Romans, and he recalled Gwgan telling him that Romans had visited Kermerdyn and established a fort there. He gazed at the little sculpture, awed to be holding something that had been crafted hundreds of years before.

It was a pretty piece, and he recognized in it Aphrodite's alluring beauty. It was made of marble, and when he rubbed it on his surcoat, the algae came off to reveal the white underneath. It was not very big, although too large to close his fingers around. He decided to keep it and present it to Hilde at some opportune moment. Perhaps this pagan charm would help her conceive, given that prayers in churches did not seem to be working.

He was about to return to the tavern when he saw Delwyn walking towards him. The monk was pulling uncomfortably at his habit, and his face was red. Geoffrey was not the only one who had found the room unpleasantly close.

‘Your return to Kermerdyn tomorrow will be tainted by sadness,' said Geoffrey, thinking he had better remind Delwyn that he was sorry Mabon had died while a guest in his home. He did not want the abbey being told he did not care, so they could complain to the King about him. ‘I wish that we had brought his killer to justice.'

‘It would have been good to string the villain up,' agreed Delwyn. ‘He condemned me to a miserable journey, because it has not been pleasant, toting a rotting corpse around.'

Geoffrey tried to conceal his distaste for the man's selfishness. ‘It will be a sad homecoming, regardless of odours. I imagine Mabon was popular.'

‘Then you would be wrong. He was rather worldly, and most of my brethren will be delighted to learn he is no longer with us. Especially Ywain.' Delwyn looked concerned. ‘I hope he does not think
I
killed Mabon.'

‘Why would he think that?'

‘Because I was always complaining about the fact that Mabon would insist on aggravating Wilfred. But he
was
wrong to annoy the Bishop – it is no way to ensure we are left alone.'

‘Left alone?' asked Geoffrey, puzzled

‘Allowed to exist,' elaborated Delwyn. ‘Without Normans coming along and trying to turn us into Benedictines or Cistercians. We are happy as we are, but Mabon's belligerence was a danger.'

‘Will Ywain be less confrontational?'

‘Oh, yes,' said Delwyn bitterly. ‘He is no brash fool. But I would like to impress him anyway.
Please
give me the letter from the Archbishop, Sir Geoffrey. He will be much more kindly disposed towards me if he sees the King trusted me with it.'

‘I cannot,' said Geoffrey shortly. He did not want yet another debate on the subject.

‘Do you have any more?' asked Delwyn rather desperately. ‘You
must
have a missive for Hywel. He is the most important man in this region, after all. Give me the one for him.'

Geoffrey shook his head, hoping Hywel would not be offended when he learned that Henry had not deigned to acknowledge him.

Delwyn sighed heavily. ‘You are a hard man, Sir Geoffrey. I can only pray that it will not count against you when your sins are weighed on Judgement Day. And that may come sooner than you think, given the way that you court danger.'

‘I do not court danger,' said Geoffrey, wondering whether he was being threatened.

Delwyn regarded him haughtily. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about.'

And, with that enigmatic remark, he sauntered away.

Hilde had obtained four separate chambers on the upper floor, with hay-filled stable lofts for the servants. Geoffrey was uncomfortable when Hilde confided that the one for them was the landlord's own, but she assured him that Fychan had not minded going to sleep in the kitchen.

Privacy was rare while travelling, and it was not often they had the luxury of a separate room. Usually, Roger and Bale were with them, which Geoffrey did not mind – it was safer with three of them listening for signs of trouble as they slept – although Hilde was less sanguine about the arrangement and preferred nights when they could be alone.

‘I shall be glad when Roger leaves,' she remarked, as she doused the candle and slid into the bed, in the now pitch-black room. ‘God save us, Geoffrey! You are still wearing boots and full armour! We will not make an heir with fifty pounds of steel and leather between us.'

‘You want me to take them off?' asked Geoffrey uneasily. He rarely divested himself of his mail when travelling.

‘If you would not mind. Besides, I am cold, and snuggling up to metal is hardly pleasant.'

‘I would not know,' muttered Geoffrey, prising himself out of the bed to oblige. It did not take long, although he felt cold and strangely naked without his mail, and shivered as he climbed back into the bed. Then he winced. ‘Are you still wearing a dagger?'

‘I like one readily available on a journey,' she replied, placing an ice-cold hand on his stomach. He was hard-pressed not to fling it off, and strongly suspected the gesture was more to warm it up than for affection.

‘Why will you be glad when Roger leaves?' he asked.

Hilde sighed. ‘I know you have been through many battles together and saved each other's lives more often than you can count, but I cannot take to him. He is uncouth, greedy, dishonest and ruthless. Did you know that he regularly rifles through your saddlebags?'

‘Yes.' It was a habit Roger had acquired in the Holy Land. Geoffrey did not care, because he rarely had anything that Roger coveted, but Hilde objected to her possessions being mauled. ‘However, he is not doing the searching now – it is Delwyn, although he denies it.'

‘Roger is always saying that your literacy is a skill learned from the Devil,' Hilde went on, declining to be sidetracked. ‘And Bale said that, in Brechene, he even paid a witch for a spell to make you forget how to read. He thinks that if you are stupid, Henry will leave you alone.'

‘Then he will want his money back,' said Geoffrey, laughing. ‘Because the spell did not work.'

‘Spells are dangerous,' said Hilde angrily. ‘I shall never forgive him if you are turned into a drooling idiot.'

There was not much to be said to such a remark, so Geoffrey closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him. Hilde had other ideas.

‘Are you comfortable with
him
releasing you from your vow?'

‘What?' asked Geoffrey, wondering whether he had dropped off and missed some vital part of the conversation. ‘Roger?'

‘Bishop Maurice,' said Hilde impatiently. ‘From what I hear, he is rather worldly, and God may not accept his intervention. You may bring His wrath down on yourself. Or on Goodrich.'

Geoffrey rubbed his chin. ‘I know. I have never broken a vow before – it is why I keep wearing my Crusader's surcoat, when common sense urges anonymity. I did not know sacred oaths
could
be retracted until Maurice told me it was possible.'