The Deadliest Sin (24 page)

As the argument raged back and forth, Geoffrey appealed for calm. It took him some time to regain control, after which he kept a tighter rein on the proceedings. First, he allowed Walter to
state Hempsted’s case, and then he indicated that Cadifor should outline Carmarthen’s. When each had finished, Belat was permitted to speak; the clerk embarked on an intricate monologue
explaining the King’s position. Londres and Henry nodded sagely, even applauding on occasion, although everyone else was bored and Cole did not follow it at all.

Roger was eating again, and Cole nudged Gwenllian when he saw that the portly prior had acquired some of the marchpanes intended for the bishop.

‘He has eaten at least ten,’ he whispered. ‘I doubt there are any left for Geoffrey. Dafydd will be livid.’

Belat droned on, while the scribes’ pens scratched steadily, although Gwenllian noted with dismay that the man from the castle wrote far more slowly than the others. Londres smirked when
he saw she had noticed, making her wonder whether the fellow had been bribed to be inefficient.

Belat finished eventually, and although Roger continued to slumber, everyone else shuffled and stretched as Geoffrey summarised what had been said. Then the bishop declared the meeting over.

‘Reports will now be sent to our Prior General,’ he said. ‘And the King. Until we receive replies, I recommend that Walter’s retinue returns to Hempsted.’

Walter was outraged. ‘No! We attended this foolish hearing to be polite, but Belat has made the legal position abundantly clear: the King wants Hempsted to have Carmarthen, so that is the
end of the matter.’

‘Nothing will be final until our Prior General had passed judgement,’ argued Cadifor. ‘Until then, you can go home. Sir Symon? See our “guests” off the premises, if
you please.’

‘I do not envy you, Cole,’ whispered Londres gloatingly. ‘Your standing orders are to defend the town, but the King’s writ demands that you support Walter. His commands
are contradictory, and I am glad I do not have to choose between them.’

‘I am glad you do not, too,’ said Gwenllian coolly. ‘You would be incapable of doing so sensibly, and would be an embarrassment to the Crown.’

She turned her back on him, although not before she had seen his cheeks colour with anger.

‘Londres is right, Cole,’ said Belat smugly. ‘You are in a difficult position, and I am sure the King will be interested in how you handle it.’

‘It is not the first diplomatic crisis we have managed,’ said Gwenllian, nettled by the presumption that Symon would be unequal to the task. ‘We have gained considerable
experience during the last twenty years.’

‘Twenty years,’ mused Henry. He was carrying his account of the meeting, and she was amazed by how much he had written. ‘Perhaps it is time to retire. A man becomes stale if
left in one place for too long.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said Londres sourly, scowling at Gwenllian. ‘And if not, there are many other ways to oust complacent officials.’

‘Did they just threaten us?’ asked Cole, as the trio walked away together.

‘I believe they did,’ replied Gwenllian. ‘So we must be on our guard.’

Cadifor invited Gwenllian and Cole to eat in the refectory when he emerged from the church, although he scowled irritably when the bishop informed him that good manners
dictated that the Hempsted men must be included in the meal, too. His canons served their rivals with ill grace, and Cole and Gwenllian exchanged a wry glance when they saw one spitting in Prior
Walter’s ale. She and Cole sat with the Carmarthen men, while the bishop trotted from one side of the room to the other in a determined effort to be impartial.

‘I am afraid there are no marchpanes, Your Grace,’ said Dafydd, pale with suppressed fury. ‘Asser took four, but then someone came along and stole the rest.’

‘Roger,’ said Cadifor immediately. ‘I saw him scoff them all while Belat was pontificating.’

‘Where is Roger?’ asked Geoffrey, looking around genially. ‘It is unlike him to miss a meal. I have never met anyone who enjoys his victuals so.’

‘He does not need to eat now,’ said Cadifor sourly, ‘because he devoured enough for ten men while we were in the chapel. Doubtless he has gone for a postprandial nap. He always
was a lazy man. Indeed, Walter’s ambitions would have been thwarted years ago if he and Martin had stayed awake more.’

Geoffrey smiled. ‘And you would still be Llanthony’s almoner – we all know you only accepted a post in Carmarthen because you could not bear to serve under Roger. However, you
have performed wonders here, so much good has come from your promotion.’

‘But it will all be for nothing if Walter wins,’ said Cadifor bitterly. ‘Carmarthen will not thrive under him. He will bleed us dry to keep Hempsted in riches, and all I have
built will be lost. Damn him! And damn Roger, too!’

The bishop intoned a tactful final grace at that point. Gwenllian and Cole stood, and were about to return to the castle when Walter and Gilbert came to speak to Cadifor. Cole stopped, unwilling
to leave if there was about to be another spat.

‘An adequate feast, Cadifor,’ said Walter coolly. ‘But not of a standard that will be tolerated now we are in charge.’

‘No,’ agreed Gilbert. ‘There was sawdust in my bread and a nail in my broth.’

‘We are a poor foundation,’ said Cadifor innocently. ‘Once we have paid our dues to the King and dispensed alms to the poor, there is very little left for luxurious
living.’

‘Then the poor will have to tighten their belts,’ said Walter. He turned to Geoffrey, who was listening with a troubled expression on his kindly features. ‘Will you give me
medicine to ease the pain in my innards? Your elixirs are far more effective than the ones Gilbert makes me.’

‘Your innards would fare better if you did not work so hard,’ advised Geoffrey, while Sacrist Gilbert shot his superior a disagreeable glance for his ingratitude. ‘Rest and
regular meals will cure your affliction, but you refuse to heed my advice.’

‘A remedy, please,’ said Walter coldly, holding out his hand.

‘I do not have one with me,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I did not imagine that my medical skills would be needed today, so I left my bag in the castle.’

‘I will make you something,’ offered Gwenllian, thinking that a tincture of chalk and poppy juice would ease Walter’s discomfort. And when he was not in pain, perhaps he would
be more willing to listen to reason.

‘No, thank you,’ said Walter coldly. ‘I would rather suffer than accept help from a woman, especially one who hails from this godforsaken hole.’

‘As you wish,’ said Gwenllian, equally icy. ‘Enjoy your night.’

‘He is a disagreeable fellow,’ said Geoffrey, once Walter and Gilbert had retired to the guesthouse. ‘But I did not know you were a healer, Lady Gwenllian. I have always been
interested in medicine. Indeed, had my family not given me to the Church, I would have become a physician.’

They exchanged remedies for acid stomachs while Cole arranged for soldiers from the castle to stand guard outside the guesthouse, to prevent anyone from entering or leaving – if the two
factions did not meet, then there could be no further trouble that night.

When Cole had finished, he and the bishop went to fetch their horses while Gwenllian waited in the yard. Darkness had fallen, but light spilled from the guesthouse windows, all of which had
ill-fitting shutters. She could not help but notice that one was the room allocated to the two clerks. She glanced around quickly, but no one was looking and the shadows were thick. She put her eye
to the biggest crack and peered inside. Belat was dictating and Henry writing.

‘Slow down,’ Henry hissed, stopping to wring his hand. ‘My fingers hurt.’

‘We cannot,’ said Belat urgently. ‘The bishop may ask to see our transcript, and we must have it ready.’

‘I wrote a perfectly good account the first time,’ snapped Henry. ‘It exposed Cole as a blundering buffoon, as per our agreement with Londres, and showed Walter to be the
rightful ruler of this house. We do not need to copy it out all over again.’

‘But I do not want to be part of Londres’ plot to topple Cole,’ said Belat. ‘I think the King has forgotten whatever petty squabble prompted him to send Londres here to
spy five years ago, and now His Majesty does not care who rules Carmarthen, as long as its taxes are paid on time. Indeed, ousting an efficient governor may even turn John against us.’

‘But we made a financial arrangement with Londres,’ argued Henry.

‘So?’ asked Belat archly. ‘What can he do? Complain that we failed to write lies about a royally appointed official? Forget Londres! He can rot here for the rest of his life
for all I care. We have bigger fish to fry – namely seeing Walter installed in this priory. The King will not be pleased if his writ is contested.’

‘No,’ agreed Henry. ‘His barons challenge his authority at every turn, and he will not want monasteries doing it, too. But what shall we do about the accounts written by the
others? Walter’s will match ours, but Cole’s, Cadifor’s and the bishop’s will not.’

‘Londres paid the castle scribe to write what we tell him, while the bishop’s secretarius is a friend of mine. Four accounts will tally, so Cadifor’s will be disregarded. Now
write.’

They returned to their work, leaving Gwenllian thoughtful. Then she became aware of a shadow at her side, and was unsettled to see that it was Stacpol, tall and menacing in the gloom.

‘They have not changed,’ he said softly. ‘One day, they will be caught, and then all the lies in the world will not save them.’

He strode away before she could ask about his own dealings with the pair. Then, Cole shouted that he was ready, and led the way through the burned gates with the bishop’s retinue
following. Stacpol and Elidor brought up the rear with the cart that carried Asser’s body.

‘Did you see that?’ Cole asked suddenly, reining in and staring into the bushes that lined the side of the road. ‘That flicker of movement?’

‘That is the second time you claim to have seen someone watching us today,’ called Stacpol. ‘Are you sure you are not imagining it?’

‘Yes,’ replied Cole shortly. ‘Quite sure.’

In the small hours of the morning, Cadifor slipped out of the dormitory and aimed for the gate. The guards Cole had set at the guesthouse pretended not to notice him: they had
been told what Walter had come to do, and their sympathies lay firmly with the local monks. Once through the gate, Cadifor hurried to the castle, aiming to put his case to Bishop Geoffrey
alone.

He was conducted to the solar. The fire had gone out hours before, so it was cold and dark. It was elegantly decorated, though, and he recognised Gwenllian’s hand in the tapestries that
hung on the wall and the cushions that were strewn about the benches. It smelled of lavender and sage, and of the fresh rushes that had been scattered on the floor.

The bishop entered rubbing sleep from his eyes, but Cadifor’s arrival had also woken others. Cole, Stacpol and Elidor were fully dressed, unwilling to remove their armour while there was
trouble in their town; Gwenllian wore a thick woollen cloak over her nightclothes.

‘I know this is an odd time for an audience, Your Grace,’ Cadifor began apologetically. ‘But I could not sleep for worry. I felt I was not sufficiently eloquent earlier –
not like Walter.’

‘You were eloquent enough for me.’ Geoffrey smiled. ‘I do not believe Hempsted has a right to Carmarthen. I am on your side, Cadifor.’

Cadifor sighed his relief. ‘Thank God! Will you help me to challenge Walter?’

Geoffrey nodded. ‘And we shall begin by contesting that deed. I studied it carefully, and I am far from sure that it is genuine.’

‘I wish I could agree,’ said Cadifor unhappily. ‘But it came from the King sure enough. Belat and Henry are disagreeable characters, but they are not fools – it would be
reckless to forge that sort of thing when it is likely to be inspected by the head of our Order.’

‘Cadifor is right,’ said Gwenllian. ‘I know the King’s seal, and I suspect His Majesty
has
given his support to Walter. Probably for a price.’

‘Why is Walter so keen to have Carmarthen?’ asked Elidor curiously. ‘It is not a wealthy house.’

‘Because of our wool,’ explained Cadifor. ‘Walter’s empire has now expanded to include several hundred monks, lay brothers and servants, all of whom need clothes and
blankets.
That
is why he set greedy eyes on us.’

‘But how did he know about the wool?’ asked Cole. ‘You only sell it locally.’

‘I imagine Londres told him,’ surmised Gwenllian. ‘He must have heard that Hempsted was expanding, and wrote to inform Walter that Carmarthen is a plum ripe for the
picking.’

‘Why would he do such a spiteful thing?’ asked Cole doubtfully.

‘His remit was to catch you doing something wrong, so you could be dismissed,’ she reminded him. ‘But he has failed. He is angry and resentful, and knows he will only escape
from Carmarthen – which he has grown to hate – by discrediting you.’

‘Which this will,’ said Geoffrey soberly. ‘He will either report you for failing to protect the priory from hostile invaders, or for challenging the King’s writ. Either
will see
you
in trouble, and allow
him
to return to Westminster.’

‘Politics,’ said Cole in distaste. ‘Prior Walter is a fool for letting Londres use him in his machinations. He should have just bought Carmarthen’s wool
instead.’

‘Why, when this writ will let him get it for free?’ asked Cadifor bitterly. ‘Wool is currently fetching very high prices, so seizing our assets will save him a
fortune.’

‘It is a pity that John allows his favour to be bought,’ sighed Geoffrey. ‘He is God’s anointed, and should set a better example. No wonder his barons oppose
him.’

‘The greater pity is that Prior Roger is such a lazy scoundrel,’ said Stacpol. ‘He should keep his former daughter house in order, but instead, he trails along in
Walter’s wake, moaning about the misery of winter travel.’

‘He is the epitome of sloth,’ said Cadifor. ‘Like his predecessor, Martin. Did I ever tell you about him? He was murdered on the very day that Walter came to declare Hempsted
independent. Later, a message warning against the sin of sloth was etched on his coffin.’