The Sacred Stone

by The Medieval Murderers

  ‘It will be easy to know whether Leger revealed the secret – go to where you hid the sky-stone and see whether it is still there. If it is, then he did not tell anyone. If it is not, then he did.’

  Ivar winced. ‘I moved it within moments of his going out. I am afraid I did not like the fact that he could not give me an immediate answer, and I grew uneasy.’

  ‘In other words, someone might have killed him because he revealed the location of the sky-stone, but it was not where he said it would be,’ concluded Geoffrey.

  Ivar nodded slowly. ‘It is certainly possible. I tried to talk to him about it, but he became distant and worried. I have told you this because I want his killer found – you must question Walter, Odo and Cadowan, and demand to know where they were last night.’

  ‘Perhaps you should write down where you have hidden this stone,’ suggested Geoffrey. ‘Because if anything happens to you, then it really will be lost for ever.’

  ‘Not for ever,’ said Ivar. ‘These objects have a way of putting themselves in the place where they mean to be. It may lie hidden for decades – centuries, even – but it will emerge in the end.’

  Geoffrey was silent for a moment, thinking about what had been said, but when he turned back to Ivar his eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. Odo approached before the knight could wake him.

  ‘Leave him,’ the prior said softly. ‘He is distressed by what happened to Leger, and it is good that he sleeps. I do not suppose he confided where he hid the sky-stone, did he? If so, you must tell me. You will appreciate that it belongs here, in the hands of the Church.’

  Geoffrey shook his head, watching the flash of disappointment in the prior’s eyes. ‘He said he told Leger, but no one else.’

  Odo looked angry. ‘Did he? Then why did Leger not tell me ? I was his prior – I am used to making weighty decisions, and he was not. It was his duty to tell me, as one of my monks.’

  It was not a question Geoffrey could answer, so he did not try. ‘Ivar does not seem like a man who would fit well into your community,’ he observed. ‘I am surprised you took him.’

  Odo glared at him. ‘And what do you mean by that, pray?’

  ‘He is illiterate, for a start.’

  Odo continued to glare. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘First, he was holding his book upside down, and, second, when you sang your psalm he stumbled over the words. He has memorized some, but not all, and cannot read to jog his memory.’

  And there was also the fact that most of the elegant, self-assured men in the priory would not seek out the company of grubby hermits, so Geoffrey could only suppose that Odo and his monks must want very badly to lay hands on the sky-stone, and thought earning Ivar’s gratitude for good food and comfortable lodgings was the best way to go about it.

  Odo regarded him with an unfriendly expression. ‘He fits in well enough.’

  Geoffrey changed the subject. ‘Just after Ivar shared his secret with Leger, Leger went out. When he returned, he began to be concerned about his safety. Where might he have gone?’

  Odo narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you suggesting he told someone outside the priory about the sky-stone’s whereabouts, and that person began to threaten him?’

  ‘It is impossible to say without more evidence. Who might he have visited?’

  ‘Anyone!’ declared Odo, angry and distressed. ‘Perhaps he told Walter, because once the constable has the stone, he might leave the priory alone. Leger hated discord and might have gone to Walter in the hope that giving away the stone would heal the rift between us.’

  ‘Surely, then Walter would have killed him at the castle?’

  Odo gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘He would not – it would have laid him open to accusations, and Satan’s spawn is nothing if not clever. It would be entirely within keeping with his sly character to kill Leger later, in his own church. Of course, he would not do the deed himself – that is what Pigot and Revelle are for.’

  ‘Did Leger have any friends outside the priory who—’

  ‘Cadowan and Nest!’ exclaimed Odo. ‘They are desperate to have the stone, too, and he was fond of them. Perhaps he told them the secret, and they killed him to make sure he did not tell anyone else.’

  ‘I doubt they would have waited a week,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘There would be no point in dispatching him then.’

  Odo pressed his lips together in a long, firm line. ‘So you say, but there is no accounting for what folk might do when they are determined.’

  There was little point in arguing with him. ‘We discussed the possibility earlier that Walter has a spy in the priory—’

  ‘Walter has spies everywhere,’ declared Odo angrily. ‘But he does seem to have recruited one who sells him sensitive information about us. I am not a drunkard – I like a little wine on occasion, but who does not? And our sacristan is not dishonest, nor our cellarer debauched. But these lies are spread around the town, so we become a laughing stock.’

  ‘Perhaps this spy learned what Ivar had told Leger,’ suggested Geoffrey. ‘He is clearly adept at listening to conversations not intended for his ears, so perhaps—’

  ‘Leger and Ivar would have taken more care,’ interrupted Odo. ‘The spy is not one of my monks, and the lay brothers are beyond reproach, so I imagine it is some sly dog from the castle or the town. God knows, Walter has enough of them in his pay.’

  ‘May I inspect Leger’s possessions?’ asked Geoffrey, doubting there would be much to find but supposing he had better be thorough.

  ‘Not today,’ said Odo. ‘It is almost time for vespers, and I would like to be present when you do it. Come tomorrow, after dawn prayers.’

  ‘It would be better to start now,’ objected Geoffrey, not liking the delay. If the culprit was in the priory, then it would give him hours to eliminate crucial evidence.

  ‘I have spoken,’ declared Odo loftily. ‘Return tomorrow. I shall be expecting you.’

  ‘You cannot investigate this,’ said Roger irritably, sitting in the White Lion with a jug of cool ale. ‘It is none of your business.’

  ‘I cannot return to Hilde without answers,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘Leger was her favourite uncle. She will want to know that his killer has been brought to justice.’

  ‘Then let the constable do it,’ argued Roger. ‘You have no jurisdiction here, and the whole thing sounds farfetched, anyway. I have never heard of sky-stones.’

  ‘Nor have I, but that does not mean they do not exist.’

  Roger sighed. ‘This is a bad idea. Let Hilde come to ask questions, if she is going to be curious. I do not like it here and want to leave. It feels like a place where trouble is brewing.’

  ‘Then you should feel at home,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You thrive on trouble.’

  ‘I like fighting,’ acknowledged Roger. ‘But I only like doing it with enemies I can see. Here, I feel they are all around me and I cannot tell who they are. I do not like it, Geoff. We should leave this place. Tonight. I would rather sleep under the stars than stay here after nightfall.’

  Geoffrey raised his hands in surrender. ‘Then go. Return to Goodrich and tell Hilde what has happened, and that I am trying to investigate. But do not let her come.’

  ‘Why not? She is the one wanting answers.’

  ‘Because you are right: there is something strange going on, and I would rather she stayed well away. She is my wife, Roger.’

  ‘Yes, but I have never met a lass better able to take care of herself.’ The admiration was clear in Roger’s voice, and Geoffrey wondered whether he should have married her. ‘I have rarely seen such skill with a battleaxe.’

  ‘You are not easily unsettled, and if you do not feel safe here then neither will she be.’

  ‘And neither will you,’ Roger pointed out.

  Geoffrey went on as if he had not spoken. ‘Besides, I do not trust what Odo and his monks told me, and I do not understand Ivar. There is a peculiar story to be unravelled, and I would like to do it. For Hilde a
nd for Leger.’

  ‘It is—’ began Roger, but stopped speaking abruptly when the door opened and Revelle and Pigot shoved their way inside. The tavern immediately divided between those who made for the rear door and those who exchanged nods and smiles with the two men. Three others followed Revelle and Pigot – two more knights, and someone who was obviously their leader. The leader was smaller than the others, with reddish hair and eyes oddly close together. Geoffrey suspected, from the richness of his clothes and the shine on his sword, that his spurs had been earned because he was nobly born, not because he had proved himself in battle.

  The newcomer peered around, letting his eyes become accustomed to the gloom after the bright sunlight outside, then strode towards the table at which Geoffrey and Roger sat.

  ‘I understand you visited the priory,’ he said icily. ‘Why?’

  ‘What business is that of yours, little man?’ demanded Roger, unwisely hostile in his turn.

  ‘I am Sir Walter de Clare, constable of the castle,’ the man replied. ‘I am ordering you to leave Estrighoiel immediately. My family holds the favour of the King, so you will do well to do as you are told.’

  ‘I have never heard of you,’ said Roger rudely. ‘I know Gilbert and Roger de Clare, who are always hanging around the royal courts. But who are you? Some distant cousin?’

  ‘I am their younger brother,’ said Walter, angered by the insult. ‘And a knight in my own right. Now, are you going to leave peacefully or do my men have to use force?’

  Geoffrey supposed Walter did bear a resemblance to the de Clares he had met when serving the King. He had not taken to them, although he suspected his dislike stemmed from the rumours regarding the peculiar death of King William II in the New Forest – and the fact that the archer who had loosed the fatal ‘accidental’ shot just happened to be married to one of their sisters. He found them sly and secretive, and he could tell that Walter was cast in the same mould.

  ‘Force?’ asked Roger, his voice dripping scorn as he looked Walter and his four knights up and down with calculated disdain. ‘You think they can best two Jerosolimitani?’

  The loutish Pigot reacted immediately by drawing his sword, but Revelle stepped between his friend and their quarry.

  ‘Wait,’ he muttered. ‘Give them a chance to go peaceably.’

  ‘My men can best you with ease,’ said Walter to Roger, ignoring his henchman’s efforts to calm the situation. Geoffrey was amused to note that he did not include himself in the challenge.

  ‘Can they indeed?’ asked Roger dangerously. ‘Perhaps we should have a wager on that.’

  ‘Why?’ snarled Pigot. ‘You will not be alive to pay it.’

  ‘Why do you object to us visiting the priory?’ asked Geoffrey, cutting across the furious rejoinder Roger started to make. ‘Did we upset someone?’

  ‘I am not prepared to wait and find out,’ said Walter. ‘I know you were asking about Leger’s murder and the whereabouts of the sky-stone. These are not matters that concern you.’

  Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. ‘Your intelligence network is impressive, but—’

  Walter looked pleased with himself. ‘I know everything that happens in my town.’

  ‘Then who killed Leger?’ pounced Geoffrey.

  ‘Pigot! Elias! Escort them out,’ ordered Walter. ‘Revelle and Seine bring up the rear. I do not have time for this nonsense.’

  ‘We are not going anywhere,’ said Roger. He seemed to have forgotten that he had been eager to leave not many moments before. ‘We are free men; we have the right to go where we please.’

  ‘Not in Estrighoiel,’ replied Walter. There was a cant in his eyes that was every bit as dangerous as Roger’s, and Geoffrey saw it would be unwise to antagonize him any further.

  ‘We are leaving,’ he said, standing. ‘We do not want trouble.’

  Anger suffused Roger’s face. ‘I am not being ousted by this upstart. And his henchmen can try to make me leave if they dare. It would be a pleasure to skewer them.’

  ‘We will not be gone long,’ murmured Geoffrey in his ear. ‘Just follow me now. I will explain later.’

  ‘There is something bewilderingly perverse about you,’ grumbled Roger, deliberately knocking into Pigot as he followed Geoffrey outside. Pigot staggered, and it was only Revelle’s warning glare that prevented him from drawing his sword. ‘I never know what you are going to do next.’

  But he was used to deferring to Geoffrey in tactics, so he let the matter lie. Walter’s men had already been in the stables, and the horses were saddled and ready. To make the point that he was not to be bullied, Roger began to make a fuss about the way his bags had been secured.

  ‘The strap is broken,’ he declared. It had been fine earlier and Geoffrey wondered whether he had cut it himself. Roger looked directly at Pigot. ‘You had better mend it for me.’

  ‘Mend it yourself,’ snarled Pigot. ‘I am no man’s servant.’

  ‘No?’ responded Roger. ‘I thought you were the constable’s lackey.’

  Pigot’s sword was out of its sheath in seconds.

  There would have been bloodshed had not Revelle stepped in front of Pigot, then clicked his fingers to several men in the crowd that had gathered to watch, ordering them to mend the strap.

  ‘Do not annoy Pigot,’ whispered a man who stood near Geoffrey. It was the red-faced merchant called Cadowan, his pretty wife Nest at his side. ‘And tell your friend he is pushing Walter too far. Our constable is a dangerous man.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Geoffrey. A messenger had arrived, claiming the attention of Walter, Revelle and the other two knights, while Pigot continued to banter words – but at least not blows – with Roger.

  ‘We are fairly sure he killed his predecessor – Drogo de Hauteville,’ replied Nest. Her voice was low and pleasant, and Geoffrey found himself wishing Hilde had some of her looks. ‘Drogo plummeted over a cliff in the woods, even though he knew the area well and was unlikely to have lost his way.’

  ‘He was killed instantly,’ added Cadowan, taking up the tale. ‘And within hours, Walter arrived. He said he just happened to be passing when he heard the news, and he stepped into Drogo’s shoes because no one else was to hand.’

  ‘The King must be satisfied with him or he would have been replaced.’

  ‘Walter put down a small rebellion,’ said Cadowan, his voice dripping disgust. ‘Although we suspect it was engineered by Revelle to give his master an opportunity to shine.’

  Geoffrey frowned. The whole affair did stink of treachery.

  ‘We suspect Walter killed Leger, too,’ whispered Cadowan. ‘Although I imagine he will have blamed the monks in the priory. Or even us. Am I right?’

  Geoffrey shrugged, unwilling to gossip. ‘I have been listening to accusations all afternoon. It is difficult to keep them straight.’

  Cadowan shot an angry glare towards Walter. ‘Nothing has been right since that devious dog arrived. He blames it on Ivar, but it was hardly Ivar’s fault that he could not save Eleanor – the sky-stone does not work for everyone. Thank God it did on Nest.’

  ‘I could feel myself dying,’ said Nest quietly, ‘but then Ivar put the stone in my hand, and the life began to course through me again. Walter can say what he likes, but the stone is sacred.’

  ‘The monks want it badly,’ said Cadowan. ‘But they are not very saintly men, and I would not like to think of such a pure thing in their hands. I tried to buy it from Ivar, so I could take it to a monastery with devout monks, rather than this worldly horde. But Ivar will not sell.’

  ‘Does he explain why not?’

  Both shook their heads. ‘He said he would wait for God to tell him who to give it to,’ said Nest. ‘But—’

  ‘Enough,’ roared Walter, finishing with the messenger and seeing Geoffrey speaking to the merchant and his wife. ‘Get on your horses and leave. You have wasted enough of our time.’

  Eager to avoid further confrontation, Geoffrey mounted up. But Roger on
ce again had to have the final say.

  ‘Perhaps you could bend down so that I could step on your back to mount,’ he said to Pigot.

  The other knight’s face was a mask of unbridled hatred as he reached for his sword. But Roger struck him on the forehead with the metal hilt of his dagger, and Pigot dropped senseless to the ground.

  The constable squawked in alarm as all the knights immediately assumed fighting stances. In a move born out of sheer terror, he lobbed his sword at Geoffrey. It was an unconventional manoeuvre, and not one any sane knight would perform – it would leave him effectively unarmed. But because of its very nature, it took Geoffrey by surprise, and there was a burning pain in his arm – his armour had leather sleeves, and the blade had sliced through one of them. He struggled to raise his shield as first Elias and then Revelle began a series of hacking blows.

  ‘The King will have your head for this,’ Roger bellowed, realizing too late that the odds were not very favourable. ‘He will not appreciate his agents being murdered.’

  ‘Agents?’ asked Walter, making an abrupt gesture that stopped his knights from attacking, although they remained alert. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Geoffrey is one of his most trusted officers,’ said Roger loudly.

  ‘Geoffrey?’ asked Walter uneasily. ‘Not Sir Geoffrey Mappestone? Of Goodrich?’

  ‘The very same,’ shouted Roger. ‘Which you would have known, had you bothered to ask.’

  ‘My cousin, William Giffard – who is the Bishop of Winchester – mentioned Geoffrey Mappestone in a letter he wrote to me,’ said Revelle, sheathing his sword. ‘And his description matches this man. Giffard said Geoffrey has helped the King with a number of difficult problems.’

  ‘Then why did you not tell us who you were?’ said Walter, expansive and oily. ‘Your reputation goes before you, and His Majesty has often sung your praises. Elias! Seine! Why are you standing there like great apes? Welcome our new friends. We must amend this silly misunderstanding.’

  Geoffrey did not want to step inside Castelle de Estrighoiel – not because it was the lair of a man who had lobbed a sword at him, but because it was owned by the King. He had learned from bitter experience that it was safer to stay well away from anything under Henry’s control.