‘I doubt “those at court” anticipated that these fealty-swearers would stop at Goodrich.’
‘Yes, they would,’ countered Helbye. ‘Because one of them – Cornald the butter-maker – is friends with Joan and Olivier. He always stops in Goodrich when he travels out of Wales, and I know for a fact that he has mentioned it to acquaintances in the King’s retinue. Obviously, someone remembered and stored the information for future use.’
Geoffrey racked his brains for anyone who might have done such a thing. ‘Bishop Maurice? He knows Cornald, because he has given me a letter for him.’
Helbye smiled. ‘No, not Maurice. He is not treacherous, and he would never embroil you in anything devious. I imagine it was one of Henry’s clerks. They can read, and – present company excepted – that means they cannot help being sly.’
Geoffrey stifled a sigh at such prejudice and changed the subject. ‘Do I know anyone in this group from Gloucester? Or are they all strangers? I have never heard Joan or Olivier mention Cornald the butter-maker.’
‘You have not spent two full months here since you were eleven, so that is not surprising. Cornald has been a friend of your family for years. He is a lovely man, very generous. Everyone likes him. But his wife . . .’ Helbye shook his head, lips pursed.
‘What about his wife?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘She is a walking brothel,’ replied Helbye bluntly. ‘My wife says she has never met a more wanton specimen.’
Geoffrey wondered whether she would extend her services to the new arrivals, thus sparing the hapless locals. ‘Are Cornald and his wife the only visitors?’
Helbye rested his elbows on the table. ‘No, and the others are an unsavoury crowd, so you should be on your guard. First, there is Richard fitz Baldwin, a vile creature with a vicious temper. He has already struck Father Adrian. Of course, I would not mind doing that myself at times, but it has done nothing to dispel Adrian’s belief that all knights are louts.’
‘Richard,’ mused Geoffrey, thinking about the letter he carried inside his surcoat. It would be one less missive to deliver in Kermerdyn. Then he frowned. Adrian was sanctimonious, but he was a priest, so it went with the territory. ‘I cannot imagine Joan allowed that to pass unremarked.’
‘I thought she was going to hit him back,’ said Helbye with a grin. ‘But Olivier stopped her, so she settled for giving Richard a piece of her mind instead, which was probably worse. I felt sorry for his wife, Leah, who is a poor, sweet creature. She suffers from headaches, but it is probably Richard that gives them to her.’
Geoffrey winced. ‘Please tell me they are the only ones.’
‘I am afraid not. They are accompanied by a man named Gwgan, who is a high-ranking Welsh counsellor. He seems decent enough, although he can read, so you would be wise to be wary of him. He is your brother-in-law, married to Lady Hilde’s sister.’
Geoffrey stared at him. Helbye was right: it could not be coincidence that two recipients for the King’s letters should happen to be in Goodrich. Someone had arranged for them to be there when he arrived. Was that why Eudo had been so annoyingly tardy about producing the letters? To ensure he did not travel too quickly and so miss them?
‘Finally, there is Kermerdyn’s abbot – a man called Mabon. He is a curious devil; I have never met a monastic like him.’
Geoffrey put his head in his hands. Henry had given him missives for Sear, Richard, Gwgan, Mabon and Bishop Wilfred, and four of them were at Goodrich. What was Henry up to? Or was it Eudo’s doing? As Maurice had said that Eudo was apt to scheme on the King’s behalf, Geoffrey was inclined to believe the latter. So would the plot die now the clerk was not alive to see it through? Or would it stagger ahead, leading to danger for those unwittingly caught up in it?
No answers came, although Geoffrey made three decisions. First, he would give Richard, Gwgan and Mabon their letters that day, although he would still have to travel to Kermerdyn to deliver the ones to Sear and Bishop Wilfred. Second, he was not going to put his family in danger by staying at Goodrich; he would feed his guests, collect dry clothes, and be gone within the hour. And third, Hilde would not be going to Kermerdyn to wheedle secrets about William’s secret from her sister. He did not want her embroiled in whatever sinister plan was unfolding.
‘Why do you say Mabon is a curious devil?’ he asked, raising his head to see that Helbye was regarding him worriedly. It would have been good to confide his fears and suspicions, but Helbye, with his deep distrust of the written word, was not the right candidate.
‘You will understand when you meet him, and I do not have your way with words. But this subject has upset you, so let us talk of other matters. Would you like to see my new pig?’
It was tempting, but Geoffrey had already spent longer than he had intended with Helbye, and knew he should at least try to arrive at the castle before the others. He took his leave, promising to return later, when his guests were settled.
‘Watch yourself, lad,’ said Helbye, reaching up to grab his arm before he could ride away. ‘None of us at the village likes Lady Joan’s guests, and you will not, either.’
It had stopped raining by the time he left Helbye, and the clouds had rolled away to reveal a blue sky. The sun was shining for virtually the first time since La Batailge, and Geoffrey and his horse steamed in the sudden warmth. The rest of the day was going to be fine.
The bailey was busy as he trotted into it, full of horses and people. Some were servants, scurrying here and there with cloaks, boots and cups of hot wine. Others were richly dressed, and, since he did not know them, they were clearly the guests. In the middle of the hubbub was a small, neat man with a moustache but no beard – an odd fashion in England, when most men did it the other way around. He was giving orders to the servants, and a bird sat on his wrist, its head covered by a tiny leather helmet. Sir Olivier d’Alençon, Geoffrey’s brother-in-law, was about to take his visitors hawking.
The clamour lessened when Geoffrey appeared, and people stopped talking to each other to see who was coming. Then a woman broke free of the cluster and ran towards him, her face an unrestrained beam of delight.
‘So Mistress Helbye had not taken leave of her senses when she said she had seen you!’ said Hilde. ‘But you said you would be gone for months, if not years. What happened?’
‘King Henry happened,’ replied Geoffrey gloomily, dismounting and going to bow over her hand. They had not been married long enough to dispense with the formalities, and he did not want to embarrass her with a more affectionate greeting when there was an audience.
Hilde was a large, square-faced woman with a determined glint in her eye. She was older than Geoffrey by at least three years – she was coyly vague about specifics – and had been foisted on him because Goodrich had needed a politically expedient marriage. Fortunately, Geoffrey valued intelligence more highly than looks, and he had not been disappointed. Moreover, he had found himself blessed with a friend, as well as a wife.
‘Is there more trouble brewing on the borders?’ she asked in alarm. ‘The last time he sent you here, we had a virtual war.’
‘He has ordered me to Kermerdyn,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I leave in an hour.’
‘An hour?’ Hilde cried in dismay. ‘Surely, you can rest here longer than that?’
‘Best not.’
‘Kermerdyn is where Isabella lives,’ said Hilde. ‘Gwgan – her husband, who is visiting us here at the moment – has offered to take me with him. But I would much rather travel with you.’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey, more sharply than he had intended. He hastened to explain. ‘Henry told me to take you there, too, but there is something underhand about the whole affair, and I will not see you in danger.’
‘If Henry issued you with a direct order, you must obey it,’ said Hilde. ‘You know what he is like when crossed, and I do not want to be the reason for you being in trouble.’
‘He will never know.’
Hilde shook his arm gently. ‘Of course he wi
ll know! Nothing happens in his kingdom without his knowledge. I would be sorry to lose Goodrich, and so would Joan, so we had better do as he says. Besides, I am no swooning maiden who must be coddled. I thought you understood that.’
‘I do,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But—’
‘No buts,’ said Hilde, smiling. ‘I was intending to make the journey anyway, because it has been too long since I saw Isabella. If I do not go with you, I will go with Gwgan.’
Before the discussion could become an argument, a second woman approached. It was Joan – tall, sturdily built and with a fierce face that told everyone who met her that she was not a woman to stand for nonsense. Middle years had made her thick around the middle, and her brown hair was now flecked with grey.
‘I thought I recognized you,’ she said gruffly, never one for unseemly displays of affection. ‘What are you doing back so soon? And where is your horse?’
‘Drowned,’ said Geoffrey unhappily. ‘And I have been ordered to travel west by the King.’
Joan’s face hardened. ‘Has that villain used Goodrich to force you into his service again? I am beginning to suspect that he plans to keep you at his beck and call for ever.’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘Because I will go to the Holy Land as soon as Bishop Maurice releases me from a vow I made never to return there. You see, I believe Tancred did not write the letters—’
‘Stop!’ ordered Joan. ‘This is a complex tale and deserves to be heard properly. We shall have it as soon as we dispatch our guests for an afternoon of hawking with Olivier.’
And Geoffrey had three letters to deliver. He had not forgotten that Richard’s and Gwgan’s were secret, and would have to be handed over when the recipients were alone. And although no such stipulation had been attached to Mabon’s, Geoffrey intended to be cautious anyway. The whole affair was too murky for him to risk doing otherwise.
It was not many moments before Geoffrey’s travelling companions arrived, and he was made proud by the gracious welcome afforded by Joan and Hilde. Cups of welcoming wine were presented, and servants were waiting to take horses and see to baggage.
Even Sear could find no fault with their hospitality, although his eyebrows went up when he was introduced to Olivier. It was not difficult to read Sear’s thoughts: Joan was twice the size of her diminutive husband, and they looked odd together. Although a knight, Olivier lied about his military achievements and was a liability in any kind of skirmish. But Joan loved him and he loved her, and Geoffrey had grown to respect the man’s gentler qualities.
The newcomers knew the other guests, and Edward was unrestrained in his pleasure at seeing them. Geoffrey was slightly taken aback when Edward darted towards a tall, burly knight in black and treated him to a smacking kiss on the cheek. Both men immediately roared with laughter, although Sear grimaced his distaste and Alberic rolled his eyes.
‘As the weather is fine, we have decided to go hawking,’ said Olivier, beaming at the new arrivals. ‘Perhaps you would care to join us? I can promise you a treat. Geoffrey, you will come?’
Geoffrey shook his head, not liking to imagine what Joan would say if he disappeared before explaining his sudden arrival. Besides, he had never really taken to the sport, although he knew that Olivier’s birds were exceptional.
‘He is probably too tired,’ taunted Sear. ‘After all, we must have ridden three hours today.’
‘My husband has business to attend,’ said Hilde coldly. ‘And he always discharges his duties before taking his pleasure. Do you do things differently in Pembroc, sir?’
Sear opened his mouth, but seemed unable to think of a rejoinder, so he closed it again and stamped away, bawling to the servants to find him a fresh horse. Geoffrey grinned, gratified to see the man put so neatly in his place. He went to see his destrier settled in the stable, and it was not long before he was joined by Joan and Olivier.
‘It is good to have you back, Geoff,’ said Olivier, slapping a comradely arm around his shoulders. ‘We feared we might never see you again, and Joan has not been herself since you left.’
‘It was a summer cold,’ said Joan stiffly. ‘It had nothing to do with him.’
‘You missed him,’ countered Olivier. ‘We all did. But tell us what has happened since you left. Or would you rather change first? You are soaking wet.’
‘And dirty,’ said Joan, looking him up and down disapprovingly. ‘You always were a ruffian.’
Geoffrey was more inclined to ask questions than to answer them, at least until Joan thawed a little. And he needed time to think about what he was going to say, because he was certainly not going to give them details of Henry’s orders, suspecting they would be safer kept in ignorance.
‘Which one is Gwgan?’ he asked, going to the door and looking across the milling bailey.
‘The one with the black hair,’ replied Olivier, pointing to a stocky man in fine but functional clothes. He lowered his voice. ‘I know he is married to Hilde’s favourite sister, but I cannot say I like the man. I always have the sense that he is laughing at me.’
‘He would not dare laugh at you,’ said Joan fiercely. ‘Not in my hearing. But I suspect he does that to everyone, and he is not as bad as some of the others who are availing themselves of our hospitality. Richard fitz Baldwin, for example.’
‘He is the one with a glower like thunder and the scar down his face,’ supplied Olivier. ‘I do not think he has smiled once since he arrived, although he has been polite enough. I would have ousted the miserable devil, but his wife seems frail, and Joan thought she needed the rest.’
Geoffrey saw a small, pale woman standing at Richard’s side, dowdy in her unfashionable clothes and nondescript wimple.
‘Her name is Leah, and she is kin to Robert de Bellême,’ explained Joan. ‘It was a good match originally, but now that Bellême is exiled, the association can do Richard no good. He is a surly brute, and if I were in Leah’s shoes, I would knock some manners into him. Olivier is never sullen.’
Geoffrey was sure Olivier was not, because the small knight had a sense of self-preservation equal to none.
‘Helbye told me Richard struck Father Adrian,’ he said. ‘And that you were going to hit him in return.’
‘She was not!’ declared Olivier. ‘That would have been unladylike, and we have standards. But not all members of the party have been objectionable. Cornald has been a delight.’
‘He has, but I wish he had not brought his wife with him,’ said Joan grimly. ‘She is the one with the blonde hair and the come-hither smile. You will have to watch her, or she will be in your bed. And Hilde will not appreciate that, because she will have her own plans in that direction.’
‘I will bear it in mind,’ said Geoffrey, his eyes naturally drawn to the slender figure, flawless complexion and pale gold hair.
‘Her name is Pulchria,’ Joan went on, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow when she saw him staring. ‘Look at how she simpers at your friend Sear, fluttering her eyes at him while poor Cornald is forced to make polite conversation with that grubby little monk.’
‘Sear is not my friend,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘And I will not inflict him on you for any longer than is necessary. I would have ridden to Kermerdyn today, but Olivier invited them hawking before I could stop him. We shall leave at first light tomorrow.’
‘Is your business so urgent, then?’ asked Olivier.
‘No, but there is no point dallying.’
Joan took his arm tentatively, as if she was afraid he might jerk it away. ‘Would it be too much to ask that you spend a few days with the family you see so rarely?’
‘And you have unfinished business with Hilde,’ said Olivier, rather primly. ‘You did not leave her pregnant, you know, so she will want another stab at it.’
‘Several stabs might be better,’ recommended Joan practically. ‘We all want an heir, and I am inclined to lock you up here until you provide us with one.’
‘You could try,’ muttered Geoffrey.
‘He also helped us fight off an army that was aiming to destroy us,’ Olivier pointed out. ‘And Roger and I love exchanging war stories.’
Roger had yet to realize that Olivier’s stories were fiction and that he claimed to have taken part in wars that had been fought long before he was born. Like Geoffrey, Olivier could read, and his ‘battle experiences’ came from books.
‘Well, in that case . . .’ began Joan, her resolve weakening, as it always did when Olivier expressed an opinion. Geoffrey wondered whether he and Hilde would ever come to regard each other so highly; he hoped so.
‘Who is the man that Edward kissed?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘You mean the large fellow in the armour and the surcoat with the black cross?’ asked Joan. ‘That is Abbot Mabon.’
‘But he is a knight,’ said Geoffrey uncertainly.
‘That is what I said,’ replied Joan. ‘But he informed me that God calls all sorts to His service, and I should not put too much store by appearances.’
‘Do you think Cornald’s party will leave when Geoffrey does?’ asked Olivier, brightening suddenly. ‘The road to Kermerdyn is fraught with danger, and they will be delighted to add another five knights and Bale to their number – although I doubt Edward will be up to much.’
‘They might,’ agreed Joan hopefully. ‘Perhaps we will encourage you to make your stay brief, Geoff. The opportunity to be rid of them all is very appealing.’
‘We will make it up to you when you return,’ promised Olivier.
‘First light tomorrow, then,’ said Geoffrey.
Five
While Olivier and Joan went to oversee the final preparations for the hawking, Geoffrey lingered in the stable, rubbing his horse down with a piece of sacking. It was servants’ work, but there was something soothing about seeing to the animal’s needs. He was also content to be away from his travelling companions – and he had scant interest in meeting the new ones. Olivier and Joan had not painted a flattering picture of them, and he anticipated that the journey to Kermerdyn would be every bit as unpleasant as the one from La Batailge.
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