The Coiner's Quarrel

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘I happened to meet him just after Alwold died, and it was on his mind, I suppose. The Saxons had been hurling accusations back and forth ever since they arrived at Westminster, and everyone knows the tale: Alwold, escorting ingots from Lideforda in Devon, was nearing Bristol when he learnt that Sendi had gone to report Barcwit to the King. Eager to be at his master’s side in his time of trouble, Alwold rode ahead, trusting the silver would manage the last mile unmolested. It did not.’

  ‘He left it unguarded?’ asked Roger. ‘That was stupid.’

  ‘He left it with three soldiers,’ corrected Warelwast, who was also familiar with the tale. ‘The story goes that he intended to return to it once he had established that Barcwit did not need him. But Barcwit did need him: Alwold was the only man he trusted to guard Maude on her way to London.’

  ‘What about Rodbert and Tasso?’ asked Geoffrey, thinking that both were good swordsmen and better able to protect her than the grubby Saxon.

  Bloet gave a leering wink. ‘Barcwit considers Rodbert part of the danger. You must have noticed the way he growls when Maude flutters her eyelashes in your direction? But now, with Alwold gone, Maude is free to take any man she chooses.’

  Geoffrey frowned. ‘Are you suggesting Rodbert killed Alwold to get at Maude? It had nothing to do with having Sendi blamed for a murder – to discredit him?’

  Bloet shrugged. ‘Who knows? These Saxons are cunning, and I would not put any criminal act past them. The tale I heard was that Rodbert grabbed the opportunity to kill Alwold, because everyone would immediately assume Sendi had done it – to avenge Fardin. And Rodbert was certainly not sorry to see Alwold dead. He made his move on Maude that very night.’

  ‘Did she accept him?’ asked Geoffrey, thinking that murder was an extreme measure to take, just to seduce a woman.

  ‘An hour after Bishop Maurice,’ said Bloet salaciously.

  ‘It is true,’ said Durand. ‘We both saw Rodbert and Maude déshabillé in a quiet corner the night following the Two Suns and Alwold’s death.’ He saw Geoffrey’s irritation that he had not been told sooner, and became defensive. ‘You cannot be angry with me for not mentioning it, when you have always made it clear you dislike gossip of this nature. Besides, I did try, but you told me to keep my “womanly tales” for Bloet.’

  Geoffrey recalled the exchange and knew Durand was telling the truth. He did not like the nasty chatter that intrigued courtiers, and rarely listened when Durand tried to share it with him. ‘So, Alwold’s death had nothing to do with Sendi, nothing to do with the missing silver, but a good deal to do with Maude?’ he asked.

  ‘Possibly,’ drawled Bloet. ‘But possibly not. Who knows? However, one thing is clear: Alwold certainly caused trouble by muttering about silver as he died.’

  Geoffrey rubbed his chin, thinking there were a lot of unanswered questions over Bloet’s interpretation of the evidence. ‘Why did Barcwit not send someone else to escort the silver that last mile? And what happened to the three guards who were left with it?’

  ‘According to Sendi and Tasso – so it must be true if they agree – they were discovered dead with arrow wounds,’ replied Warelwast. ‘The silver was nowhere to be found, although everyone looked.’

  ‘What did Barcwit say?’ asked Geoffrey, surprised that Alwold had been spared his life, given Barcwit’s reputation, let alone be trusted to look after the man’s spouse.

  ‘I cannot imagine he was pleased,’ said Clarembald. ‘However, he did not blame Alwold, or the man would have been dead long before he reached Westminster. Regardless, I imagine it was some deep-rooted fear that saw Alwold muttering about the incident on his deathbed.’

  Geoffrey thought about Alwold’s very last words, which only he had heard: that the King, Bloet, Warelwast and a priest were party to some secret. Both Bloet and Warelwast seemed very well acquainted with the details surrounding the lost silver, and he regarded them appraisingly.

  ‘Do you know anything else about this missing hoard?’ he asked, trying to sound casual. There were already too many people determined to prevent him from carrying out his duties, and it would be unwise to tell two more he had information connecting them to hidden treasure.

  ‘That is all any of us know,’ replied Bloet. He sounded bitter. ‘Details gleaned from Alwold and the other Saxons. Anything else is speculation, not fact.’

  ‘You spoke to Alwold?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering if Barcwit’s steward had confessed ‘the secret’ to Bloet and Warelwast, just because they were interested enough to ask him about it.

  Both nodded and Bloet answered. ‘A vast quantity of silver stolen a mile from its intended destination amid claims of treachery and corruption? It is exactly the kind of tale us courtiers love, so of course I spoke to him. But he told me nothing I did not already know. He was very secretive.’

  ‘Guilt,’ elaborated Warelwast. ‘His secretiveness was guilt, because he lost something so valuable.’

  ‘Do you think Sendi took it?’ asked Geoffrey.

  ‘No,’ said Bloet with absolute conviction. ‘I think outlaws took it, and Alwold would have been killed, too, had he not ridden ahead. Looking for it is a waste of time.’

  ‘I see,’ said Geoffrey in sudden understanding. ‘That is why you are on this journey. You are here to find this silver for the King! It explains why you know so much more about the theft than anyone else, and why you have been listening to gossip about it.’

  Bloet looked distinctly shifty. ‘Maybe I am, and maybe I am not.’

  ‘He means yes,’ said Warelwast. ‘To locate the silver is exactly why he is here. The King has offered him a pardon from any wrongdoing if he can get it. Henry did not want to burden you with finding the hoard as well as investigating charges of corruption, so he charged Bloet to do it instead.’

  ‘It is a wretched waste of time,’ said Bloet sullenly, scowling at Warelwast for his loose tongue. ‘The silver will not be in Bristol, no matter how hard I look. Henry has set me an impossible task.’

  ‘And you?’ Geoffrey asked of Warelwast. ‘Is that why you are here?’

  ‘No,’ replied Warelwast. ‘I am just a loyal servant of the King.’

  He glanced at Bloet, and Geoffrey thought he understood what the bishop-elect was trying to say. Bloet was fickle and crafty, and Warelwast had been ordered to make sure he did not run off with any treasure he happened to find. He wondered whether Warelwast was instructed to watch him, too, to make sure he was unbiased when it came to the crimes in which his own sister was implicated.

  When they returned to the place where the Saxons waited, Tasso and Rodbert did not so much as glance in their direction to see whether Warelwast had survived, while Adelise merely glowered at the hapless cleric for causing a delay. Geoffrey supposed he should not be surprised by such attitudes towards a Norman courtier, but he found their disinterest callous nonetheless.

  ‘You saved me,’ said Warelwast when they reached their horses. ‘You could have let me drown – these others would have done – but you rescued me and I shall not forget that. Bloet is right: I should reward you for your kindness. Name your price, and I shall pay it.’

  ‘I do not want anything,’ said Geoffrey, although he would not have refused an instant pardon for Joan and a berth on a fast ship bound for the East.

  Warelwast smiled. ‘Then you shall have my friendship instead, which is worth a good deal more than gold or manors. Any time you need me, Geoffrey, I shall do all in my power to help you.’

  ‘Lord!’ muttered Geoffrey to Roger as Warelwast ran away, flapping his arms and raising his knees high as he tried to pump warmth into his chilled limbs. ‘I am not sure I want the friendship of a man like him. I should have asked for gold.’

  ‘You should,’ agreed Roger. ‘But you gave him your reply before I could decide on an appropriate sum. The next time this happens, let me do the talking.’

  ‘Let us hope there will not be a next time,’ said Geoffrey fervently.

  Bath lay snugly
in a bend of the River Avon. It comprised a settlement surrounded by a wall that encircled an abbey, several churches, buildings that encased hot springs, and smelly streets lined with houses. Warelwast, who rode next to Geoffrey, explained that the walls had been strengthened by Saxons more than a century before, to repel raids from violent pirates who came from the north.

  ‘Bath is a fine place,’ he went on. ‘Its springs have healing powers, which is why Bishop John chooses to live here, rather than Wells. As a physician, such fountains are useful. Clarembald says they are just water, though. They argue their cases strongly, and it is difficult to assess who is right.’

  ‘Dip your hand in one and see what happens,’ suggested Roger, nodding at the rope still gripped in Warelwast’s fist. ‘That will give you your answer.’

  Geoffrey was interested in buildings, and had seen many glorious edifices on his travels, but Saxon architecture had never impressed him as anything special. Bath was different, though. Its abbey was made of gold-coloured stone, so it appeared mellow and sunny, even in the fading light of a wet November afternoon. It was reminiscent of Westminster, with sturdy walls and round-headed arches, and it possessed a set of tuneful bells that chimed sweetly across the meadows as the monks were called to prayer. With Warelwast chattering beside him, he touched his heels gently to his horse’s sides, and entered the city through one of its three main gates.

  Bath’s streets followed the grid pattern favoured by Saxon burghs. Land was being cleared in its southeast corner for a new abbey, and the foundations already laid indicated it would be even more impressive than its predecessor. By contrast, the buildings over its springs were ancient and crumbling, although groups of people gathered at them to bathe in or drink the salt-laden waters. Geoffrey glimpsed an emerald pool inside one. The odour of sulphur was powerful, but not strong enough to mask the eye-watering stench of urine, rotting meat and discarded fish heads from the street itself. Bath was a very dirty place.

  ‘My humble home is near the market,’ said John as they rode. ‘And you are all welcome to avail yourselves of my hospitality – everyone except Clarembald.’

  ‘I would not demean myself by staying with a man who tells his patients that water has healing powers,’ retorted Clarembald disdainfully. ‘It would be insupportable.’

  ‘But it will be cheaper,’ said Roger, who was tired of paying for his accommodation. ‘Where is it? I am in sore need of a jug of warmed ale.’

  While Clarembald stalked away to find an inn, John led the others along a wide street thick with manure that had been churned into a sticky morass by carts, hoofs, feet and rain. Eventually, they reached John’s home, a substantial building with a thatched roof that stood between a bath house and a church called St Mary de Stall. The house was anything but ‘humble’, being a palace worthy of a wealthy prelate. It boasted two floors, a central hearth that kept all the rooms warm, and a range of outbuildings that included stables, kitchens, storerooms and a consulting chamber for patients.

  Servants rushed to greet their master, and it was not long before the party was relieved of wet cloaks, hats and mudcaked boots, and shown into the hall. At first, the travellers were too relieved to be out of the rain and in front of a fire to think of anything more than sipping their wine, but, as their spirits and energy returned, they turned their attention to each other again, and it was not long before a quarrel broke out. It was Warelwast who started it, albeit unwittingly. He held his hand in the air, so all could see the rope gripped there.

  ‘God touched me today,’ he declared. ‘This winter is a time for omens. First, there were the Two Suns and the terrible winds that followed, and now there is this.’

  ‘The Two Suns appeared because God was angry when Sendi murdered Alwold,’ said Tasso in a matter-of-fact voice.

  Sendi was on his feet. ‘How do you know they did not appear because justice was done when someone thrust the knife into Alwold’s belly – and God was pleased?’

  ‘Is that a confession?’ demanded Tasso. Meanwhile, Geoffrey looked at Rodbert. Was the deputy guilty of Alwold’s murder, as Bloet had suggested, simply in order to secure Maude’s affections? And if so, was Tasso unaware of what his colleague had done? Then Geoffrey looked at Maude, only to find her staring at him. Her gaze flicked to the door, then back again, passing him an unmistakable invitation. Geoffrey ignored it, and refilled his goblet.

  ‘I cannot confess to something I did not do,’ said Sendi coldly. He drew his dagger. ‘But I will fight you willingly to prove my innocence. I challenge—’

  ‘No,’ said Geoffrey. Innocent or not, Sendi stood no chance against Tasso, and the fight would certainly end in his death.

  ‘What?’ demanded Sendi furiously, turning on him. ‘Do you, the King’s creature, dare to tell me what I can and cannot do in my own home?’

  ‘It is John’s home,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘Put away your weapon before someone is hurt. Tasso, sit down.’

  ‘I will not,’ said Tasso angrily. ‘I take orders from no man.’

  ‘What about Barcwit?’ asked Adelise spitefully. ‘You are frightened of him. You know we are right to complain to the King about his tyranny, but you are too much of a coward to stand with us and fight for what is right. You claim you are a man of honour, but I have more strength in my little finger than you have in your whole body. I have the courage to stand against Barcwit, and you do not.’

  Tasso was incensed. ‘But I do not want to stand against him! Besides, he only strikes terror into the hearts of evil men, so I have no need to fear. And if you ever call me a coward again, I shall …’ He spluttered into silence. He could hardly challenge a woman to a duel.

  ‘What?’ she sneered. ‘Run to Barcwit?’

  ‘Barcwit will have too much else to occupy him,’ said Lifwine, who was carefully drying his heeled shoes in front of the fire. ‘He will want to know why Rodbert made a cuckold of him, and why Tasso did not bribe the King, so that the case against him could be dropped.’

  Tasso glowered furiously at him. ‘Rodbert would never lie with—’

  ‘Nor did we need to resort to bribery,’ interrupted Rodbert hastily, before the discussion could go too far in that particular direction. ‘Although, you may have tried.’

  ‘Why should we?’ asked Sendi disdainfully. His temper had faded as quickly as it had flared, and his dagger was back in its sheath. ‘We have an excellent case.’

  ‘Then why did the King demand an official investigation?’ asked Rodbert. ‘Why did he not pass sentence in Westminster? It is because he did not trust you or your “evidence”.’

  ‘It is because Geoffrey offered to pry further,’ snapped Adelise. ‘His sister is one of your investors, so it is in his interests to twist the truth. Why do you think the King would not hear our case until he arrived? It was because he paid Henry to wait.’

  Maude laughed at that notion. ‘You only need to look at him to see he does not have the kind of funds to bribe kings.’

  ‘That is true,’ agreed John. ‘He could do with an afternoon in one of my baths.’

  ‘Besides, he has no real power,’ Maude continued, while Geoffrey gazed at John in speechless astonishment. ‘Bishop Giffard will make the important decisions. Geoffrey is nothing.’

  ‘I am not so sure,’ said Sendi nastily. ‘He is Henry’s—’

  ‘Music,’ announced Roger loudly. ‘I would like music. Do you have players, My Lord Bishop?’

  John clapped his hands obligingly and, within moments, servants appeared with stringed instruments, horns and a drum. The horns were loud enough to make conversation difficult, and Roger turned to Geoffrey and winked, indicating that his ruse to end the argument had worked. But although Roger tapped his feet and bobbed his head enthusiastically, more or less in time with the rhythm, the musicians were mediocre, and Geoffrey did not want to spend his evening listening to them. He left, intending to find a quiet corner where he could read a book that Warelwast had lent him.

  The text was
an interesting one, containing part of Aristotle’s De Caelo that Geoffrey had never encountered before. He lay on a straw mattress in an upper chamber, and struggled to make out the words as the daylight faded outside. The philosopher talked about the permanence of the heavens, and his belief that they did not – and could not – change through time. It reminded him of the Two Suns, and the fact that he seemed to be the only one who thought the phenomenon was natural.

  ‘You are staring into space,’ said a low voice that made him jump. It was Maude.

  ‘It is becoming difficult to see,’ he said, closing the book and standing to leave. He did not want Rodbert to find him alone with the woman he may have committed murder to get. But she had locked the door and was advancing with purpose in her eyes. However, he could hear both Rodbert and Tasso talking in the chamber below, and supposed he was safe enough for the time being.

  ‘Do not worry,’ she said mischievously. ‘No one can come in. Besides, you can always jump out of the window if we are invaded. It is not far to the ground.’

  Geoffrey had no intention of hiding from anyone, but Rodbert and Tasso seemed settled in the hall, and it seemed churlish to reject her company under such conditions. He assumed she would not bray about her infidelity to her husband, and the chamber was quiet and private. She gave him one of her smiles, and pulled off her veil, releasing a sheet of shining hair that fell almost to her waist, then shrugged out of her kirtle, revealing voluptuous curves under a gauze-like undergarment.

  Once their passions were spent, they lay together, exchanging silent caresses by the light of a single candle, before Maude decided they were pushing their luck, and that people might soon try to enter the chamber to sleep. She slipped away from him and donned her clothes with a speed that indicated she was highly experienced at whipping them on and off at short notice.

  ‘You see?’ she said in a low voice, the first words either of them had uttered for an hour or more. They were both too worldly to bother with empty endearments. ‘You should not have waited so long. We could have pleasured each other on many long nights.’