‘We will answer,’ said Maude. She gestured around the chamber. ‘All our records are here, and we can spend as long as you like going over them. The King will prefer documentary evidence to rumours and unsubstantiated accusations, so he will want you to start by assessing our accounts.’
‘Meanwhile, I will try to persuade our cambium to co-operate,’ said Rodbert, resentment dripping from every word. ‘But he will decide for himself whether he obliges.’
‘And Barcwit?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Will you persuade him to speak to me, too? Or will I have to wait until Giffard arrives and conduct my interview in the castle dungeons?’
Maude squeezed his arm. ‘My husband is a proud man. He lives for his mint and for his King, and he will resent being interrogated by a minor knight. Please be patient.’
‘It is not me you must worry about,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It is Henry.’
With nothing else to do, he selected scrolls at random and inspected them, hunting for irregularities that might indicate there was truth in Sendi’s accusations. But he was not surprised when he found nothing untoward. Barcwit would have stored incriminating documents elsewhere, and Geoffrey did not seriously expect to discover anything amiss.
Eventually, when he felt he had aggravated Rodbert enough, he took his leave. As he returned to the Raven tavern, he glanced back, and his eyes were drawn to Barcwit’s upper window. The shutters were partly closed, but he was certain someone lurked behind them. The person was tall and swathed in a dark cloak, and Geoffrey thought he glimpsed a flash of something pale under a hood. He blinked, to look more carefully, but the figure had gone and the window was empty.
Geoffrey had not taken many steps from Barcwit’s mint before he saw someone he recognized. It was Bloet, wrapped in a thick cloak and with a hat pulled over his head, although not far enough to hide the distinctive nose or the red hair that poked from under it. Geoffrey noticed something else, too – that although there were a fair number of folk strolling Bristol’s streets, no one lingered around Barcwit’s property. When people reached a certain point, they lowered their heads and hurried.
‘You have noticed, too,’ said Geoffrey, walking behind Bloet and making him jump. ‘You are watching the way people are afraid to linger. They are everywhere else – standing in the sun and chatting – but the street outside Barcwit’s mint is deserted.’
Bloet was clearly annoyed that his ‘disguise’ was not as good as he had thought. ‘People have not lingered around here for years – not since a whole family once stopped to exchange pleasantries and disappeared. But I was looking at something else, as it happens.’
‘A whole family?’ Geoffrey was sceptical.
‘Mother, father, three children, grandmother and dog,’ elaborated Bloet. ‘Last spotted outside Barcwit’s home and never seen or heard of again. Some folk believe he killed them because they dared to laugh on the Sabbath, while others think he was merely hungry.’
‘That is outrageous,’ said Geoffrey, amused by the unlikely tale.
‘Yes,’ agreed Bloet fervently. ‘But Barcwit is an outrageous man. You should be careful when you visit him; always make sure someone knows where you are.’
‘I mean it is an outrageous story. Even Barcwit cannot murder an entire family and expect to get away with it. Nor is it easy to dispose of six bodies – whether he was hungry or not.’
‘Who will prevent him from doing what he wants?’ demanded Bloet. ‘No one in this town, I can tell you! And he has plenty of furnaces in his mint. It is easy to ram a body in one of those – if there was enough left after he had finished feeding.’
‘These are fairy tales,’ said Geoffrey, surprised that a worldly man like Bloet should believe them. He could see from the stubborn expression on the courtier’s face that he would not change his mind, so he turned his attention to an earlier comment he had made. ‘You said you were not watching Barcwit, but doing something else. What?’
Bloet pointed. ‘Observing Sendi and his household. They lead uncommonly dull lives. They work from dawn to dusk, eat and go to bed. Then it starts all over again the next day. Adelise is lucky: she goes to the market to buy fish and flour. But today was the most exciting of all: they went to church!’
‘What did you expect them to be doing?’
‘I thought one might have had the grace to go and inspect his stolen silver,’ said Bloet unhappily. ‘To make sure it is all present and correct. But no, not them!’
‘You have been watching them ever since you arrived?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering whether Bloet might have seen anything pertinent to his own case.
Bloet nodded. ‘They do not even visit taverns. I have been lurking for days now, and have learnt nothing about the ingots. I am beginning to think Rodbert is mistaken, and they do not have them.’
‘Is that why you are concentrating on Sendi? Because Rodbert said you should?’
‘He made a convincing case,’ said Bloet. ‘And in the absence of any other theories, it seemed as good a place to start as any. But I suspect Sendi knows I am watching him, and that is why he has done nothing incriminating.’
‘Do not discount the possibility that Barcwit’s own men might have robbed him,’ recommended Geoffrey. ‘Rodbert is not exactly devoted to the truth: he lied to me only moments ago.’
Bloet was disheartened. ‘I thought his explanation was too simple: Barcwit’s treasure stolen by his rival.’
‘What else have you seen?’ Geoffrey peered around the corner and saw Adelise and Sendi in their Sunday best, talking to a priest. Lifwine and others who had accompanied them to Westminster were also there, plus more, so they numbered about thirty in all. It was a large enterprise, and Sendi was clearly a rich man with a prosperous business, despite his complaints that Barcwit was damaging it.
‘Nothing. Sendi barely sets foot outside his door.’
Geoffrey found that hard to believe. ‘It must be difficult for you to watch all the entrances and exits at the same time. How do you manage?’
Bloet regarded him aghast. ‘All the exits? Are you saying there might be a back door?’
Geoffrey saw he would learn nothing from Bloet, so left him to ponder his misfortunes. He thought the King had made a grave mistake by appointing him to locate the silver: Bloet was the last person he would have charged with such a mission, not only because the fellow was incompetent, but because he seemed the type who might make off with the hoard if, by some remote chance, he was successful.
When he reached the Raven tavern, Geoffrey found the others ready to leave. He glanced at Helbye, who sat straight and tall in his saddle, although there was a knot in his jaw where his teeth were clenched. The journey had taken its toll, and it was time for the old soldier to rest in a bed. Geoffrey scratched around for a way to suggest it without offending his dignity.
‘Where shall we go?’ asked Roger energetically. ‘To see Sendi? To interview Lifwine about how he assays his coins?’
‘Did you know that Lifwine’s shoes cost him more than six months’ pay?’ asked John conversationally. ‘He has them specially made, with thick, hard heels. He says it is because they are more durable, but I think it is to make him look taller.’
‘They may cost more than normal shoes,’ said Helbye, ‘but he says they last for years. Perhaps I should invest in a pair. These boots are so thin that I may as well be barefoot.’
Geoffrey saw he was right, and wondered whether leaking footwear was compounding the problem of Helbye’s aching bones. He decided to buy him a new pair the next day. The lines of weariness and pain etched around the old man’s mouth prompted him to break into Roger’s unrealistically ambitious plans for the rest of the day.
‘First, I want to find somewhere to stay. Does anyone know of a good inn?’
‘The one I favour – the Swan – is small, and I have reserved the only decent chamber for myself,’ replied John. ‘You would be better going elsewhere. I like the Swan, because it is conveniently situated for the market, and it is also
close to Barcwit.’
‘Why would you want to be near him?’ asked Geoffrey, recalling the unspoken menace that had pervaded the area around the mint, and the tales of eaten families.
John pursed his lips. ‘Because that is where I invest my money. I hope you resolve this business quickly, because I dislike being under a cloud of suspicion, and want to be exonerated as soon as possible. Of course, you will find Clarembald is guilty, and—’
‘The inn,’ pressed Geoffrey, not wanting to hear more accusations when Helbye needed to rest.
‘Do not bother with those places,’ said Warelwast. ‘I will arrange for us to reside in the castle.’
Geoffrey was startled. The castle would certainly be the best place to stay, given that they were usually secure places where access to casual visitors was denied. Since neither side in the moneyers’ dispute wanted him to investigate, it would be good to have a base where murderous nocturnal invasions would be difficult to stage. However, castles were not hostelries, and it was not for any travellers to arrive and demand accommodation in them.
‘How will you manage that?’ he asked.
Warelwast shrugged. ‘I will tell the constable, Sir Peter de la Mare, that that is what I want. You can do that sort of thing when you are a nephew of the Conqueror and a cousin of the King. Leave it to me. It is the least I can do.’
But Geoffrey did not want to be beholden to the man. ‘We can—’
Warelwast raised one hand to indicate he would hear no more. ‘Sir Peter’s wife keeps the garrison in reasonable order, so we shall be able to sleep in safety. She even owns a couple of feather mattresses, if comfort is what you desire. I shall certainly requisition one for myself.’
‘Do you intend to come with us?’ asked Roger uneasily. He, like Geoffrey, wanted to be rid of the man. ‘Surely, a tavern would be a better place for the likes of you?’
Warelwast raised his eyebrows. ‘I am not sure what you imply by that remark, but I shall let it pass. We shall all stay in the castle.’
‘Sir Peter’s wife keeps the garrison in order?’ asked Helbye. ‘Why does he not do it himself?’
‘You will see,’ replied Warelwast enigmatically.
They rode up the high street, then turned right at the crossroads, where the fragrant scent from a spicer’s storehouse battled valiantly with the ever-present odour of waterlogged sewage and horse manure. The castle stood at the end of the road, its looming motte and watchtower casting a menacing shadow over the town, declaring to all that the Norman castle and its Norman overlords were in charge and there to stay.
From a distance, the castle had looked unremarkable, but when they came closer Geoffrey saw it was actually a formidable structure. Its moats were broad and deep, with the kind of steep-sloping banks that would be difficult to scale. The timber palisade was topped with sharpened spikes, while the tower was larger and stronger than he had first thought. The enormous bailey was full of the buildings always associated with keeping law and order in a conquered land – stables, storerooms, barracks for the soldiers and a large hall.
Warelwast told the gatehouse guard that he had business with the constable, and Geoffrey and the others followed him inside. When Sir Peter was informed that he had visitors, he hurried to meet them. He had nondescript features, iron-grey hair and the kind of clipped beard now only worn by older, unfashionable men. He smiled when he recognized Warelwast.
‘My Lord Bishop! You did not tell us you were coming, or I would have had the latrines cleaned.’
‘Why?’ asked Roger, intrigued by the curious greeting. ‘Is that where he usually sleeps when he visits Bristol?’ He roared with laughter, greatly amused by his own wit.
‘He complained about the smell last time,’ explained Peter. ‘But it was summer, so perhaps he will not find them so bad now it is cooler.’
‘We will see,’ said Warelwast. ‘But do not call me Bishop yet, Peter. Exeter’s present incumbent still lives, and I cannot take his post until he dies – which will not be for years yet, God willing.’
Geoffrey shot him a surreptitious glance, trying to tell whether he was being sincere, but could make out nothing from the man’s bland features. Warelwast began his introductions.
‘This is my friend Sir Geoffrey Mappestone, trusted agent of the King. And Sir Roger is the son of the Bishop of Durham.’
Geoffrey winced: the mantle of King’s agent did not sit easily on his shoulders, and he would certainly rather Roger’s patronage were kept quiet. He bowed to Peter, who reached out to touch his surcoat, taking the material between finger and thumb and feeling it with an awe akin to reverence, although Geoffrey noticed him wiping his hand on his tunic afterwards.
‘Jerosolimitani,’ he said wistfully. ‘I wanted to go on the Crusade, but my wife would not let me.’
‘You did not miss much,’ said Geoffrey, thinking that Peter would not have lasted long if he was the kind to be bullied by a woman. ‘Too many men did not return.’
‘That is what she said,’ replied the constable. ‘But I would have liked to have seen Jerusalem. I hear its streets are paved in gold, and that holiness drips from every stone of its sacred buildings.’
‘Its streets are paved in donkey dung and the only thing dripping from its “sacred buildings” is the blood of the innocents we slaughtered,’ said Geoffrey bluntly. ‘You would have been disappointed.’
Warelwast was aghast at the heresy. ‘You speak against the Holy Crusade? But it was God’s will – that is why He let us win.’
‘Warelwast is right,’ added Roger, regarding his friend coolly. ‘God was pleased with what we did, which is why He granted us so much loot afterwards.’
Geoffrey did not think it was worth arguing with them.
‘I am Peter de la Mare,’ said the constable. ‘You are welcome to stay – as agents of the King, as Jerosolimitani and as friends of the bishop-elect. But space is short at the moment, and I can only offer one small chamber. You should all be able to lie down, though, if you organize yourselves logically. Of course, you can always sleep in the hall with the servants, if you want more space.’
‘The private chamber will suit us nicely,’ said Warelwast, before Geoffrey could say he would prefer the hall. He did not like cramped chambers. ‘There have been attacks on our lives of late, and we will be safer in a room where we can lock the door.’
‘No one will attack you in my castle,’ said Peter boastfully. ‘I pride myself on my security – or rather, my wife does. She is good at that sort of thing.’
‘A woman organizes your defences?’ Roger was shocked.
Peter shrugged. ‘She is very skilful – better than you, I warrant – and it makes sense to use our strengths. That is what the Conqueror once said, and his advice has always stood me in good stead.’
‘You mentioned tight space,’ said Warelwast, before Roger could argue. ‘Who else is here?’
‘Just an old friend from my youth. He would be more than happy to change chambers with you, because he is an obliging sort of fellow. But I am not so sure about his wife.’
‘A shrew?’ asked Warelwast sympathetically.
‘A terrible woman,’ confided Peter. ‘I swear she could defend this castle single-handed if it were attacked, and she is three times the size of her husband. Needless to say, she and my own wife Idonea have a good deal in common. You should hear them exchanging theories of warfare around the hearth of an evening. It would make your hair curl!’
‘This is beginning to sound unappealing,’ said Warelwast distastefully. ‘I do not want to discuss battles all night. I like to chat about art and music before I retire to bed.’
‘Give me the warfare,’ declared Roger. ‘These ladies will enjoy discussing military tactics with me.’
‘They probably will,’ agreed Peter unhappily. ‘We seem to be horribly afflicted by strident women in this town. Besides those two, there is Barcwit’s wife Maude, who is the cleverest lady I have ever encountered; and there is Sendi’s A
delise, whose angelic innocence conceals a spiteful mind.’
‘We travelled from Westminster with Maude and Adelise,’ said Roger. ‘We know exactly what they are like. I did not even bother to seduce them! They would not have been worth the effort.’
‘Maude would,’ said Peter. ‘But you would never seduce her, because she would get you first. If she decides to have you, then you are doomed, because she will succeed, come what may.’
‘Do you speak from experience?’ asked Geoffrey, supposing he should have held out after all, just to prove he was no woman’s easy prey.
Peter glanced furtively behind him before nodding. ‘And she has been demanding favours for her silence ever since. I pay, of course, because I do not want Barcwit or Idonea to find out. I would be dead within hours. It was the most expensive romp of my life!’
‘I should say,’ admonished Warelwast. ‘You should choose your lasses with more care, man!’
Just then, a shout came from the hall and two people started to walk towards them, one considerably bigger than the other. Peter looked around rather desperately, as if he was considering a bolt for safety, but a woman bawled his name in a manner that suggested she was not to be denied.
‘Hold on to your wedding tackle, gentlemen,’ he advised, seeing there was no escape. ‘I am sure this particular lady rips them off the unwary and eats them for breakfast.’
‘She does look ferocious,’ agreed Warelwast as the woman approached, dragging a diminutive man in her wake. ‘I thought St George had vanquished all the dragons, but here is one alive and well.’
‘A thwarted whore,’ said Roger knowledgeably. ‘They all go like that when their advances have been repelled too often. Of course, it only ever happens to very ugly women.’
Geoffrey stepped away from them and his face broke into a beam of genuine pleasure. ‘It is Joan!’ he exclaimed. ‘My sister!’
Joan stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Geoffrey and her jaw fell open in astonishment. There was a family resemblance of sorts between them. Both had thick, light-brown hair, but Joan’s was flecked with grey and mostly hidden under a matronly veil. They were also sturdy and tall, although Joan was inclining to fat around her stomach and hips, while Geoffrey led a sufficiently active life to remain lean. Joan’s eyes were dark and slightly beady, whereas Geoffrey’s were green.
The Coiner's Quarrel Page 17
