Next to her, dwarfed by her powerful body, was her husband, Sir Olivier d’Alençon. Olivier was about as far from Geoffrey’s idea of a knight as it was possible to be. He had never seen a battle, let alone taken part in one, although he had a number of war stories he was fond of telling. Most people knew they were fictitious, but he was a pleasant man, so they tended to tolerate his flights of fancy. He had black hair and a moustache with no beard, which was an odd fashion in Henry’s England when everyone else did it the other way around. The sword at his side was bright, shiny and ornate, and Geoffrey doubted it would be of much use in a real fight.
While Joan was still gazing in disbelief, Geoffrey ran towards her and swept her off her feet in a hug. It was mostly affection for the one living member of his family he liked, but also mischief, because he knew she would be mortified by such an unseemly display in front of strangers. When he eventually set her down, she continued to stare at him, so he followed the embrace with a smacking kiss that made her eyes water.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘You said you were going back to the Holy Land. I thought I would never see you again.’
Her gruff words were punctuated by a catch in her throat, which told Geoffrey she was glad to see him, and that she had been sorry when she thought they would never meet again. He was surprised to find he was both touched and pleased: it was good to have someone who cared.
‘King Henry ordered me to stay,’ he replied, deliberately vague. His pleasure at meeting her was tempered by the fact that he was there to investigate crimes in which she was alleged to be involved. Since he had not imagined for a moment that she might be in Bristol, he had not considered how to broach the subject. She would be furious, and Joan in a temper was not something to be taken lightly.
‘I see,’ she said, and he saw she was immediately suspicious. ‘For how long?’
‘I do not know. But Tancred released me from his service, so I have nowhere else to be.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I was under the impression he liked you. Have you done something dreadful? It had better not bring shame on our family!’
Geoffrey sighed, having forgotten her tendency to assume the worst of him. ‘I have done nothing wrong, except perhaps to dally too long in the service of another man.’
‘And he did that for you,’ said Olivier. He flinched when Joan rounded on him, but pressed on with what he wanted to say. ‘He could have escaped to the Holy Land last March, but stayed all summer to make sure Henry sent troops to help you against the evil Robert de Bellême.’
‘Those were dangerous times,’ agreed Peter, smiling sycophantically at Geoffrey and obviously chagrined about insulting his sister. ‘The Welsh were massed all along the English borders, waiting for Bellême to pass the order to attack. Treacherous people, the Welsh.’
‘Not all of them,’ argued Joan. ‘We are on good terms with our Welsh neighbours, because I sent them corn when their harvests failed last year. It cost us a great deal of hardship, because it was before our fortunes turned, but they gave it all back – with interest. Our Welsh are a generous, honourable people, so do not confuse them with Bellême’s mercenaries.’
‘Well,’ said Roger, regarding Joan with considerable interest in the awkward silence that followed the reprimand. ‘This is your sister, is it, Geoff? She is not nearly as fat as you said she was.’
Joan glared at her brother, who could not remember ever calling her fat. He supposed, from Helbye’s sheepish expression, that the description had come from him. He hoped Roger would not make any more tactless remarks, because Joan was not a very forgiving sort of person, and he did not want her angry with him, making his investigation even more difficult by refusing to co-operate.
‘This is Roger,’ he said, gesturing to his friend. ‘He—’
‘The Bishop of Durham’s bastard,’ said Joan, immediately seizing the opportunity to trade insult for insult. ‘The stupid one. Yes, I remember you writing to us about him.’
‘My father is not stupid,’ said Roger indignantly. ‘He is intelligent, full of goodness, and honest.’
Joan regarded him intently, trying to assess whether he was mocking her. She apparently realized he was in earnest. ‘Flambard is intelligent, certainly. No one would argue with that, although it is not something he seems to have passed on to his offspring.’
Roger’s hand dropped to his dagger. ‘I do not think I like your sister, Geoff. She is too eager to insult honourable knights.’
‘I have insulted no honourable knights,’ countered Joan.
Geoffrey hunted desperately for a way to end the conversation, not wanting his friend and his sister to fall out over the very first words they exchanged. Roger was a brave man and a fearsome fighter, but Joan would slice him into pieces with her tongue. Warelwast came to his rescue.
‘Let us go inside and drink a cup of wine, to celebrate the unexpected meeting of my dear friend Geoffrey and his pretty sister.’
‘Who are you?’ demanded Joan. She was seldom moved by flattery, and Warelwast would have to be a good deal more circumspect if he wanted to charm her. ‘Some court cockerel, no doubt, with silver words and feathers in his brain.’
‘He is the Bishop-Elect of Exeter!’ breathed Peter, aghast at her words. ‘And a cousin of the King. I am fortunate to count him among my friends, just as I am honoured to claim your husband.’
‘Peter and I have fought many battles together,’ said Olivier, bowing to Warelwast.
‘Have we?’ asked Peter, startled. ‘I do not remember any. I am not a battling sort of fellow.’
‘Wine is a good idea,’ said Roger, smacking his lips. He was never a man to decline a drink, especially when he would not be asked to pay for it. He grinned at Olivier in a comradely fashion. ‘And then you and I shall exchange a few tales of glorious victory.’
Olivier was delighted by the prospect of a new victim for his dishonest stories, and led the large knight to a stone building at the far end of the bailey. Warelwast grabbed Geoffrey as soon as Joan was out of earshot.
‘I did not mean to offend you with my comment about dragons,’ he muttered, embarrassed. ‘I was speaking in general terms about formidable ladies, not about your sister specifically.’
‘So was I,’ said Peter, less convincingly. ‘It is just that she has only been here three days, but she has already reorganized my siege supplies.’
‘For the better?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Or has she imposed a system that does not work?’
‘It is rather clever,’ admitted Peter reluctantly. ‘She and Idonea worked it out between them. However, it is one thing having a wife who excels at warfare, but another altogether for my friends’ women to come and tell me what to do. What will my soldiers think?’
‘I have learnt to take good advice from any quarter,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Regardless of the sex of the person who offers it.’
‘You men!’ said Joan, overhearing. ‘You only ever think of one thing. Here is your sister, whom you never thought to see again, and all you do is chat about sex. Do you remember none of the manners I so patiently taught you when you were a boy?’
‘You were not patient, and most of what you taught me was not polite,’ said Geoffrey, recalling what his mother had done to him when he had acted out one of Joan’s little gems of etiquette in a misguided attempt to impress her.
‘The vegetable incident!’ she said with a sudden, uncharacteristic giggle as the memory came back to her, although Geoffrey did not remember it as particularly amusing. Their mother had been every bit as formidable as Joan, and definitely not someone to cross. ‘Do not look so surly, Geoff! It was a long time ago. Surely you have forgiven me by now?’
He pushed the unpleasant memory away and dropped behind Peter and Warelwast to walk with her. ‘How is Goodrich?’
‘Thriving, as Olivier and I said in our last letter. Do you still read them?’
‘Of course,’ he replied, bemused she should think he did not. He realized their
relationship was one based on uncertainty, and that two decades during which their only contact had been by written communication meant that neither was confident of the regard of the other. It was a pity, and he wondered whether there would be time to set it on a more secure footing before he left again. ‘I like hearing from you.’
She took his arm, surprising him with the small gesture of sisterly affection; their mother would never have indulged in any such sentimental nonsense. ‘You must think me unkind not to be more friendly in my greeting, but you startled me. I had steeled myself to the fact that you were gone for ever. But why are you really here? Have you taken an oath of allegiance to that usurper Henry? I hope not: you deserve better than to serve a conniving, wicked, greedy, unscrupulous miser like him.’
‘You do not like him, then?’ asked Geoffrey mildly.
‘I do not! The throne of England belongs to the Duke of Normandy, not him. And I do not like the way he forced you to help him this summer, either. It was not the act of an honourable man.’
‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey, although he was taken aback to find her still angry about it.
She sighed. ‘But we should not spoil our reunion with talk of that snake. We can discuss him tomorrow, when we have tired of each other’s company and will be ready for a quarrel. So, answer my question: why are you here?’
Joan was not a woman to be fobbed off with untruths, and Geoffrey knew better than to try. Besides, he would have to question her about her involvement with Barcwit sooner or later. ‘There is a moneyer in Bristol who has been accused of corrupt practices. Henry ordered me to look into the matter. I did not want to do it, but he said he would spare you if I did as he asked.’
‘Spare me?’ asked Joan sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There is a list of people who invest money with Barcwit, and Henry wants to know whether they do so because they are offered a higher – perhaps illegal – rate of interest, or because they are involved in a plot to debase the coinage and topple him from his throne. Your name is on that list.’
Joan’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘I am accused of treason?’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘It depends on what I find. Henry has not discounted the possibility that the accusations may amount to nothing.’
Joan clutched his elbow so strongly that it hurt, then shoved him in the direction of the stables. ‘Go. Collect your horse and your stupid friend, and leave.’
He disengaged his arm. ‘I cannot. Henry will assume the worst about you.’
He was astonished to see the sparkle of tears in her eyes. ‘I do not want you involved in this, Geoff. If you have even a modicum of affection for me, then you will do as I ask. Go back to Tancred. He will accept you again, if you put your request nicely.’
Geoffrey was bewildered, not used to seeing his strong, determined sister in a state of distress. ‘If I leave, Henry will charge you with treason for certain.’
A tear rolled down her leathery cheek. ‘I am already doomed, and it would break my heart if you were to fall with me. Go now, while you can. Please.’
Eight
‘I am not leaving,’ repeated Geoffrey the following morning. It was the first opportunity he and Joan had had to be alone, because Peter and Idonea – a dignified woman in her fifties who was older than her husband – had insisted on entertaining them the previous night. He had tried several times to corner his sister on her own, but it had proved impossible. As the evening wore on, Olivier, Roger, Warelwast and Peter became more rambunctious from the amount of wine they had downed, while Geoffrey, Joan and Idonea became quieter. Joan was withdrawn and contemplative; Geoffrey worried about her; and Idonea was disgusted that men who imbibed less than she were far more drunk.
Seeing he would not be able to talk privately to Joan, Geoffrey had abandoned the noisy revelry early, and had gone to the tiny chamber he had been allotted to share with Roger, Helbye, Ulfrith and Durand. Fortunately, Warelwast had taken one look at the cramped quarters and declared he would sleep with Peter and Idonea instead. Neither seemed surprised by his decision, indicating he had shared their bed on previous occasions when space had been at a premium.
Geoffrey woke early the next morning, and went to check the horses; only careless knights neglected the animals needed to carry them into battle. Roger’s was looking well, but he was concerned for his own. It seemed listless and its coat was lacklustre. He hoped it was not ill, because he did not have the money to buy another. Next, he walked to the kitchens, where he begged a bone for his dog. But the beast wanted something with more meat, and had its teeth in a haunch of venison before he could stop it. When he paid an irate cook for the theft, Geoffrey realized his funds were lower than he had thought; he doubted there was enough to see him and his men to the Holy Land.
The opportunity to speak to Joan came at breakfast. The hall had been converted into a refectory, with benches for the soldiers, and tables and chairs on a dais for the constable and his guests. There was no sign of Warelwast and Roger, although Peter and Olivier arrived puffy-eyed and pale-faced, prodded from their drunken slumbers by wives who had scant patience for men who had overindulged. Peter rested his head in his hands, wincing when the servants made too much noise. Idonea perched next to him in stony silence, and Geoffrey had the impression they had argued about his fragile state. Olivier sat rigidly bolt upright, as if he was afraid he might be sick if he slouched.
‘You must leave this morning,’ said Joan to Geoffrey. He could see from the shadows under her eyes that she had slept poorly. ‘Take a ship from Exeter. Do not leave from Bristol, because Henry may be able to trace you. Warelwast will help. He is indebted to you for saving his life.’
‘So he says,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But he is also a servant of the King – and what better way to monitor a reluctant agent than to claim undying friendship? His accident in the river had its advantages.’
Joan was horrified. ‘You think he is a spy? But why would Henry order him to watch a man who has already agreed to do what he was told?’
‘Henry trusts no one. Meanwhile, Warelwast has been promised the post of Bishop of Exeter, but perhaps it is a conditional offer and he is obliged to prove his loyalty first.’
‘You have grown suspicious, Geoff. Is it because of that business at Goodrich last year?’
‘It is because I have had too many dealings with powerful men – the King, Bellême, their followers. It is hard to know who to trust.’
‘I know,’ she said bitterly. ‘Olivier and I have been drawn into nasty affairs, even while we live quietly at Goodrich. The arms of these men are longer than you think.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked uneasily. ‘Has someone threatened you?’
She sighed and the eyes that met his were bleak. ‘There is something I must tell you. It is about our brother Henry – the only one of us who thought his namesake had a right to the English throne. You once had two sisters and three brothers. I am the only one of your siblings left now.’
Geoffrey stared at her. He knew about the deaths of one sister and two brothers, but the last he had heard, Henry was alive and making a nuisance of himself with his fiery temper and brutish manners. He was a year older than Geoffrey and they had never been friends, although a truce of sorts had been reached after their most recent encounter. He recalled what Edric had said at Westminster: a man called Henry had accompanied Joan on her first visit to Barcwit, but not on subsequent occasions.
‘What happened?’
‘We found him one morning with a dagger in his stomach. Olivier thinks he did it himself – he was often bitter and lonely when in his cups – but I believe someone murdered him. He made so many enemies over the years that it was difficult to know where to begin looking for a killer. You may have been up to the task, but Olivier and I were not.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘At the end of September. It seemed such a dreadful thing that I could not bring myself to put it in a letter. I remember how distressed you were when
Father wrote so bluntly about our sister’s death, and I was afraid I would not find the right words to tell you about Henry.’
‘That was different,’ said Geoffrey. He had loved his sister Enide, but had never felt much for Henry. He put his hand on her arm, concerned for her. ‘I am sorry. Is there anything I can do?’
She smiled. ‘I see it has not occurred to you that you are now the heir to Goodrich and its estates. Olivier and I can only stay there with your blessing.’
‘Please do,’ said Geoffrey fervently. She was right: it had not crossed his mind that Henry’s demise meant he was now lord of Goodrich. It was not an inheritance he intended to claim and, as far as he was concerned, Joan and Olivier were welcome to it. ‘I do not want to become a farmer, especially in England, where its king would constantly be after me to do his dirty work.’
‘In that case, you must leave today. You are the only family I have, and I do not want to lose you.’
‘You will not lose me. Why do you think you might? What are you not telling me?’
‘Barcwit,’ said Joan. ‘He will not like you prying into his affairs.’
‘If he is innocent, he has nothing to worry about; if he is guilty, then he only has himself to blame. Besides, Bishop Giffard will arrive soon, and if I have not uncovered the truth, then he will – and he is likely to be a lot harsher than me.’
‘Then let Giffard do his work,’ pleaded Joan. ‘You cannot help me. No one can, not now.’
Geoffrey was bewildered. ‘But the King is ready to be lenient towards you. If I discover what is really happening here, and present him with the truth, you will be spared.’
‘So, you are here for me,’ she said bitterly. ‘The King has used me a second time to secure your services. If I had thought for one moment that it would come to this, I would never have embarked on this business. It turned dangerous in a matter of weeks. And now I am a burden to you.’
The Coiner's Quarrel Page 18
