‘The trussel always wears more quickly than the pile, because that is the part that is hammered,’ explained Sendi with forced patience. ‘You can see that all these trussels are mushroom-shaped. But, by the time they reach this stage, the new dies have usually arrived from London and we are no longer obliged to use them.’
‘The trussel is the part with the name of the moneyer and the mint on it,’ said Geoffrey, recalling what he had learnt in Bath. ‘But why do you keep them, if they can no longer be used?’
‘They are waiting to go to the blacksmith, where they will be destroyed,’ explained Sendi. ‘We have been tardy of late, because we have had so much else to think about. However, these old stamps are just as important as new ones, because they can still be used to produce coins – albeit poor copies.’
‘But you are already using your new dies,’ said Geoffrey, sensing a contradiction. ‘Those have a different design from the old ones. Surely, people will notice if you revert to an obsolete style?’
‘Do you know when a mint changes its dies, or which coins are current and which are not?’ demanded Adelise. She saw Geoffrey’s frown and nodded. ‘I thought not. And neither does anyone else. We are required by law to buy new dies when the old ones become worn – or when the King decides it is time for a new type – but not everyone obeys. Barcwit does not.’
Geoffrey saw there was no escape from an analysis of Barcwit’s transgressions. ‘He mints new coins using old dies?’ he asked tiredly.
‘You know he does,’ snapped Sendi. ‘You saw some in Westminster – you even held one in your hand. But there is another reason for keeping my old dies safe: if Barcwit gets hold of them, he will mint inferior coins bearing my name and I will suffer the consequences.’
‘Then get rid of them,’ suggested Geoffrey. ‘Having them here is a risk you do not need to take.’
He started to wander around the workshop again, amused by the way everyone followed him. It made him feel like an Eastern bride at her wedding ceremony. He inspected the various benches and saw a trussel that was cleaner than the others. He picked it up and held it in his hand. It was heavy, with a cross etched into its head and letters around the edge.
‘That is one of the dies we collected from London,’ said Sendi, running a loving finger over it. ‘It has what we call a “fleury cross”, rather than the annulet of the older type.’
‘So it does,’ said Durand, inspecting it closely. ‘The new cross has delicate ends, like lily petals.’
Lifwine took it from him. ‘That is why it is called a “fleury” cross. But these are expensive pieces of equipment, and not for just anyone to handle. Not even the King’s creatures.’
Geoffrey spent a good part of the morning with Sendi, but did not know enough about minting to ascertain whether the moneyer was honest or the biggest criminal in Christendom. He lingered long enough to make sure the man was thoroughly disconcerted by the inspection, then took his leave, walking quickly through streets that were alive with talk of the Three Rainbows. He entered the curiously empty area around Barcwit’s mint, and knocked on the door.
‘It is no good doing that,’ said Durand. ‘I saw Barcwit leaving this morning on a big grey horse. Perhaps that is why the Three Rainbows appeared. God is pleased to have him gone from here.’
Tasso answered the door and stood with his hands on his hips, so Geoffrey would not push past him and get inside. ‘Barcwit has gone to Dundreg. He will not be back until tomorrow at the earliest.’
‘Where is Dundreg?’ asked Geoffrey, prepared to ride there if it meant cornering the man.
Tasso pointed in a vaguely westerly direction. ‘He has gone to inspect some stone in the quarry, for when we rebuild our house. You can chase after him if you like, but he seldom uses the main road. A rich man is an attractive target for robbers, so he uses small, little-known paths. If you try to meet him en route, you will have a wasted journey.’
‘I thought he was a force to be reckoned with,’ said Geoffrey. ‘So, why does he skulk on deserted footpaths, rather than riding proudly along the King’s highways? And why are you not with him? I thought you were responsible for his safety.’
‘He always travels alone,’ said Tasso. A brief frown of concern crossed his face. ‘I do not approve, actually, and have warned him against it. Especially now.’
‘Why especially now?’
‘Because there are cunning outlaws at large, such as the ones who took our silver and made it vanish without trace. If they can steal that, then they can certainly harm a lone man, no matter how prodigious his fighting skills. But he tells me he will have no trouble eluding robbers.’
‘He has no trouble eluding King’s agents, too,’ remarked Geoffrey dryly. ‘But he will not succeed for ever, because I will meet him eventually.’
‘He is not avoiding you,’ said Tasso. ‘He is just a busy man, and cannot wait around for the likes of you to visit. Come tomorrow evening, or the day after. Perhaps you will have better luck then.’
‘Let us hope so,’ said Geoffrey sincerely. ‘However, I am quite happy to tell the King that Barcwit is uncooperative. But perhaps that is what he wants?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Tasso warily.
‘I mean there are rumours of a plan to kill the King and place the Duke of Normandy on the throne instead – and that Barcwit is providing the funds to make it happen. It may be that Barcwit wants the King to descend on Bristol in a fury, because it will give him an opportunity to strike.’
Tasso gazed at him, then burst out laughing. ‘That is nonsense! It does not matter to Barcwit who sits on some distant throne, only that the kingdom is stable and in need of coins. Barcwit would not waste his time – or his money – on such foolishness.’
‘We shall see,’ said Geoffrey, aware that Tasso would naturally deny such a charge. Or perhaps he was ignorant of the plot, because it was reserved for an elite inner circle of traitors.
He left, knowing he had unsettled Tasso. He hoped the man would persuade Barcwit to agree to an interview, because he desperately needed to talk to the moneyer if he was to help Joan. Henry would hardly agree to turn a blind eye to her transgressions if Geoffrey had nothing to give in return. He returned to the castle with Durand at his side, deep in thought.
‘Tasso is telling the truth,’ said Durand, tucking the pink shoes more firmly under his arm. ‘Barcwit did go to Dundreg. The priest of St Ewen told Bloet this morning, and I saw Barcwit ride off with my own eyes – alone and swathed in a black cloak. He looked like Death itself.’ He shuddered.
‘If he is as terrible as everyone says, then he is asking for trouble by going out alone, where people could unite and wreak revenge – or simply rob him of some of his considerable fortune.’
‘People have tried, according to the gossip Bloet has heard, but Barcwit is difficult to find once he has left the town. Some say he is a wraith, and dissolves into mist when he is outside it.’
‘Then we should pray for some strong winds,’ said Geoffrey. ‘That should sort him out.’
That evening Geoffrey went with Joan to feed the carp in the castle moat. She walked carefully, so as not to soil her new pink shoes. He had been surprised at her pleasure when he had given them to her, because he thought she would consider them ugly. While she absently bombarded the terrified fish with lumps of heavy bread, she talked more about Barcwit’s plans to kill the King, but he could tell it was mostly speculation on her part, and she had no real idea of how the moneyer intended to proceed. She was a very small and insignificant part of a much larger operation. The dog sat with them, and when it growled, Geoffrey glanced up to see Peter and Idonea coming towards them.
‘I trust you are enjoying your visit to Bristol,’ said Idonea, giving the impression she might strike him if he said he was not.
‘Tell him he cannot stay,’ Joan burst out, before Geoffrey could phrase a polite response. ‘He has come to investigate Barcwit, but if you force him to leave, he will not be able to do it.�
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Idonea was appalled. ‘You plan to investigate Barcwit? Are you insane? Do you want to die?’
‘Warelwast told me that was why he is here,’ said Peter. ‘But Joan and Idonea are right, Sir Geoffrey – you do not want to become involved in this. Barcwit’s rage is terrible when he is crossed.’
‘So is the King’s,’ said Geoffrey wryly. ‘I cannot leave without doing what he ordered.’
Peter and Idonea exchanged an agonized glance that immediately told Geoffrey that here were two more people who had invested with the moneyer and been drawn into a plot beyond their control. Bloet had been correct when he had told Geoffrey to explore the finances of certain Bristol officials.
‘Do you have proof of Barcwit’s treachery?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Because, if you do, I can present it to Giffard, and the whole thing can be stopped.’
Peter’s face was white. ‘You will never stop Barcwit and, even if you did, we are doomed. We have conspired to commit regicide. Do you think Henry will smile, and tell us to go about our business, as though nothing had happened?’
Geoffrey felt sorry for them; their future was bleak. ‘Then you have two choices. You can allow Barcwit to carry out his plan and continue his hold over you for the rest of your lives. Or you can help me stop him and trust that Henry will reward your courage with clemency.’
‘Henry will not pardon us: we have donated funds towards his execution,’ said Idonea bitterly. ‘We were unwitting participants, but he will not care about such details. Nor is there any point in denying our involvement, when half the town knows exactly who Barcwit has corrupted.’
Peter explained further. ‘When it was just a simple business arrangement, there was no need to disguise our visits, and by the time we realized he had trapped us in something sinister, it was too late for secrecy. But perhaps it will come out all right in the end.’ He did not look convinced.
Idonea scowled at him. ‘Peter believes Barcwit will succeed and that the King will die, but I am not so sure. It will be very difficult to kill Henry, and I think he will come here and wreak revenge when Barcwit fails. Why do you think I am replacing the wooden palisade with stone walls and laying in siege supplies? We must put up some show of resistance when he arrives to crush us.’
‘I hope it will not come to that,’ said Peter, looking as though he might be sick. ‘What a dreadful position we are in – trapped between the King and Barcwit. I do not know who is more terrible.’
‘The King,’ said Joan immediately. ‘Barcwit I understand; Henry I do not.’
Peter continued. ‘If I am wrong, and Barcwit fails, then we are dead for certain. We all saw what happened to Bellême last summer, and Henry will not care that our hearts are not in this rebellion. I rue the day I met Barcwit, and I am sorry we dragged Joan into this mess, too.’
Geoffrey was bemused. ‘I can see how you invested in all innocence at the beginning, but why did you not simply withdraw when Barcwit made his traitorous intentions clear? If you had told the King then what Barcwit was planning, you would not be in this situation now.’
‘We tried,’ said Peter miserably. ‘But Barcwit said we would be sorry if we betrayed him – and we were. He killed Sir Nauntel de Caen, my dearest friend. He shot him in a village called Beiminstre.’
‘How do you know Barcwit did it?’ asked Geoffrey doubtfully, ‘and not outlaws?’
‘Because Nauntel was killed the day after I told Barcwit I wanted no part in his plot,’ said Peter unsteadily. The memory was painful to him. ‘He summoned me that same evening and said Nauntel would not be the last to die if I defied him again.’
‘I was told the same,’ said Joan miserably. She looked away and would not meet Geoffrey’s eyes, so he sensed she was hiding something from him. ‘Olivier was threatened.’
‘Barcwit killed Nauntel in front of me,’ continued Peter in an agonized whisper. ‘We were riding to Beiminstre to look at a horse he wanted to buy.’
‘Then why did you not arrest him?’ asked Geoffrey practically. ‘You are the constable – you have the authority to imprison those who threaten the King’s peace.’
Peter gaped at the notion. ‘My men would never tackle Barcwit, and I could not do it alone.’
‘Then contact the King and ask for reinforcements,’ suggested Geoffrey.
‘I considered that,’ said Peter, closing his eyes and rubbing them hard. ‘But Barcwit anticipated me. He said he would give the King “evidence” that I conspired to kill him. He showed it to me: forged letters bearing my seal. Sendi had the courage to take his complaints to the King, and look what happened to him: Fardin murdered and the King’s agent poking into his business.’
‘If you have any sense, you will leave now, before it is too late,’ said Idonea to Geoffrey. ‘Let us stew in our own mess.’
But Geoffrey was not a man to give up a fight, especially if it meant abandoning his sister. ‘It is time Barcwit’s tyranny was brought to an end. Henry will find out what is happening – if not from me, then from other agents – so you may as well take the opportunity to redeem yourselves.’
‘But I do not want to help you,’ said Peter, clearly frightened by the prospect. ‘I do not trust you to overcome Barcwit, and I certainly do not trust the King to be forgiving. He will encourage me to confess, then execute me anyway. I have seen the way “justice” works for people like me – minor nobles who are dispensable, and good to be made examples of.’
Geoffrey could think of nothing to say, because Peter was right. He did not trust Henry himself, and saw no reason to encourage others to do so.
‘My brother will not listen,’ said Joan bitterly. ‘He has set his heart on exposing Barcwit, and there is nothing any of us can do to stop him.’
Peter gave a low cry and put his hands to his mouth, while even the formidable Idonea was pale. ‘Please,’ she whispered, fixing haunted eyes on Geoffrey. ‘Do not do this.’
‘Bishop Giffard will be here soon,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘His remit will be to crush anyone remotely connected with any sort of wrongdoing, regardless of whether they embraced the plot willingly or not. But I am prepared to listen to you, so it stands to reason that I offer you the best chance of acquittal. Help me, and I will help you.’
‘It is hopeless,’ said Peter gloomily, not bothering to answer Geoffrey’s appeal. ‘If Henry wins, we die a traitors’ death, and if Barcwit wins, we will live the rest of our lives under his terror. We are trapped between two kinds of hell.’
Geoffrey was dissatisfied with the conversation by the moat, and wanted to press Joan for more details about Barcwit and his plans for England’s future. There was something she was not telling him and he wanted to know what, feeling that only having partial information in a case involving men like Barcwit might be dangerous. But she spent the rest of the day discussing siege tactics with Idonea, and it was not until the following morning that he managed to tell her he wanted to talk again.
He had encouraged his companions to amuse themselves that day, knowing Helbye would use the time to rest his hip, Ulfrith would eat a lot, and Durand would go to Bloet. Roger was less easy to dispense with, however, and declared himself ready for a jaunt. Meanwhile, Olivier was determined to be with his wife if Barcwit was the subject of any discussion, and Warelwast hovered in a way that suggested he fully intended to go wherever Geoffrey went.
‘What shall we do?’ asked Roger keenly. ‘Make enquiries about Barcwit in the brothels?’ He sounded hopeful, always ready to sample local offerings.
‘Is he coming with us?’ asked Joan regarding Roger with distaste. ‘I thought we would be alone.’
‘I am his friend,’ said Roger loftily. ‘He never does anything without consulting me first.’
‘Then it is no wonder he lands himself in so many scrapes,’ retorted Joan. ‘But today he is mine, so be off with you. I do not want your company.’
‘I go where I please,’ said Roger coolly. ‘It is not for some shrew to direct me!’
> ‘I think it would be better if—’ began Olivier tentatively, attempting to mediate.
‘She can stay here, while Geoff and I go about our business,’ said Roger, overriding him. ‘And do not glower at me, madam. I am not some serf to order about. I am a son of the Bishop of Durham!’
‘Yes, and it shows,’ snapped Joan in return.
‘Walk with me, Roger,’ pleaded Olivier, desperate to avert a row. ‘I enjoyed your account of the Siege of Antioch and want to hear more. Then I will tell you how I comported myself at Hastings.’
‘You were at Hastings?’ asked Roger eagerly, oblivious to the fact that Olivier would have been an infant during that particular campaign. Joan was already forgotten. ‘Tell me about it.’
Olivier obliged, and Geoffrey was impressed by the amount of detail the small knight had accrued from second-hand sources. He knew the lie of the land, the movements of different troops, and even the names of minor commanders. He painted a vivid picture, and it was hard to believe he had not been there. He held Roger spellbound, which left Geoffrey free to talk to Joan. Meanwhile, Warelwast had been cornered by Idonea, who was complaining about something he had done in the bed they shared with Peter the previous night. Geoffrey did not like to imagine what.
‘I do not know how you put up with that oaf,’ said Joan, stalking across the bailey towards the gate.
‘Warelwast? He is a clever man. Too clever, I suspect.’
‘Roger. He would drive me mad with his inanities.’
‘He has saved my life more times than I can remember.’ Geoffrey told her about the incident in Bath, when Roger’s timely arrival and the dog’s barking had driven off his attackers.
‘I imagine they were Barcwit’s men, determined to stop you from asking your questions here.’
‘Or Sendi’s, who think I will not be impartial because you are one of Barcwit’s investors.’
They crossed the bridge that spanned the moat and eventually turned right along the high street. The roads were busy, choked with carts and animals being driven to the slaughterhouses near the river. Joan almost ran in her haste to be past Barcwit’s mint, but Geoffrey refused to be intimidated. He glanced at the window in the upper room as he ambled by, and saw a shadow move away quickly, as if it did not want to be seen. He could only assume it was Barcwit. Moments later, the door opened, and Colblac emerged, carrying an empty basket. Geoffrey strode across to him, while Joan gasped in alarm and did not wait to see what would happen. She fled, and only stopped when she was some distance away. Roger did not notice: he was more interested in Olivier’s analysis of the Battle of Actium, where he had captained one of Mark Antony’s ships.
The Coiner's Quarrel Page 20
