The Coiner's Quarrel

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘I want to see Barcwit,’ said Geoffrey to Colblac. ‘I know he is in, because I have just seen him.’

  The clerk was puzzled. ‘You did not, because he is not due back from Dundreg until this evening.’

  Geoffrey was in no mood for games and was determined to have his answers. He shoved past the protesting clerk and strode along the corridor. He was aware of Rodbert glancing up in astonishment as he passed the office, but did not stop to explain himself. He opened the door at the end of the hall and found himself in a vestibule. To his left was a gate laden with locks and bolts; to his right was a flight of stairs; and ahead was a door that, judging from the sounds of hammering and thumping that came from behind it, was the mint itself.

  He aimed for the steps and ascended to a landing, which had four doors leading from it. The floor was thick with dust from the mint, and a servant was on his hands and knees, scrubbing lethargically. Footprints were pressed into the dirt, some large and some small, indicating that a fair number of people had access to the upper chambers. Geoffrey slammed open each door as he passed, but all the rooms were empty except the last one. Here he discovered a maid shaking bedclothes out of a window – and Maude. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when Geoffrey burst in.

  ‘Most men knock,’ she said, recovering quickly and donning her usual expression of flirtatious amusement. ‘You might have found me naked.’

  ‘I would have killed him if he had,’ said Rodbert breathlessly, arriving at Geoffrey’s heels. Tasso was not far behind, sword drawn. ‘What do you mean by this unmannerly intrusion, man?’

  ‘I am looking for Barcwit,’ said Geoffrey, going to inspect a closet. The moneyer was not there, and he realized it had not been Barcwit’s shadow at the window after all. Maude wore a dark dress and he supposed it had been her, ducking back when she saw him glance up. He wondered why.

  ‘I told him Barcwit is in Dundreg,’ explained Colblac resentfully. ‘But he pushed past me before I could stop him.’

  ‘I told him, too,’ said Tasso. He glanced at Rodbert. ‘Do you want me to kill him? He invaded our house wearing a sword, so we would be within our rights. Even the King could not dispute that.’

  ‘Not true,’ said Maude, although Rodbert looked ready to agree. ‘Henry will assume we have something to hide if we dispatch Geoffrey. And we do not.’

  ‘What about the coercion of investors and a plan to murder the King?’ asked Geoffrey archly.

  Maude started to laugh. Rodbert joined in, although his amusement did not sound genuine. Tasso merely looked angry.

  ‘Not this again,’ he said irritably. ‘I suppose Peter has been putting ideas into your head, because his friend Nauntel was killed. He just cannot accept it that was a random attack by outlaws. Nauntel’s death had nothing to do with us.’

  ‘Others have been threatened, too,’ said Geoffrey, thinking about Joan.

  ‘We all become impatient with people who are keen to do business with us one moment, but who withdraw the next,’ said Maude. ‘Harsh words have been exchanged, but who has not lost his temper and said things he later regretted?’ She glanced at Rodbert to indicate he was the culprit for this particular offence, and he made no attempt to deny the charge.

  ‘If Barcwit is not here, then I will speak to your cambium,’ said Geoffrey. It was still early, and the clerk should not be inebriated yet – unless Sendi’s claims about his drinking habits were true.

  ‘He is not here, either,’ said Maude smoothly. ‘His mother is unwell, and he is looking after her.’

  ‘Then I shall go to her home and see him,’ said Geoffrey.

  ‘He has agreed to meet you next week,’ replied Maude, unruffled. ‘Surely you can wait until then, and not foist your menacing presence on frail old ladies in their sickbeds?’

  ‘Next week?’ asked Geoffrey. He suspected it would take her that long to train a man to take the cambium’s place; Durand had predicted as much back in Westminster. Or did she simply need a few days to render the clerk sober and able to answer questions?

  ‘Monday morning,’ she replied with a bright smile. ‘As early as you please.’

  It was odd that the end of the old lady’s illness should be predicted with such accuracy, but Geoffrey did not feel inclined to debate the matter. He simply made a mental note to include Maude’s odd reaction, and his interpretation of it, in his report for Giffard. ‘Very well, but you can tell Barcwit I will see him the moment he returns from Dundreg.’

  ‘Do visit again, Sir Geoffrey,’ said Maude, giving him one of her knowing smiles. ‘But come earlier in the morning if you want to be certain of catching me in a state of undress.’

  Rodbert made a furious growling sound, so Maude beckoned him inside her chamber with one of her promising leers. As Geoffrey left, with Tasso close behind him to ensure he did not linger, he heard her crooning, and thought they were insane to indulge in such brazen behaviour in Barcwit’s own house. He supposed they felt safe in the knowledge that he was away.

  The door slammed as soon as he was in the street, making a loud crack that had a number of passers-by scurrying away in terror. No one liked unusual noises emanating from the mint of the dreaded Barcwit. Exasperated and confused, Geoffrey walked to where Joan waited.

  Nine

  Joan was angry when Geoffrey met her outside a busy tavern called the Greene Lattis, and claimed he was a fool to have invaded Barcwit’s domain like a Saracen after Christian virgins. She added, rather tearfully, that she had not expected him to emerge alive.

  ‘I am a Jerosolimitanus,’ said Geoffrey patiently. ‘I have been fighting all my life. I am not Olivier, who needs a woman to watch out for him.’

  ‘Leave Olivier out of this,’ snapped Joan, eyes flashing as she leapt to defend her husband. ‘He may not be a Crusader, but he has virtues you can only dream of. He is the kindest man in the world, and I would sooner die than be without him. Is there a lady who would say the same about you?’

  Geoffrey admitted there was not, and doubted there ever would be, if he continued to meet women like Maude, for whom he was just one in a string of lovers, or like Adelise, who wanted him dead. He was also unlikely to encounter suitable partners if Henry and Tancred kept him busy, and he was not sufficiently important in the eyes of either to warrant being rewarded with a good marriage.

  Joan said no more, but led the way along a handsome street lined with magnificent houses, then turned right when she reached the town walls. At the corner was a church dedicated to St John the Baptist. Joan opened a wooden door that creaked, and tugged Geoffrey inside, ignoring his questions about what she thought she was doing. She was in one of her determined moods, and he knew there was no point in trying to force her to answer him. She headed for the high altar, dropped to her knees and hauled on his arm to indicate he should do the same. Meanwhile, Roger and Olivier lurked at the back of the nave, exchanging increasingly unrealistic tales of heroism and chivalry.

  ‘What are we doing?’ asked Geoffrey. He glanced around him. The church was poor, with a roof that needed replacing and walls that were devoid of even the merest splash of colour. The plaster had been painted white, which made the interior oddly bright and bare. Geoffrey did not like it, preferring the cosy intimacy of a chapel with proper murals.

  ‘We are here to thank God for allowing us to meet again,’ she said crisply. ‘And to—’

  The door rattled as someone else opened it, and Joan swore as Warelwast approached. He was slightly breathless, as though he had been running. He beamed at Geoffrey, who regarded him thoughtfully, and wondered why the man seemed so determined not to let him out of his sight.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Joan coldly.

  ‘To pray,’ said Warelwast, taking no offence at her hostile greeting. ‘May I join you?’

  ‘You may not,’ said Joan firmly. ‘I have arranged to hear a private mass with my brother, and there is no room for interlopers. Here comes the priest now.’

  She looked towards the door as
a tall, thin man entered. He carried a baby in his arms, while a toddler clutched his leg, making it difficult for him to walk. Two more children trailed behind him.

  ‘This is Father Feoc,’ said Joan, smiling as one infant ran towards her. Children liked Joan and were seldom intimidated by the ferocious demeanour that so unnerved adults. ‘Do not worry about his little ones; they are always quiet when he says his masses.’

  ‘That is something the Archbishop of Canterbury will soon eradicate,’ said Warelwast distastefully. ‘This Saxon habit of allowing priests to marry and produce offspring.’

  ‘He may ban priestly marriages,’ said Joan tartly. ‘But he will never eliminate their children – not as long as his bishops lead by example. Every one has sired an army of bastards.’

  ‘I confine my passions to my wife,’ said Feoc piously. ‘And my children are born in holy wedlock.’

  ‘You do not want a married priest to pray for you,’ said Warelwast, not acknowledging that Joan was probably right. ‘So, let me say your mass. I have no illegitimate brats in tow.’

  ‘None you know about,’ corrected Joan. ‘But I will hear Feoc. This is his church, and I pray here regularly. Alone,’ she added meaningfully.

  ‘Very well,’ said Warelwast, fingering the rope he still wore around his neck. ‘I shall wait outside.’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Geoffrey, when the bishop-elect had gone. ‘Pray here regularly?’

  ‘When I remember,’ said Joan. ‘But I brought you here to meet Feoc. Since you have refused to leave, I feel obliged to help you, and there is no one who knows more about Bristol than Feoc. I hope he will be able to answer some of your questions.’

  Feoc fixed Geoffrey with a stern glare. ‘But there is one condition: never visit me at home. I do not want Barcwit to arrange for my children to have accidents – like the priest of St Leonard’s.’ He hugged his smallest offspring protectively.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Geoffrey.

  ‘A cat sat on his son and he suffocated,’ explained Feoc. ‘It looked like a mishap, but for two things. First, the priest had condemned Barcwit in a sermon delivered two days before. And second, the baby’s face had been smeared in fish – to encourage the cat. That is what happens to folk who confront Barcwit. Ask Peter about Nauntel, too.’

  ‘He knows about Nauntel.’ Joan nudged Geoffrey with her elbow. ‘Ask what you want to know.’

  ‘Is there a man called Piers who lives in Bristol?’ asked Geoffrey, thinking he would test the quality of the man’s local knowledge by starting with the missing ingots. If Feoc knew as much as Joan claimed, then he would be able to identify the man Alwold had mentioned at Westminster.

  Feoc shook his head. ‘You are not the first to ask about this. Alwold spoke Piers’ name as he died, I understand, in connection with Barcwit’s lost silver. However, there is no Piers in Bristol.’

  ‘How about in the past?’ pressed Geoffrey. ‘Especially someone who might have worked for Barcwit, and whom Alwold could have befriended.’

  ‘Alwold had no friends, and there has never been a Piers in Bristol.’ Feoc sounded very sure of himself. ‘Barcwit is vexed about the loss of his silver, so I would stay away from that matter, if I were you.’

  ‘Geoffrey is not afraid of Barcwit,’ said Joan unhappily. ‘I wish he were.’

  Feoc handed the baby to his eldest child, and indicated they were to play behind the altar. ‘Then perhaps he will end Barcwit’s reign of terror. Someone must, because the situation cannot be allowed to continue. Ask your questions, Sir Geoffrey, and I will answer if I can. I have lived here all my life, and I know a great deal about Barcwit and his wicked ways.’

  ‘Tell me about his cambium.’

  ‘His mother brews strong ale – and she does a man’s work at the slaughterhouses.’

  ‘How often is he sober?’ The cambium’s ‘frail and ailing’ mother sounded unlikely to be terrified by Geoffrey’s ‘menacing presence’: Maude had lied to him.

  ‘Rarely. Wine is killing him, although Barcwit claims it does not prevent him from working. Perhaps he is right. I knew a priest once, who only gave good sermons when he was drunk.’

  Geoffrey decided to take Feoc with him the following Monday; the priest would know whether the cambium Maude presented was the real one or an impostor. He changed the subject.

  ‘How many people does Barcwit hold under his sway in this town?’

  ‘Dozens. He sends Rodbert, Maude and Tasso to tell people it is an excellent time for investing in coinage, and they argue their case well. The arrangements offered are safe and lucrative. But then, when it is too late to withdraw, they learn they are involved in sinister business.’

  ‘Why do they not tell him to go to the Devil when they see what is happening?’

  ‘First, Barcwit tells them he has “evidence” to prove their guilt in any enquiry that might take place. And second, people who defy him have accidents – not necessarily fatal ones, like Nauntel, but nasty, nonetheless. Their cattle become sick or fires break out in their homes.’

  ‘Barcwit has slunk off to Dundreg, and refuses to see me. He is all wind and no substance.’

  ‘He is not, and you must not underestimate him. Joan did, and look what happened to her.’

  ‘She told me,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He threatened Olivier.’

  ‘That came later,’ said Feoc, when Joan said nothing. ‘Barcwit has an uncanny ability to sense what his victims would most hate to lose, and for Joan that is Olivier. So, he did not start by attacking Olivier: he killed someone else, so she would know he was in earnest. When that person was dead, all he needed to do was hint that Olivier would be next and she was rendered powerless.’

  ‘Whom did he kill?’ asked Geoffrey. Joan had no children, and he was her only surviving relative. Suddenly, the answer snapped into his mind and he felt his stomach begin to churn. She had already told him who had died recently, and whose death was a mystery. ‘Our brother? Henry?’

  Joan nodded. ‘So, now do you understand why I want you to leave? Henry and I were never close, but I would hate to lose you to Barcwit.’

  Feoc said little more after Joan admitted she believed Barcwit had had their brother killed, and Warelwast entered the church shortly after anyway, demanding to know why the mass was taking so long. Joan wanted Geoffrey to hide in the castle, Warelwast was clamouring to show him the town, and Roger was keen to sample the taverns. Geoffrey offended them all with his sharp insistence that he did not want to do any of it, and that he intended to exercise his warhorse – alone.

  He ordered Durand to saddle his horse, and then rendered the squire even more inept at the task than usual by looming over him and making him nervous. The horse seemed listless, although Durand claimed there was nothing wrong, and they argued about it. By the time the job was finished, Durand was sweating and resentful, and Geoffrey was exasperated with his incompetence.

  ‘You should let me go,’ said Durand in a low voice. ‘Tancred has released you from his service, so you should release me from yours.’

  ‘And what would you do?’ asked Geoffrey, still annoyed with him. ‘Live with Bloet?’

  Durand glared at him. ‘I will re-enter the Church. Life as a soldier does not suit me – look at my hands! They are rough from the work you make me do, and my nails are broken.’

  ‘God’s teeth!’ breathed Geoffrey. ‘I make few demands of you, and those tasks I do set, you perform poorly.’

  ‘Then let me go,’ insisted Durand. ‘It is clear we have no more to learn from each other. You despise me for my gentleness, while I abhor your barbaric manners and the way you court danger. I do not want to die because you have a penchant for looking into matters that should be left alone.’

  ‘Barbaric manners?’ asked Geoffrey, who had always considered himself polite compared to most knights. It was a shock to learn it was not a view shared by everyone.

  ‘I know you promised Tancred you would make me a soldier, but you will never succeed.’ Duran
d sounded defiant. ‘So, you may as well concede defeat before one of us does the other some harm.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’ Geoffrey was aghast at the man’s effrontery.

  ‘I am telling you how things are,’ said Durand, standing his ground. ‘We hate each other, and it would be better for us both if we spent no more of our lives in each other’s company.’

  ‘I do not hate you,’ said Geoffrey tiredly, sorry the feeling was not mutual. He disliked Durand, but hatred was a different thing altogether. ‘Has Bloet been putting these ideas into your head?’

  ‘He thinks I should find myself a lifestyle more worthy of my talents,’ acknowledged Durand. ‘And when I am with him, I realize how unhappy I am with you.’

  ‘You want happiness?’ asked Geoffrey, thinking it an odd aspiration when most folk were content with a meal, a roof over their heads and a cup of warm ale. ‘That is beyond the reach of most of us.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Durand, his blue eyes filling with tears. ‘Bloet is happy.’

  ‘He is miserable,’ contradicted Geoffrey. ‘He is terrified he will not find the stolen silver.’

  ‘I am not talking about that sort of happiness,’ said Durand. ‘I am talking about the kind of pleasure one derives from the presence of another human being. Bloet is very content when he is with me. He told me so. And he is making the best of this silver business, anyway. As a case in point, take his visit to Barcwit the other evening. They dined together, and he said it was an enjoyable occasion. However, with you, meetings like that always end in something dangerous.’