The Coiner's Quarrel

by Simon Beaufort

  Geoffrey wondered what John would say if he knew about Clarembald’s role in Edric’s death.

  ‘I hate this place,’ said Bloet feelingly. ‘All corruption and nastiness. And no silver.’

  John brightened. ‘We are all miserable and in need of something to put the smiles back on our faces. I know just the thing to reduce our excesses of choler and black bile.’

  ‘What?’ asked Bloet glumly. ‘Ale? Wine? I have tried them, and they only work temporarily. My problems are even greater when their effects wear off, because I have a sore head to contend with, too.’

  ‘Better than even the best of wines,’ declared John grandly. ‘We shall go shopping.’

  It was not easy to persuade the Bishop of Bath that he detested exploring markets – John did not believe such a thing was possible – and it was some time before Geoffrey managed to escape. Bloet was less fortunate, and was dragged away to spend the rest of the day inspecting trinkets. Geoffrey was frustrated, feeling his investigation was no further along than it had been when he had arrived three days before, but did not know what to do about it. There was no point in returning to Barcwit’s mint, and he could think of nothing new to ask Sendi. He wandered aimlessly until he found himself at the Church of St John the Baptist, which reminded him that Feoc had lied to him about Piers.

  The chapel was empty, so he went to the ramshackle house that stood behind it. Feoc and his wife were in the garden, digging their vegetable patch, while their children picked stones from the soil and set them in piles to use against marauding birds the following spring. When she saw Geoffrey, Feoc’s wife shrieked. Feoc’s face darkened when he saw the cause of her concern. He stormed across his cabbages, grabbed Geoffrey by the arm, and hustled him back to the church in a way that made the knight consider drawing his sword. He did not like being manhandled, even by priests.

  ‘I told you never to come to my home,’ Feoc snapped, glancing both ways down the street before slamming the door. ‘You have too many enemies: Barcwit and Sendi; Maude, Rodbert and Tasso; Adelise and Lifwine; the two physicians. Meanwhile, Warelwast dogs your every move; Bloet suspects you are after the silver he has been charged to find; Peter de la Mare and Idonea believe your investigation will destroy them; Joan and Olivier—’

  ‘Enough!’ shouted Geoffrey. ‘I can keep a tally of whom I have offended myself, thank you. Am I to assume that your name should be added to it? Or will you answer my questions?’

  Feoc glared. ‘Ask them, then.’

  Geoffrey was suspicious. ‘You are oddly helpful. Has someone ordered you to co-operate?’

  ‘No.’ Feoc’s expression was furious. ‘Now look what you have done! You made me lie in church.’

  ‘You lied of your own volition.’ Geoffrey would have been amused by the childish abrogation of responsibility if he had not been so angry. ‘Who ordered you to help me? Joan? What did she do? Threaten you? Bribe you?’

  ‘She promised to take my two oldest children into her service,’ admitted Feoc, evidently unwilling to compound the sin of false witness any further. ‘I cannot afford to look after them all, so it is a generous offer. She is a good woman; they will be safe with her.’

  ‘Help me, then,’ said Geoffrey. It did not sound like a particularly sinister arrangement, although he could not be sure whether Joan – or Feoc for that matter – had made it to help or hinder him. ‘Let us start with this missing silver. Your name – “the priest of St John’s” – was on Alwold’s lips as he died. How do you explain that?’

  ‘He must have been talking about the previous incumbent – or about another St John’s. How do you know what Alwold said anyway? And why has no one mentioned these “last words” before?’

  ‘How many years have you been here?’ asked Geoffrey, ignoring his questions.

  ‘Twenty-six.’

  ‘Then Alwold was unlikely to have meant your predecessor. Is there another St John’s in Bristol?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Feoc. ‘But you know how rumours distort with the telling. Alwold must have said something else – the priest of St Mary’s, perhaps, or St Peter’s.’

  ‘What about Piers?’ asked Geoffrey, who knew what he had heard. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I have already told you – and Bloet and Warelwast and Clarembald and just about everyone else in the town. I do not know a man called Piers who lives in Bristol.’

  ‘What about one who lives in Dundreg?’

  ‘Piers the anchorite?’ asked Feoc. ‘He would have nothing to do with silver. Besides, he is dead.’

  ‘Did Barcwit kill him?’

  ‘He recited himself a requiem mass, and walked to his death because he said an angel told him to do so. Even Piers could not mistake Barcwit for an angel. The anchorite was not your man.’

  Geoffrey studied the priest carefully, and sensed he was telling the truth about the hermit – or, at least, the truth as he saw it – and it was impossible to say whether there was anything sinister about the anchorite’s death without more information. He apologized for invading Feoc’s house, and left. He had only taken a few steps when he became aware that he was being followed. Nonchalantly, he strolled back to the church, closed the door and stood behind it. Within moments, it opened slightly, and someone tried to peer through the gap. Geoffrey jumped forward, grabbed the spy and hauled him inside. It was Warelwast.

  ‘There are rumours that you were attacked in Beiminstre earlier today,’ said Warelwast, his alarm evaporating when he recognized his assailant. ‘You returned with a different horse, so I assume it is true. I would be a poor friend if I did not reassure myself that you are unharmed.’

  ‘By sneaking around after me?’ Geoffrey was not convinced.

  ‘You send me away if I escort you openly.’

  That was true, at least. ‘How did you find out about the ambush?’

  ‘It is difficult to keep such things quiet for long, and Beiminstre is a village of forty people.’

  Geoffrey did not believe him. ‘Did you follow me? My own horse is slow, and it would not have been difficult to pursue me on foot – although not so easy coming back, when you would have been left behind.’ It would explain why Warelwast had only just managed to track him down.

  The bishop-elect sighed. ‘You are overly suspicious; your sister says you have even accused her of shady dealings. I am only here in case you need a friend.’ He gazed meaningfully at the scratch on the knight’s face.

  ‘Your logic is flawed, My Lord Bishop. On the one hand you say I am overly suspicious, and on the other you claim I need your protection. Which is it?’

  Warelwast considered carefully before replying. ‘Your investigation has made you unpopular, and you need all the friends you can get, so do not be so ready to distrust those who mean you well.’

  ‘That is the problem,’ said Geoffrey, thinking about Durand and his failure to pass on warnings, and about Joan’s predictions that he would die. ‘It is difficult to tell them apart. But if you want to help, you can find some way to appease Joan for me.’

  Warelwast was thoughtful. ‘That is a challenging task. Still, I will do it, if that is what you want. I shall have her all smiles and simpers by this evening.’

  ‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Geoffrey as he left. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

  ‘Talking to yourself?’

  Geoffrey spun around in alarm when Maude emerged from behind a pillar. She moved sinuously, like a cat, and he wondered how long she had been there. It was clear she had overheard his discussion with Warelwast, but had she also heard what he had said to Feoc? If so, had he put the priest in danger? He was furious with himself for not searching the church before they had started talking.

  ‘Have you been here long?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.

  She walked towards him, hips swaying provocatively. ‘Long enough. I like this church. Too many are gaudily painted these days, and I like the clean whiteness of the walls in here.’

  Geoffrey disagreed. ‘They look
bald. And plain plaster shows up the cracks.’

  ‘Is that a bad thing? Do you think it is better to disguise rot and decay with bright colours, rather than to expose them, so they can be treated?’

  Geoffrey was not sure whether they were now discussing architecture or something entirely different. ‘It depends,’ he replied cautiously.

  ‘On what? The colours used? The skill of the artist? They are irrelevant if the building crumbles.’

  ‘Did you want something from me?’ he asked, wanting an end to the ambiguous discussion.

  She smiled seductively. ‘I thought we could … talk.’

  ‘Good,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Then answer me this: did your husband have anything to do with the murder of my brother? My sister believes he did.’

  Maude’s eyebrows rose in amusement. ‘How could Barcwit harm a member of your family when they live so far away? My husband is a determined man, but he has limitations, and racing across the country to commit murder is most definitely well past them. So, now we have resolved that, shall we talk about something else?’

  ‘Willingly,’ said Geoffrey, not sure whether to believe her, ‘if Barcwit joins us. I have been in Bristol for three days now, and I still have not spoken to him.’

  ‘No,’ said Maude. ‘Just you and me, tomorrow night. This is a pleasant place, and its doors are always open. Come at midnight.’

  ‘And what will we talk about?’ asked Geoffrey warily. ‘The benefits of murals over plain walls?’

  ‘If you like. Or we could find other ways to occupy ourselves. I have missed you since our encounter in Bath.’

  ‘So has your dagger, I imagine,’ said Geoffrey dryly.

  ‘Do not be resentful. If you come to meet me, I will give you something worth your while, something that will help you in the investigation that is at a complete standstill.’

  ‘What?’

  She smiled again. ‘You must wait and see,’ she said, before opening the door and slipping outside.

  Geoffrey thought about Maude’s invitation as he left the church, noting that there was already no sign of her, even though he was no more than a moment behind. It was almost as if she travelled using different streets to the ones he knew. He stared carefully in both directions, and even explored the churchyard, but she had gone.

  Her comment about his lack of progress had annoyed him, because it was true. Should he meet her, in the hope that he would learn something to start him moving again? Why was she unwilling to talk during the day? Was it because she had had enough of Barcwit, and wanted to break away from him? Or was her intention to lure Geoffrey somewhere he could be quietly dispatched and the murder blamed on Sendi? He suspected she had a multitude of lovers, and was not so vain as to imagine she wanted him for a repeat of their pleasures in Bath.

  The sun was setting, and there was no more than an hour of daylight left. He was tired after his exertions, but did not feel like returning to the castle. He removed his helmet, which was chafing the scratch on his cheek, and tucked it under his arm. As he walked, he became aware of a familiar hammering sound, and realized he was near Sendi’s mint. He decided to pay him a visit, because he had nothing else to do, and there was always the chance that an unexpected invasion might reveal something incriminating – as it had done with Barcwit.

  Sendi’s workshop was busy. Geoffrey could smell the metallic odour of hot silver, and the ground shook with the fury of industry. He thought about Edric, suspecting they would not yet know what had happened to him, and wondered how long it would be before they were worried. He rapped loudly on the door, which was answered by Adelise.

  ‘It is the King’s ferret,’ she said coldly. ‘Come to twist our honest words into lies again.’

  ‘I have come to ask whether you have spoken to Barcwit since you returned from Westminster,’ he said, refusing to let her annoy him.

  She gestured that he was to enter, then repeated his question to Sendi, who was bending over a bench laden with newly minted pennies. Lifwine sat next to him, tossing them carelessly in one hand while writing with the other. Geoffrey did not think the cambium was doing a particularly assiduous job with his assaying, and he wondered whether Barcwit’s drunkard was any better.

  Sendi did not look up when he replied. ‘No. Why should I?’

  ‘Neither have I,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Although it is not from want of trying. The man is elusive.’

  Sendi gave a snort of disgust. ‘He is visible when it suits him. He just does not want to see you.’

  ‘What does he look like?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering whether he might have passed him on the street and not known it. Barcwit was large and favoured dark clothes, but Geoffrey had not seen his face when he had presided over Edric’s murder. For all he knew, the moneyer disguised himself with bright colours and blended in with the crowd when he did not feel like being noticed.

  Adelise replied. ‘Tall and bony. Nasty face, full of scars from where hot silver once splashed him.’

  ‘That happened when his apprentices dashed burning coals in his eyes,’ said Sendi. ‘In revenge, he killed them with his bare hands and melted their bodies in his furnaces.’

  ‘His furnaces are not large enough to consume human corpses,’ said Geoffrey, recalling what he had seen when he had spied.

  Sendi regarded him with renewed interest. ‘You have been inside his mint? You did well: he does not normally let strangers in. What was he doing? Did you speak to his cambium?’

  ‘Have you seen his cambium?’ countered Geoffrey.

  ‘Not since we returned from Westminster,’ said Sendi. ‘I imagine he is in some cellar, constantly supplied with wine. That’s how they keep him quiet. Do not believe any tales they tell you about him visiting his ailing mother. She is in better health than all of us put together.’

  ‘Edric,’ said Geoffrey, watching Sendi and Adelise carefully. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Gone,’ replied Sendi. ‘We discovered this morning that he has been betraying us, so we dismissed him. He has gone to Bath, to try his luck with Osmaer, although I doubt he will be taken on. We refused to write testaments to his honesty.’

  ‘What did he do?’ asked Geoffrey, not hiding his surprise. He recalled the atmosphere of suspicion and mistrust he had sensed on his first visit; they had known then there was a traitor in their midst.

  ‘He passed secrets to Barcwit and stole one of our dies,’ said Sendi angrily. ‘Do you know what will happen if that falls into Barcwit’s hands? He will use it to make bad coins with my name on.’

  ‘Then he will be caught,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Even he cannot expect to get away with forgery while the King and his agents are watching.’

  ‘You will stop him, will you?’ sneered Sendi. ‘You cannot even engineer a meeting with the man.’

  ‘How do you know Edric stole the die?’ asked Geoffrey, puzzled by the accusation in the light of what he had seen at Barcwit’s mint. Why would Tasso kill a man who had brought them such a prize? Was it because he had outlived his usefulness? Edric would not be able to steal other dies if Sendi had dismissed him.

  ‘It could not have been anyone else,’ said Adelise. ‘Unless it was you.’

  ‘It could have been him,’ said Lifwine, regarding Geoffrey appraisingly. ‘He is the only stranger to have visited our premises for weeks, and it did go missing the day he came here.’

  ‘I did not take it,’ said Geoffrey, who had known it was only a matter of time before that particular accusation was levelled. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Because you want Barcwit to win this case,’ said Adelise scornfully. ‘And it is an excellent way to ensure he does – he will produce forged coins bearing Sendi’s name, and claim we are the ones who have been defrauding the King.’

  ‘That is right,’ agreed Lifwine. ‘Geoffrey stole the die for two reasons: to let Barcwit destroy us with counterfeit coins, and to make us look inefficient and stupid in the King’s eyes.’

  Sendi drew his knife, and Adelise gestured to the list
ening workmen that they should do likewise. Within moments, Geoffrey was surrounded by at least twenty people, all wielding blades or heavy tools grabbed from the benches. And every man looked ready – eager, even – to use them.

  Usually, Geoffrey would not have been concerned by the undisciplined mob that pressed around him, but Sendi’s men were angry and sullen, and willing to defend the honour of their mint with their lives. Despite the fact that it had been Sendi’s journey to Westminster that had precipitated the investigation, it was Geoffrey they held responsible, and he could see from the resentful expressions on their faces that they did not believe he would be fair. They were only too happy to vent their ire on the man they thought would support Barcwit and denounce them to the King.

  ‘Put down your weapons,’ he ordered, aware that they were behind him as well as in front, and that he was not wearing his helmet. One blow from a hammer would see the fight over in a moment. ‘Attacking the King’s agent is not a sensible thing to do.’

  ‘You sealed our fate when you stole that die,’ said Lifwine. ‘There is nothing left for us now.’

  Someone jabbed at Geoffrey with a dagger, so he hauled his sword from his belt and swung it in an arc that had men leaping back in alarm. He did not hit anyone, although he could have done, but it was enough to warn them that he was not about to go quietly.

  ‘You said Edric stole it,’ he said, turning in a circle, so he could watch as many of them as possible. When one, braver than the rest, came at him with a saw, Geoffrey stabbed his leg. The man howled, and some of his friends edged away, not wanting to be next. ‘Both of us cannot be responsible.’

  ‘He took it and gave it to you,’ said Adelise immediately. ‘It is obvious.’

  ‘I have not seen Edric since I last visited you.’ Other than when Tasso had sliced his head in half, Geoffrey thought, although it did not seem an appropriate moment to mention that particular incident. ‘And you were watching me the whole time.’

  ‘He is right, Mistress,’ said a workman with a bald head and sad eyes. ‘Edric has not been out of our sight for four days now – since we first began to suspect his treachery – so he could not have met Sir Geoffrey without our knowing.’