‘At least let us have our die,’ begged Sendi. ‘You may think it is safe with you, but you do not know Barcwit. He will find it and use it to destroy us.’
‘It is already too late for Ceorl,’ said Geoffrey quietly.
‘That was unfortunate,’ said Lifwine, running to keep up with the rapid pace Geoffrey was setting. ‘We do not know who knifed him, but when we find out, the culprit will lose his post.’
‘The die,’ prompted Sendi. ‘I will pay you in newly minted pennies if you give it back.’
Roger regarded his friend in wonderment. ‘You took it? I believed you when you said you did not – you were very convincing. Where is it? Your funds are low, and it would be good to replenish them by selling the thing.’
‘The King would not agree,’ said Geoffrey dryly. ‘But I do not have it anyway.’
‘You have already admitted that you do,’ said Sendi, bewildered.
‘I lied. Ask the man who turned traitor – Barcwit’s spy.’
‘Edric?’ asked Sendi, bemused. ‘That is impossible: we would have seen him.’
‘Not Edric,’ said Geoffrey. ‘There is another villain in your midst. He is the man who killed Ceorl when he started to convince the others that I was innocent, because it was in his interests to have the King’s agent blamed for something he did.’
Leaving Sendi and his cambium staring at each other in alarm, Geoffrey strode down the dark streets to the castle. Angry voices followed him, Lifwine’s saying that Geoffrey’s claim was a nonsense, and Sendi’s arguing that it was a possibility they should consider. It occurred to Geoffrey that the moneyers might turn on each other sooner than he had anticipated.
‘You are wrong to let them stay free when they came so close to killing you,’ said Roger, breaking into his reverie. ‘They may have another go, and there are too many others tempted to do the same – Barcwit, Rodbert, Tasso, the physicians. I do not like the way Warelwast has fixed himself to you, either. He says he wants to be your friend, but I am your friend, and I do not dog your every move.’
‘You do sometimes,’ said Geoffrey. Roger had been concerned just because he thought he had heard a sword fall on a stone floor. ‘Thank God.’
Roger was angry. ‘Warelwast trails after you like a lovesick virgin, but the one time he can be of use, he is nowhere to be found. Is that suspicious, or what?’
‘I do not know what to think about Warelwast – or anyone else. There is hardly a soul here who has not threatened to kill me. Even my own sister seems intent on misleading me with lies.’
‘Joan?’ asked Roger. ‘She loves you dearly. Olivier told me, and he is an honourable man, not given to falsehoods. He has fought in more battles than any man I know, and is a great warrior.’
Geoffrey did not reply. He had enough to worry about, without Roger accusing Olivier of being a fraud. Joan would leap to her husband’s defence, and there would be blood for certain – none of it hers.
‘She is angry with me,’ he said instead.
‘She is none too enamoured of me, either,’ said Roger unhappily. ‘I invited Olivier to practise his swordplay today, and she was afraid he would be hurt.’ He gave a snort of laughter. ‘Can you imagine! A man like him being hurt!’
‘How did he fare?’ asked Geoffrey curiously.
‘The hilt of his sword was loose, and he declined to spar with me in case it slipped and inadvertently did me harm. But we will go another day, and he can demonstrate some of the moves he used against those Saxon kings. I can learn a great deal from him.’
‘Hmm,’ said Geoffrey, hoping the case would soon be resolved and Roger would never know the sorry truth about Sir Olivier d’Alençon.
‘Still, at least we no longer have to worry about Durand,’ said Roger, broaching another subject. ‘He says you dismissed him, and was furious, which surprised me. I thought he wanted to go.’
‘He did,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Just not here, where he says it is dangerous. However, if Joan is to be believed, he has plenty of money, which means he can buy himself some suitable protection. I am inclined to believe he earned it last summer, by spying on me for the King.’
‘Yes and no,’ said Roger. ‘Some of his wealth is from Henry; the rest came from someone else.’
Geoffrey stared at him. ‘How do you know?’
‘I have always been wary of the man, so I followed him when we were at Westminster. I saw Henry pay him a purse of silver, which I presume was to make sure you did not run off to the Holy Land without doing your duty. It was exactly the same amount as Henry gave him to spy on you at Easter, during the Bellême campaign. But Durand owns a lot more than two bags of silver.’
Geoffrey was astonished that he should have spent hours speculating about his squire’s loyalty when Roger had had the answers at his fingertips all along. ‘Then where did the rest come from?’
Roger shrugged. ‘All I know is that whoever paid him must have been pleased with what he did. I suspect he was paid by Bellême’s clan, as well as by the King. Durand is the kind of man to accept payment from both sides in a war. He definitely became very much richer after August.’
‘You searched his bags?’ Geoffrey wondered whether he was the only one with a sense of privacy.
Roger regarded him as though he was insane. ‘Of course I did. How else would I know what he is up to? Do not tell me you have never done the same! I look through yours all the time.’
Geoffrey was aghast. ‘I had always assumed that a man’s property was his own business.’
‘Not when we are travelling through hostile territory,’ argued Roger. ‘How can I protect your worldly goods, unless I know what there is to look after? Besides, if you were to die, they would come to me, as your closest friend, and I like to know where I stand as far as inheritance is concerned.’
‘God’s teeth! Now even you are waiting for my death. Is no one interested in my being alive?’
‘What I stand to inherit from you will not compensate me for the loss of a good friend. Besides, I do not want books and grimy shirts.’ Roger threw a heavy arm around Geoffrey’s shoulders. ‘We stand together, you and I. The men of Bristol will not defeat two Jerosolimitani.’
Warelwast had been unable to work his charm on Joan, and was astonished to learn there was a woman he could not seduce with honeyed words. While he laboured in vain, Geoffrey spent what was left of the evening with Peter and Idonea, listening to their plans for the siege they were certain was imminent. He asked about Nauntel, but learnt no more about the man’s death, other than that the people of Beiminstre had been frightened when they had learnt what had happened in their village, and that they were probably not involved in the murder.
The following day dawned dark and wet, and even Geoffrey, who seldom bothered about the weather, declined to go riding. The rain was hard and persistent, and he did not want his borrowed horse to slip in mud and harm itself. The weather was sufficiently foul that he did not fancy trudging around streets that were ankle-deep in water-logged filth, either, so he found a table in the hall and prepared a report on his findings: if Giffard arrived unexpectedly, there would be at least something written down for him. So far, all Geoffrey knew for certain was that Barcwit did indeed terrorize the people of Bristol, and that he killed those who crossed him. He used Nauntel and Edric as the best examples, but could not bring himself to include his brother’s name, too.
The rest of Sendi’s accusations were more difficult to assess, given that Barcwit had declined to speak to him – something he ensured was prominent in his letter, because it was indicative of the man’s attitude to the King. He sat for hours writing and rewriting his meagre conclusions, and then, just to break the monotony, he went to inspect the castle’s provision-stuffed cellars. He returned to the table in the evening, determined to complete his report, but Joan scowled at him until, unnerved by the brevity of what he had composed and unable to come up with more as long as she distracted him with her icy disapproval, he went to sit with her.
She was sewing by the dim light of a brazier; Olivier tentatively petted Geoffrey’s dog.
‘I met some people you know yesterday,’ said Geoffrey, in an attempt to start a non-contentious conversation. ‘Kea and his family, from Beiminstre.’
Joan’s hard features softened. ‘They are good folk. Little Rowise is slow in the mind, but even she is excellent with horses. Olivier never buys his from anywhere else.’
‘Kea has great talent,’ agreed Olivier. ‘Warelwast tells me you left your mount with him. It will be money well spent, and you will find him a different animal. What did you think of Beiminstre?’
‘It is under the shadow of Barcwit, just like everything else. Kea and his kin will be glad when the matter is resolved, even if no one else will.’
Joan sighed. ‘Not this again! If you know what is good for you, you will confine your conversation to other matters tonight. I am in no mood to be interrogated.’
‘I am only trying to help,’ said Geoffrey, wishing she was not so prickly. ‘Giffard will be here soon, and the case will be “resolved” regardless of whether or not I have discovered the truth.’
‘You will never succeed,’ insisted Joan. ‘It is too complex and there are too many strands. You cannot unravel the dangerous mess Barcwit has created here, because you are not clever enough.’
‘I know what you are doing,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You asked nicely and I refused to go, so now you are trying rudeness. It will not work: the days when you could force me to do what you want are long past, and I have no choice, anyway. Henry will not be sympathetic if I tell him I disobeyed his orders because my sister told me to.’
Joan’s eyes shone with tears. ‘Henry will rob me of all I hold dear: Olivier, Goodrich and you.’
The discussion had done more harm than good, because Joan was now distressed as well as angry, although Geoffrey was pleased to be included on her list of loves, even if he was in last place. He had begun to think she cared nothing for him, and was relieved to learn that at least some of her hostility resulted from fears for his safety.
It was not long before Roger, eager to be away from the oppressive atmosphere in the hall, invited Olivier for a jug of ale in the town’s taverns. Joan informed Olivier he could not go, so he demurely followed her up the stairs to their chamber for an early night. Roger winked meaningfully as they left.
‘Show her what you are made of,’ he bawled. ‘Show her what a veteran of Hastings can do for a woman.’ He turned to Geoffrey. ‘It is not surprising she wants him to service her. Men of action are always in demand from their wives and lovers.’
‘Are they?’ asked Geoffrey, thinking he was a man of action, but there were no queues of lovers awaiting his masculine attentions – with the exception of Maude, who seemed to consider any male fair game. ‘Then let us go and find some. I am tired of being cooped up in here.’
‘Peter!’ yelled Roger, so every person in the hall turned to look at him. ‘Where is Bristol’s best brothel? Me and Geoff feel like relaxing with a whore.’
Geoffrey saw Joan had not gone as far up the stairs as he had thought, and she turned to gape at the question. He laughed when he heard her berating Olivier for thinking he could engage in that sort of activity and expect to get away with it, ignoring her husband’s protestations that Roger’s invitation had involved ale and military chit-chat only. Peter approached to reply a little more privately to Roger’s top-volume query; Idonea was with him, evidently interested to learn how much her spouse knew about such institutions. But Geoffrey’s mind had already strayed back to his investigation.
‘How much silver did Barcwit lose when it was stolen?’ he asked, ignoring Roger’s moue of impatience. The big knight was ready for a brothel, and did not want to talk about the elusive treasure.
‘A lot,’ said Peter shortly. ‘And do not ask me any more about it, or I shall order you to leave. I would have ejected you already – to find lodgings in the town – but Joan would not let me. For some reason, she is fond of you and wants you here, where you will be safe. I thought you intended to conduct a discreet investigation, but you have antagonized everyone you have met.’
‘Giffard will be here soon. You will find him a good deal less discreet with his questions than I have been – and a lot less patient with evasive answers, too.’ Geoffrey sighed. ‘I do not understand why people refuse to co-operate when I offer a chance to put their side of the story.’
Peter grimaced. ‘You think Barcwit will slip away, and never be seen again, once he is found guilty? Well, you are wrong! He will be even more dangerous, because he will be outside the law. I lost Nauntel, and I do not want to lose more because I have babbled to you.’ He stood and stalked away.
‘Brothels,’ announced Idonea in a loud voice when he had gone. ‘What kind of women are you looking for? Ones who are quick and cheap, or ones who have more time, but are expensive?’
‘Either will do,’ replied Roger eagerly. ‘We are not fussy.’
‘Barcwit’s silver,’ said Idonea, dropping her voice and leaning close to Geoffrey, so she would not be overheard. She waved her hands, as if she was giving him directions. ‘He lost at least fifteen crates. Why? Have you found them?’
Geoffrey thought about the boxes in Sendi’s cellar. The rival moneyer was the most obvious culprit for the theft, and a sturdy vault seemed a good place to hide his booty. But would Sendi be quite so brazen, when it was obvious that Barcwit would look to him first?
He answered her question with one of his own. ‘Did you hear what happened to Alwold in Westminster? When he was dying, he insisted on speaking to Maude.’
‘He muttered something about the silver, but it was nothing she understood – or at least, nothing that has allowed Barcwit to retrieve it. She is not a loyal wife.’ There was a wry gleam in Idonea’s eye as she spoke. ‘But I imagine you already know that. Barcwit is strong and dominant in the way he runs his affairs, but he is unable to satisfy his woman.’
Geoffrey thought about Maude’s invitation to meet him that very night. He still had not decided whether to oblige. ‘Rodbert seems to step in for that,’ he said absently.
‘I doubt it!’ said Idonea, shocked. ‘But Rodbert is slippery and cunning, and it would not surprise me to learn that he had this silver.’
Geoffrey conceded it was possible. He remembered Alwold vehemently refusing to confide in Rodbert as he breathed his last. Was that an indication that he suspected the deputy of the theft?
‘Alwold said someone called Piers had it,’ he said. ‘But there is no Piers in Bristol, and the Piers in Dundreg – the anchorite – died recently.’
Idonea nodded. ‘He was mad, and certainly not someone to entrust with a large quantity of silver. There is a man in Beiminstre called Piers, but half the town raced out to see him when Alwold’s dying words became common knowledge – Peter and I were among them.’
Joan had told Geoffrey that Peter and Idonea had hunted for the silver in the hope that its discovery might appease the King. He also recalled that Feoc had denied knowing any other men called Piers, which meant that either the priest was concealing information or his local knowledge was not as complete as he claimed. Or perhaps he had simply answered the question he had been asked: did he know a man called Piers in Bristol? Beiminstre was not Bristol, and neither was Dundreg.
‘What did this Beiminstre Piers say?’
‘That he had no idea what Alwold was talking about. Immediately after, he disappeared into the hills with his sheep, afraid Barcwit would come and ask his questions a little more persuasively. I am sure he is not Alwold’s Piers. But who stabbed Alwold? Was it one of Sendi’s men?’
‘Probably. Fardin had been murdered the same morning, and they seem the kind of people to indulge in tit-for-tat killings. I wish I could speak to Barcwit about all this, but he refuses to see me.’
‘He would not deal with you honestly if he did. At least, I would not trust anything he said. Have you seen him, so sinister in his dark clothes
and horrible hood? But I have been here too long, and people are beginning to wonder how many brothels I know about. Go to the inn called the Mermaid, which is near the bridge. That has clean women.’
The Mermaid was the kind of tavern that needed two burly men to guard its doors, so that those unable to pay the high prices charged by the women within, or those too drunk to behave, could not gain access. Roger almost had them barred instantly, with his stubbly chin, filthy clothes and leering grin, and the dog did not help by growling and baring its fangs. It was Roger’s coins that won the day, and Geoffrey was glad his friend had funds for bribery, because he did not. They found an empty table, ordered ale and took in their surroundings – surprisingly pleasant, with a roaring fire in the hearth.
Geoffrey was glad to be away from the castle. His disagreement with Joan still rankled, and he decided to think twice about doing what was right next time, because such behaviour nearly always led him into trouble and he was becoming tired of it. He wished he was more like Roger, who saw everything in black and white, and was seldom confounded by moral quandaries.
Roger leaned against the wall and began to assess which women would receive his advances that night. His eyes lit on a lady near the hearth. She was fair-haired and slender, and dressed in a kirtle made from some silken fabric that accentuated the elegant lines of her slim-hipped body. She held court with a heavily cloaked man, who was clearly relishing her company. Geoffrey was amused to note it was Clarembald, orange eyebrows poking from under his hood, and giving away his identity as openly as if his name had been chalked on to his back.
‘Not her,’ said Geoffrey to Roger, not wanting an altercation with the physician when there were plenty of other prostitutes available. ‘She is spoken for, so choose another.’
The Coiner's Quarrel Page 27
