‘He does not have faith in your fighting abilities,’ explained Clarembald, tugging his arm free. ‘He insisted I come with him, in case you needed a physician.’
‘That is why I came, too,’ added John. ‘I did not want you to survive Sendi, only to be killed by the ministrations of this heretic.’
‘And I am here to see if you have news of the missing silver,’ said Bloet hopefully. The word ‘silver’ silenced the argument that was about to erupt between the two medics, and they waited with some interest to hear the answer. Silver was, after all, more important than another spat.
‘It is not at Sendi’s mint,’ replied Roger, who had taken more notice of the moneyer’s assets than had Geoffrey. ‘He had some secret supplies, but not enough to be Barcwit’s hoard.’
Bloet’s expression was one of acute disappointment, and he began a detailed discussion with Roger about whether the King could be convinced that the load Alwold had lost to robbers was smaller than everyone had been led to believe. Roger thought such a ploy might work; Bloet did not, on the grounds that he knew Henry rather too well.
‘Since you are here, perhaps you can answer a question about this man,’ said Geoffrey to the physicians, indicating the dead cambium. ‘How did he die?’
‘He was my patient,’ said Clarembald.
‘And there you have your answer,’ muttered John.
Clarembald ignored him. ‘I treated him for a hardening of the liver and other ailments caused by an excess of wine. He was dying when I visited him at Barcwit’s mint two days ago, and said then that he would not last another night. His death is no surprise.’
Geoffrey was thoughtful. ‘So, rather than simply bury him, Barcwit decided to put the body to good use, and have Sendi placed in a compromising situation.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Roger. ‘Maude’s letter did tell us to look in the cellar. How could she have known about the body unless she – or one of her minions – had put it there?’
Geoffrey turned to Clarembald. ‘When you treated the cambium, was Barcwit present?’
‘No, it was Maude who summoned me. Why do you ask?’
‘I have a lot to do,’ said Geoffrey, not inclined to answer questions when he had so many of his own. He considered tackling Clarembald there and then about his sinister relationship with Barcwit, but suspected the man would have replies at the ready, and any accusations were likely to draw gleeful and unwanted support from Bishop John. It was not the right time to confront Clarembald.
‘I will come with you,’ offered Warelwast, following Geoffrey outside. ‘Now Sendi has gone, Barcwit will feel himself all-powerful, and you will need your friends.’
‘He has all the friends he needs,’ said Roger shortly. ‘Me.’
‘One can never have enough friends,’ said Warelwast smoothly, ignoring Roger’s hostility. ‘I have done what you asked, by the way.’
Geoffrey had no idea what he was talking about.
‘Joan,’ said Warelwast impatiently. ‘You must have noticed that a little of her frost towards you has melted. I have some way to go, but I will succeed.’
‘Prayers,’ said Geoffrey, indicating Warelwast should enter the church again. He could hear the physicians shouting at each other, while Bloet was asking Feoc in a plaintive voice if he was absolutely certain he knew of no man called Piers in Bristol. ‘I need prayers to win her around completely.’
‘Now?’ asked Warelwast, knowing he was being dismissed, but not sure how to avoid it.
Geoffrey nodded, then exchanged a grin of satisfaction with Roger when the bishop-elect reluctantly did as he was asked. Then Geoffrey put the annoying cleric from his mind, and concentrated on what they had learnt from Sendi, and Maude’s role in bringing her husband’s rival to his knees.
‘Her whole plan smacks of something hastily thrown together. We know the cambium died naturally, so they probably decided to put his body in the cellar at the very last moment.’
‘That sounds reasonable, but you cannot prove it,’ Roger pointed out. ‘Feoc is right: Barcwit has got away with his crimes, while Sendi has allowed himself to become trapped.’
‘Barcwit has made mistakes, too,’ said Geoffrey, pulling the letter out of his surcoat. ‘This was sealed when I found it, suggesting Sendi has not yet read it. If he had, then he would have presented it to me – or to Giffard – and the case would have been over. Barcwit wrote it.’
‘What is it?’ asked Roger, without much interest. ‘And how do you know who wrote it?’
‘It carries Barcwit’s seal, and it is written in the same curly hand that I have seen on other documents issued from his mint. It is definitely from him. It was either stolen before he had the chance to send it, or it was taken from its recipient.’
‘What does it say?’
‘It outlines details of the plot to kill Henry. It will happen at his Christmas Court in Westminster, and will involve an ambush at the stables when he goes to hunt.’
‘Then that is that,’ said Roger, gratified. ‘We shall arrest Barcwit and his people, too.’
‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey with a sigh. ‘As soon as Peter’s men have eaten. I suspect they will consider Barcwit rather more daunting than Sendi, and they will feel better with full stomachs.’
Roger glanced at him. ‘You do not seem as pleased by this as you should. What is wrong?’
‘The letter from Barcwit,’ said Geoffrey unhappily. ‘It is addressed to Joan.’
When Geoffrey reached the castle, he found Peter in a state of wild panic. Even the sensible Idonea could not calm him, and nor did Olivier’s polite entreaties and Joan’s gruff demands for his silence. The cause of his terror was twofold: Bishop Giffard was approaching the town gates and would arrive within the hour, and Barcwit had got wind of the fact that he was next on Geoffrey’s arrest list and was said to be extremely irritated. From the agonized expression on the constable’s face, Geoffrey supposed that Barcwit’s irritation was deemed to be a lot more dangerous than it sounded.
‘What will we do?’ Peter wailed. ‘I thought we would have more time!’
Geoffrey did not see what the fuss was about. ‘We have Sendi and his forgers, and we will soon have Barcwit and his would-be regicides, too. It is almost over.’
Peter was distraught. ‘Poor Sendi was driven to his crimes by necessity – Barcwit gave him no choice. Barcwit is a monster, and I hope he dies at the end of a hangman’s noose. But that means I may die with him. He will tell everyone that I gave him money to murder the King.’
‘Compose yourself,’ snapped Idonea. She turned to Geoffrey. ‘Is it possible that Giffard will be so absorbed by Sendi’s crimes that he will forget to look at Barcwit’s?’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey patiently. She was grasping at straws. ‘He will consider regicide a far more serious offence than forgery. Besides, he is quite capable of judging two cases at the same time.’
‘But you have no evidence against Barcwit,’ said Joan in a small voice. She was frightened now the case was so close to its conclusion. ‘Not like the case you have against Sendi.’
‘I do,’ said Geoffrey. He took the letter from his surcoat, but did not open it. ‘This outlines Barcwit’s plot to murder the King. He will be found guilty of treason.’
‘Then you must destroy it,’ said Peter, white-faced.
‘And then what?’ demanded Geoffrey, rounding on him, so the constable took an involuntary step back. ‘We allow Barcwit to go free and he carries out his plan? He is unlikely to succeed, because Henry knows there are men who want him dead, and he is careful. Barcwit will die a traitor’s death, and so will every man, woman and child remotely connected to him – and you will be deemed doubly guilty because you had a chance to stop him and you failed.’
‘We should leave this town,’ said Peter shakily. ‘As I suggested days ago, when you first arrived and started to meddle. We must flee to Ireland.’
‘I am not going anywhere,’ said Idonea, although Geoffrey could see her
resolve was weakening. Giffard’s impending arrival had forced her to confront the fact that holding a castle against royal troops was a rash thing to attempt. ‘All we have is here. Do you want to live the life of a pauper in some Irish bog?’
‘It is better than choking on a gibbet,’ Olivier pointed out. ‘I spoke to Bloet this morning, and he says Geoffrey has no influence over the King – that even if he does speak in our defence, Henry will still do as he pleases. Bloet also thinks that Henry will refuse to spare Joan once he learns about the plot to kill him.’ His face was waxen, and Joan slipped a comforting hand into his.
Geoffrey was about to reply, when he heard excited voices, and turned to see Bloet, Warelwast and the physicians hurrying towards them, full of the news about Giffard. He was currently in Beiminstre, having a lame horse tended, but would soon appear to dispense justice in the King’s name. Warelwast was delighted, and Geoffrey supposed the bishop’s arrival had been included in his prayers.
Meanwhile, Idonea had thought hard about her husband’s suggestion. ‘I have a box of gold in my chamber. It will see us to Ireland, and we can come back after Barcwit kills Henry.’
‘Yes,’ said Peter desperately. ‘But we must go now. If we wait for Giffard, it will be too late. We will join Sendi in the dungeons, and that will be the end of us.’
‘You are leaving?’ asked Bloet. ‘If I were in your position, I would have gone days ago.’
‘It is probably prudent,’ agreed Warelwast. ‘But Barcwit will never succeed in killing the King, so I recommend you stay in Ireland for a year, and then write to Henry requesting a pardon. By then, this nasty business will be no more than an unpleasant memory, and he may allow you to buy your way home. Be generous in what you offer to pay, though. Royal justice does not come cheap.’
‘Well?’ asked Idonea of Geoffrey. ‘Will you stop us? I warn you, I will not be easy to subdue.’
Geoffrey was sure she would not. ‘You may go, but only if you take Joan.’
‘More people will slow us down!’ wailed Peter.
‘Then you can stay here and meet Giffard,’ said Geoffrey uncompromisingly.
‘No, Geoff,’ said Joan, clutching Olivier’s arm for support. ‘I will not run.’
‘You have no choice,’ said Geoffrey, thinking about the letter. ‘Henry will not spare you, and I should have known better than to believe he would.’
‘But where will I go? I have no funds to live in Ireland. Or will you take me to the Holy Land?’
Geoffrey pushed his purse into her hands; it contained the last of his money. ‘Take a ship to Barfleur and wait for me there. No one will notice if you leave now, because everyone’s attention will be on Giffard and the raid on Barcwit’s mint.’
‘I will see her safely on a ship from Exeter,’ offered Warelwast.
‘She is my sister,’ warned Geoffrey. ‘If anything happens to her …’
Warelwast unfastened the rope he had worn around his neck since Bath. ‘Here is my pledge that I will do all in my power to protect her – although, to be frank, she looks like the kind of woman who should be protecting me.’
‘Come with us, Geoff,’ begged Joan, as the knight took the troth from Warelwast and shoved it inside his surcoat. ‘You have uncovered enough to keep Henry happy, and Giffard can deal with Barcwit. He has men trained for that sort of thing, but you only have Peter’s rabble. Do not—’
‘We have no time to discuss it, and I cannot wait for Giffard, because I suspect Barcwit will try to escape.’ Geoffrey turned to Peter. ‘Are these troops of yours ready to fight?’
‘I do not know,’ said Peter backing away. ‘And I do not care. I am leaving.’
He turned and fled. Olivier began to pull Joan away, although it took Idonea’s strength and Warelwast’s encouragement to make her budge. Her face was a mask of distress, but Geoffrey had no time to comfort her. He needed to muster the soldiers and march on Barcwit before either the man barricaded himself in his mint – and Geoffrey was not interested in a siege – or he escaped to kill Henry. He thought about the letter in his surcoat, aware of its ugly presence burning against him.
With weary resignation, he saw the ‘elite’ soldiers had not even donned their armour properly and, rather than watch them prepare with the slow, fumbling fingers of inexperience, he ran the short distance to Barcwit’s mint, wanting to observe it and assess whether a raid was expected. He slipped inside the porch of St Ewen’s and waited. The mint was silent, which was suspicious in itself, because it should have been ringing with noise and exuding rank smells. It was not long before the door opened and someone hurried out. He was swathed in a hooded cloak, but Geoffrey recognized him, nonetheless.
‘Master Lifwine,’ he said, stepping out to intercept Sendi’s cambium and drag him inside the porch, so they would not be seen by Barcwit. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Let me go,’ screeched Lifwine, pulling a knife from his belt. ‘You have no right to manhandle me.’
Geoffrey jumped back as the cambium swiped at him. The lunge was clumsy and, although it missed him, it knocked over a bowl of water that had been left for beggars. Lifwine’s wet soles made patterns on the dry stone floor as he dodged this way and that, trying to edge around Geoffrey and escape. Suddenly, something clicked into place in the knight’s mind, and he understood exactly why he had noticed dirty footprints every time he had visited Barcwit’s house. He glanced at Lifwine’s expensively heeled shoes, an odd style that created distinctive marks. Lifwine had been a regular visitor there, taken to the upper chambers, where he could be entertained away from prying eyes.
Geoffrey was angry with himself for not pulling the facts together sooner. ‘I should have known.’
‘Known what?’ Lifwine scowled when Geoffrey evaded his blade a second time.
‘That you are Sendi’s traitor – because of what happened at Westminster, for a start. It was you who insisted most strongly that Roger and I murdered Fardin, even though we had no reason to do so. Your motive was that you did not want Sendi to kill one of Barcwit’s men – your real comrades – in retaliation. But Fardin was probably killed by Rodbert or Tasso.’
‘Rodbert,’ confirmed Lifwine. His voice was full of disdain. ‘To get to Maude, although much good it did him. She even bedded you in her new-found freedom, I am told.’
‘Leading folk astray over Fardin was not all you did for Barcwit,’ said Geoffrey, stepping away from another clumsy attempt to stab him, but making no move to arm himself. There was no need. ‘You stole Sendi’s dies and left the dead cambium in his cellar. Maude could not have done it, because she would not have been able to get in. But you are Sendi’s most trusted colleague, in a position to make copies of his keys. You killed Ceorl, too, who was on the verge of exposing you with his questions. And you betrayed Edric, by telling Barcwit he was only pretending to sell Sendi’s secrets.’
‘Maybe I did,’ said Lifwine, eyes darting towards the door and freedom. ‘Sendi is becoming too dangerous for the likes of me. I am beginning to prefer my chances with Barcwit.’
Geoffrey did not think his chances were much improved, if Edric was anything to go by. ‘You attacked me in Bath,’ he said, as another mystery became clear. ‘My dog ripped a gold pendant from one would-be killer. It was yours.’
‘How do you know that?’ Lifwine was becoming alarmed by the litany of accusations.
‘First, you have recently lost one: when I grabbed you in Sendi’s mint, I saw marks on your neck that indicate you have worn jewellery until lately. And second, the pendant itself gave you away.’
‘How?’ Lifwine stabbed again, stumbling when Geoffrey pushed him away.
‘It is old and worn, but clearly a gold coin,’ said Geoffrey, taking it from his purse. ‘It was your ancestor who struck gold coins for King Aethelred. There is no question that this belongs to you.’
Lifwine licked dry lips. ‘You misunderstood what I—’
‘Rodbert was with you in Bath,’ said Geoffrey, now g
uessing. ‘He is the kind of man to drown his victim, rather than engage in a fair fight. What about the ambush in Westminster? Was that you, too?’
‘No!’ cried Lifwine. He spat suddenly, causing Geoffrey to jump back in surprise; the knight had never seen saliva deployed in a fight before. At the same time, Lifwine abandoned his protestations of innocence, and took a firmer grip on his dagger, hatred burning in his eyes. ‘There was no need to attack you then, when we had the entire journey to Bristol ahead of us. I wish we had—’
‘Put down the knife,’ interrupted Geoffrey, tiring of the situation and wanting to fry some larger fish. ‘You cannot escape and you will only make matters worse for yourself if you resist arrest.’
‘I will never be taken by you!’ shouted Lifwine, although his eyes were wide with terror. He hawked again and, even though he knew it would not hurt him, Geoffrey still twisted out of the way.
Geoffrey had had enough. He disarmed the cambium with ease, and hurled him over his shoulder, to carry him to the castle.
‘Please!’ Lifwine howled. ‘I will do anything you ask, but do not put me in a dungeon with Sendi.’
‘Where is the missing silver, then?’ asked Geoffrey, not breaking his stride.
Lifwine began to shake. ‘I cannot tell you, because I do not know. Ask something else. Let me tell you about Sendi’s forgeries. He has been doing it for years, and forcing me to pass inferior coins.’
‘I know,’ said Geoffrey. ‘There is evidence aplenty to convict him. Tell me about Barcwit and his plot to kill the King.’
Lifwine began to sob. ‘There is no plot; I swear it! I would never associate myself with someone who planned to commit regicide. I have standards, you know.’
‘Perhaps,’ acknowledged Geoffrey, gripping him tight as the man made a last, frantic effort to escape. ‘But not ones I admire. You are the worst kind of traitor – one who betrays his friends.’
Thirteen
When Helbye told Geoffrey that Idonea’s ‘elite’ troops were ready, the knight informed the men that they were going to march against Barcwit in the King’s name. Some regarded each other with open horror, others looked distinctly uneasy, and only a few betrayed no emotion. Geoffrey hoped the brave ones would set an example to the cowards and not the other way around, because he did not want to find himself battling single-handed. After that morning’s debacle, in which Lifwine had been allowed to escape, he had no faith in any of them. As a measure of his distrust, he had even resorted to including Durand among the fighters. The squire joined the ranks of those who were terrified.
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