‘God’s blood!’ he breathed, when Geoffrey limped into the stable with Giffard. ‘What happened?’
‘The missing silver is in Beiminstre, and Barcwit and God knows who else are on their way to claim it,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘My Lord Bishop believes that you and I can save a village, restore the silver to the King, and dispatch a few more traitors in the process.’
‘Then let us do it,’ declared Roger, undaunted by what seemed to Geoffrey to be an impossible list of objectives. ‘I am in the mood for a skirmish.’
He was thundering across the bailey before Geoffrey had time to respond, with Ulfrith whooping at his heels. Helbye followed more sedately, hand to his hip, while Durand slyly offered to lend Giffard his horse, in the hope that any fighting would be over by the time he had travelled the mile or so to Beiminstre on foot. Geoffrey’s new horse shot after Roger’s, and he was hard-pressed to prevent the beast from outstripping them all. He was in no state to arrive first and take on the traitors alone; even staying upright required more energy than he felt he had left.
Bristol was oddly deserted as they rode; almost every window shutter was closed, and there was not an open door to be seen. No animals roamed the streets, and the only folk who were out hurried about their business with their heads down. Geoffrey and his companions clattered across the bridge, and found no guard on duty to collect their tolls. Peter’s men had abandoned their posts, allowing the likes of Barcwit to go about their business unopposed. Bristol was a town without lawful leaders.
Roger set a cracking pace along the riverside path, with Giffard urging him on every step of the way, and Geoffrey and Helbye following less enthusiastically. It was not long before the first houses of Beiminstre came into sight, silent and serene in the morning sun, with chickens in the gardens and smoke oozing from chimneys. Geoffrey slowed his horse and indicated they should dismount.
‘Barcwit is in front of us, and we do not want to rush into his arms.’
‘The element of surprise,’ explained Roger to Giffard, as if the bishop were witless. ‘We shall ambush Barcwit – grab him and his silver.’
They tethered the horses, and moved forward on foot, creeping through the trees in an attempt to come as close to the village as possible without being seen. Giffard fretted that they were taking too long, and Roger was all for abandoning stealth in favour of an outright attack, but Geoffrey pointed out that they did not know how many men they might face. It was better to exercise caution.
Geoffrey wracked his brains as they walked, trying to guess the identity of the last traitor. Was it Bloet or Clarembald, both of whom were suspect and dishonest? Was it the Shopping Bishop, who had decided a consignment of silver would be just the thing to finance his favourite pastime? Rodbert, Maude and Tasso were dead, as was the treacherous Lifwine, while Sendi, Adelise and their men had fled for their lives. Who else was left? Someone from Bristol, who had decided Barcwit owed him something for his years of tyranny?
When they reached the main part of the village, he led the way along a track that ran along the backs of the houses and their long gardens. He could see St John the Baptist’s Church ahead of him, and wondered where Barcwit would go first. He rubbed his side and thought the ache in his ribs was robbing him of his concentration, because the answer to that question should have been obvious. Barcwit knew the priest held Alwold’s secret: he would go to Father Wido.
Like Bristol, Beiminstre was curiously abandoned, and Geoffrey hoped the people had had the sense to run when greedy men had started to arrive. When he reached the priest’s house, he crept up the path and opened the back door. A bench lay on its side, and several pots had been smashed near the hearth. A struggle had taken place, although he was heartened by the absence of blood or bodies. He heard his companions checking other houses, too, but they came out shaking their heads.
‘In here!’ called Giffard in a hoarse whisper.
Stomach twisting uneasily, Geoffrey climbed over the dividing fence and pushed past Giffard to enter the home next door. He was startled to see Clarembald lying on the floor, trussed up and gagged with his own bandages. The medicus was furious, and his orange eyebrows quivered frantically, to indicate he should be released.
‘No,’ said Giffard, when Ulfrith went to oblige. ‘When I told him I had released Sendi, he said nothing to stop me, even though he must have known the man was a criminal.’
Clarembald made the kind of noise that suggested he had an explanation, so Geoffrey slipped the gag from his mouth. ‘I was acting for the King,’ the physician snapped when he could speak. ‘Although Bishop John has done all in his power to thwart me.’
‘John de Villula is a traitor?’ asked Giffard.
Clarembald hesitated, and Geoffrey could see he was dearly tempted to say yes. ‘No,’ he admitted finally. ‘But when I heard you had let Sendi go, I said nothing, because there is another traitor in Bristol. I hoped Sendi’s release might flush him out.’
‘Who?’ demanded Giffard. ‘The real Barcwit, small of stature and large of aggression?’
‘Barcwit is just another forger,’ said Clarembald. ‘I am talking about someone far more dangerous.’
‘I do not believe you,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I saw you in Barcwit’s mint, lecturing his men about curses and the seriousness of some “situation”. You are in Barcwit’s pay, which is why you are trying to make light of his crimes.’
‘You were there?’ asked Clarembald, startled. ‘Was it you in that dark cloak, lurking in the shadows and making everyone uneasy?’
‘Do not try to change the subject,’ said Giffard sternly. ‘What were you telling Barcwit’s men?’
‘There is an outbreak of the pox among them, and I was called to treat it. Obviously, it is a contagious condition, and when I spoke of the “seriousness of the situation” I referred to the fact that that lecherous rabble might infect half of Bristol.’
‘The pox was the “curse that would see us all in our graves”?’ asked Geoffrey. He supposed it made sense – especially since Durand had mentioned the lecture Clarembald said he had given. ‘But why are you here now? To meet Barcwit and help him take the silver?’
‘No!’ said Clarembald, struggling ineffectually against his bonds. ‘I came to see whether I might catch this last traitor – not Sendi, not Barcwit, but someone else. I saw Barcwit heading this way and I followed him, in the hope that the real traitor would show himself, too.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Geoffrey, not sure whether to believe him.
‘I do not know, only that he has sided against Barcwit, and that he has helped Sendi in his crimes. That is why I was pleased when you released Sendi, and that is why I came here – to trap this man.’
‘And did this mythical creature follow Barcwit?’ asked Giffard, clearly unconvinced. He was not about to be misled a second time by the Court physician.
‘I am not sure,’ said Clarembald resentfully. ‘When I arrived, the villagers grabbed me and tied me up. So, let me go and we will catch this fellow together.’
‘You can stay here,’ said Giffard, replacing the gag. ‘I do not want you free when we tackle Barcwit. You are right: there is someone else after the missing silver, but there is nothing to say it is not you.’ He led the others out of the house, ignoring the furious sounds that followed them.
‘The church,’ said Helbye, pointing at it. ‘Perhaps the villagers have barricaded themselves inside, anticipating Clarembald to be the first of many.’
Geoffrey was worried. ‘Barcwit had a good start on us, so he must be here already. It is one thing knowing the silver is hidden in Beiminstre, but another altogether to find out precisely where. I think the villagers will be in the church. But Barcwit will be there, too, trying to prise answers from them – and I suspect they do not have what he wants.’
‘We will save them, then,’ said Roger gallantly. ‘I do not approve of outlaws bullying peasants. Besides, I would rather they told me the location of this silver.’
‘We
need to approach softly and silently, if we want to retain the element of surprise,’ warned Geoffrey. ‘Barcwit had at least nine men that I saw, and we are only four.’
‘Five,’ corrected Giffard, grabbing a spade purposefully. ‘A work tool is not a weapon; God cannot blame me if these villains walk into this while I happen to be holding it.’
‘Remember,’ said Geoffrey, afraid the bishop might swing it into action before they were ready. ‘Softly and silently.’
The others nodded, and they were off again, slipping through the trees until they reached the church’s main door. It stood ajar, and Geoffrey could hear voices coming from within.
All the villagers were there, their faces white and frightened. They stood against the wall, men on one side, women and children on the other, guarded by five men with crossbows. All eyes were fixed on Barcwit and four hard-looking mercenaries, who stood near the high altar. Father Wido was on his knees before them, making a supplicating gesture, while Barcwit held someone by an ear. Kea.
‘If you do not tell me where the silver is, I shall slice it off,’ said Barcwit in a voice that was chillingly matter-of-fact. ‘And if you still do not speak, I shall claim the other ear. Then there are his fingers and toes …’
With a piercing battle cry that had more than one villager screaming in terror, Geoffrey hauled his sword from his belt and plunged inside.
‘What happened to “softly and silently”?’ he heard Roger ask.
The archers wheeled around at the sudden intrusion, and released badly aimed arrows that snapped harmlessly into the walls. One hit a painting and left a mark, and an elderly lady gave a screech of outrage at the damage, before leaping forward to pummel him with her fists. Then all five were lost as the other villagers surged forward. They had been too frightened to save themselves, but their beloved church was another matter. Barcwit’s jaw dropped, while his remaining men took one look at each other and darted towards the door. They met Ulfrith, who dealt two of them stunning blows with his mace, leaving Giffard to disable the remaining pair with a swipe of his spade.
Barcwit acted quickly. He tightened his grip on Kea and raised his dagger. ‘I will slit his throat,’ he hissed, and Geoffrey could see he meant it. ‘You do not want the blood of an innocent on your head, so move back.’
After Barcwit had made his announcement, the silence in the church was absolute. The villagers stopped pummelling the archers, and gazed in horror as Barcwit pressed the knife more firmly into Kea’s throat. The boy’s eyes were wide with terror, and his little sister started to cry.
‘It is over, Barcwit,’ said Giffard softly. ‘Let him go.’
‘Barcwit?’ asked one of the villagers, startled. ‘That cannot be Barcwit. Barcwit is huge.’
‘He was small when I first met him,’ said Wido. ‘His evil powers must be leaching away, because he is so diminished in size.’ He took a step forward, and Kea howled as the knife nicked his neck.
‘No!’ shouted Geoffrey. Underestimating Barcwit would be fatal for Kea. ‘Stay back.’
Barcwit grinned. ‘You would be wise to listen to the King’s agent, Father. He knows that desperate men resort to desperate measures, and there cannot be a more desperate man than me – with no silver, no mint, no soldiers and no family. So, this is what we are going to do. Kea will lead me to my silver, while you stay here, nice and quiet. I will release the boy when I deem myself safe. If anyone attempts to follow, I will kill him. Is that clear?’
‘I know where it is,’ wailed Kea’s simple sister. ‘It is by the river.’
But Barcwit was not about to be hoodwinked by a child of six, whose thick speech indicated she was slow-witted. She was also transparently determined to save her brother. He ignored her.
‘You will have to keep Kea for the rest of your life,’ warned Giffard. ‘Because you will never be safe. Release him and give yourself up. I will not let you leave here, hostage or no.’
‘And I will not let you have the silver,’ added Roger, making it clear where his priorities lay.
‘I do not know where it is!’ Kea wept. ‘Honestly, I do not!’
‘By the river!’ insisted Kea’s sister. ‘My doll told me, before she was stolen by wicked thieves.’
Geoffrey winced, and wondered if Durand had ever returned the thing.
‘None of us know,’ said Wido reasonably. ‘Or we would have tapped into it by now.’
Barcwit seemed to flag, accepting Wido was right and that the villagers would certainly have taken a share if they had known where it was hidden. But the resignation on his face was quickly replaced by a deep, savage hatred, and Geoffrey knew he would not give himself up to a traitor’s death. A trickle of blood oozed down Kea’s neck, and the boy screwed up his face as the knife began to bite.
Geoffrey had no time to think. He drew back his arm and hurled his sword as hard as he could. It sailed through the air and landed in Barcwit’s chest with a nasty smacking sound. While the old man stared at it in surprise, Kea struggled away from him and dashed to Geoffrey’s side. Barcwit’s eyes closed, and he slipped to the floor, his blood staining the chancel’s beautiful white flagstones.
‘That is not what swords are designed to do,’ said Roger admonishingly, going to retrieve the weapon and ensure the man was dead. ‘You are supposed to use a lance for that sort of manoeuvre.’
‘I did not bring one with me,’ said Geoffrey tiredly, just grateful his unorthodox move had worked, when it could so very easily have failed. He glanced at Kea. ‘Are you all right?’
‘It is only a scratch,’ said Kea, adding tearfully, ‘but it still hurts.’
‘What if you had missed?’ Roger went on, disgusted. ‘You might have damaged the blade.’
‘Or hit the boy,’ said Giffard, shocked. ‘It was a risky thing to do.’
‘Not really,’ said Ulfrith. ‘He is good at throwing things. I saw that when he killed Rodbert with the inkpot back at Barcwit’s mint.’
‘I shall have to re-consecrate this poor church,’ said Giffard, inspecting the aftermath a few short moments had wrought. ‘I count three dead and seven wounded.’
‘You killed two of them,’ said Ulfrith admiringly, wanting the bishop to have the credit he felt was his due. ‘I only stunned the pair I caught, but your action with the spade was lethal.’
‘But they were bad men,’ said Kea kindly, seeing Giffard uncomfortable with his role as prime slaughterer. He turned to Geoffrey. ‘We caught a physician creeping around, claiming he was looking for silver-thieves, but we overpowered him and hid him in our house. Then we discovered that Barcwit was here, too, and he forced us all to come to the church.’
‘There is no need to worry about that now,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Barcwit is dead and you are safe.’
‘But what about the silver?’ asked Roger in dismay. ‘That is why we came, after all.’
‘I came to save these people from Barcwit,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I do not care about silver.’
‘Well, I do,’ said Giffard firmly. ‘Remember what we agreed? That to give Henry the treasure may encourage him to overlook Sendi’s release and Joan’s escape? And do not forget that Barcwit was not the only one looking for it. The people of Beiminstre will not be safe until we have this other traitor and the ingots in our hands.’
‘Why does everyone think we know where it is?’ asked Wido in despair. ‘First there was Clarembald, then Barcwit, and now you.’
‘Alwold told us,’ said Giffard. ‘With his dying breath. He said the priest of St John’s knows the secret. You are lucky Geoffrey has been discreet with the knowledge, or you would have been pestered a good deal sooner.’
‘Me?’ asked Wido, horrified. ‘I can assure you I do not.’
‘The others killed Piers the shepherd when he said that,’ said Kea’s sister, regarding Wido as if she thought he might be next.
Wido shook his head and spoke kindly. ‘He was not killed, child. He just ran away.’
‘He was killed,’ insist
ed the girl firmly. ‘He ran away first, but he came back and they killed him. Those others killed him. They probably stole my doll, too.’
Geoffrey rubbed his head tiredly, then crouched next to her. ‘What others?’
She hung her head. ‘Bad men. I told them the silver is by the river.’
‘Rowise does not know,’ said Kea, putting a protective arm around her shoulders. ‘She and the doll make up stories together – or they did, before she lost it. She heard the story of how Alwold mislaid his silver, and has been dreaming about it ever since. Children have wild imaginations, especially ones who are simple.’ He spoke as if his eleven years put him well into the realm of adulthood.
‘Alwold took his cart to the river,’ insisted Rowise. ‘My doll saw him, but he said he would throw her in the water if she told anyone. When she ignored him and told Kea, she disappeared. Alwold drowned her.’ She buried her face in Geoffrey’s surcoat and started to cry.
‘Now what?’ asked Roger, disheartened. ‘No one here knows what happened to the treasure, so we may as well give up on it.’
‘Perhaps, but we can still catch these remaining traitors,’ said Giffard. ‘This child told them the silver is by the river – whether or not it is true – so that is where they will be. We may have failed with the ingots, but we shall have them.’
Roger turned soulful eyes on Wido. ‘Are you sure you do not know where Alwold left it?’
Wido shook his head helplessly. ‘All Alwold said to me that day was he had been to visit Piers. But when I asked Piers about it, he said he had not seen Alwold in weeks. Alwold lied about that, and he lied about me knowing this secret.’
‘Poor Piers,’ said Kea sadly. ‘I shall miss him. He taught me how to fish off the old wharves. He liked it there, and sat on them every night to watch the sunset.’
‘Wharves?’ asked Geoffrey, his thoughts whirling as something occurred to him. ‘In Bristol?’
‘Here,’ said Kea. ‘They used to be busy, but the ones in Bristol are bigger, and ships prefer to go there these days.’
The Coiner's Quarrel Page 35
