‘That is true,’ admitted Eilaf ruefully. ‘Then the only thing standing between me and starvation is my conscience. Do not let yours bother you, or you will find it leads to all manner of dilemmas.’
‘I am a knight,’ said Geoffrey wryly. ‘Consciences seldom bother us.’
Eilaf chuckled softly. ‘Then be careful: too much thinking in Durham can be dangerous, too.’
‘In what way?’
There was a sudden hiss of wind that rattled all the window shutters, blew open the door, and had the dog galloping down the nave barking furiously. Geoffrey drew his dagger and ran to the door, rushing into the darkness of the churchyard and looking around to see whether their discussion had been overheard. He could see no one. Snow still swirled, although it was easing, and some discarded rags fluttered in an eddy between the churchyard wall and the gate, but they were all that moved.
He was about to assume the sudden noise was nothing more sinister than a strong gust of wind, when he saw fresh footprints leading across the churchyard to one of the windows and back again. He knew the prints had not been made by him, and the set that went towards the church were less clear than the ones that led away, suggesting that whoever had made them had remained near the window for some time. When Geoffrey looked more closely, he saw they were at the window the dog had growled at earlier. Someone had indeed been watching Geoffrey while he inspected the bodies. It was possible that someone had even followed him to St Giles’ – and had listened to his conversation with Eilaf.
A quick circuit around the outside of the church told Geoffrey that the only footprints other than the eavesdropper’s were the priest’s: whoever had been spying on him had gone. For the time being, he and Eilaf were alone. He left the dog outside, knowing it would bark if anyone else tried to approach, then returned to the priest, intending to learn more about the abbey. He was irritated to hear that it dabbled in a heavy-handed manner in the city’s affairs, and that Roger had not mentioned it.
But Eilaf had had enough of Geoffrey and his questions, and was busy extinguishing the candles so he could lock up the church and go home. A change had come over him since he realized someone had heard what he had said. He was nervous, and his hands shook when he blew out the flames.
‘You were telling me about the abbey,’ said Geoffrey, following him as he walked to the high altar. ‘Why do you recommend I leave the city?’
‘I can say nothing more,’ said Eilaf fearfully, all but shoving Geoffrey out of the way in his haste to finish his duties and leave.
‘You clearly know a good deal about the city and its relations with the abbey. Why will you not tell me about them?’
‘It is not my place to gossip. It is too dangerous.’
‘Dangerous?’ queried Geoffrey. ‘Is the situation so dire that even talking is considered risky? That is an unhealthy state of affairs. Perhaps I can help.’
‘No,’ said Eilaf brusquely. ‘You will make things worse if you meddle, so leave me alone before anyone else hears us. I do not want to wake up to find my house burning, or that someone has let the sheep at my winter cabbages.’
‘Someone would do that, just for speaking to me?’ Geoffrey was astonished. He knew the abbey was powerful, but other foundations held a similar sway over their neighbouring towns, yet people there were not afraid of reprisals because they said what they thought.
Eilaf did not reply, and pushed him out of the way to ensure a window was secure.
‘If you are right, the damage is already done,’ Geoffrey went on practically. ‘Someone heard us talking, so you have nothing to lose. Perhaps something can be done to break the abbey’s power.’
Eilaf sneered. ‘Who will do that? You, who will soon return to the Holy Land, and forget about us? Sheriff Durnais, a man so deep in Turgot’s purse he is almost a monk himself?’
‘Durnais favours the abbey?’ If that were true, then Geoffrey’s notion that Flambard had sent his missives to three men who would monitor each other was wrong: if the prior ruled the sheriff, then Durnais would not be keeping anyone in check. He would allow Turgot to do whatever he liked.
Eilaf walked down the nave, pinching the candles between a moistened thumb and forefinger to extinguish the flames. Geoffrey caught his arm and stopped him.
‘I promise I will arrange employment so you will not starve. But I need you to tell me about the abbey. Is the bursar at the heart of the problem?’
Eilaf tried to struggle out of Geoffrey’s grip, but he was too weak. After a few moments, he gave up and stared miserably at his boots. ‘Burchard offers protection to the city’s merchants: they pay him and he ensures nothing nasty happens to them or their businesses.’
‘Extortion?’ asked Geoffrey, startled. ‘Does Turgot know?’
Eilaf took a deep breath. ‘I hope not, because he does not seem to be a bad man. I have often wondered whether to tell him, but as soon as I set foot in his house, my courage fails, and I tell myself he would have to be a fool not to be aware of Burchard’s methods, so complaining to him would be useless – even dangerous.’
Was Turgot aware of Burchard’s activities? wondered Geoffrey. He did not know the prior well enough to hazard a guess. Turgot was desperate to see the cathedral – and the abbey – completed, and was fully prepared to use blackmail to ensure Geoffrey’s cooperation. He was a churchman, which should ensure some standard of ethics, but so was Flambard and that did not stop him from indulging in immoral activities. Geoffrey did not know what to think about Turgot.
‘Have your parishioners complained to you about all this?’
‘Of course. They asked whether they should unite and refuse to pay, but I knew the abbey would respond by declining to buy their goods, and would pressure others to do likewise. The rebelling merchants would soon find themselves destitute.’
‘Has Burchard actually acted, or does he just threaten?’
‘He acted. Those who were particularly outspoken against him had accidents – a house collapsed on one and another cut his foot on a carelessly placed spade. Nothing was ever said, but …’
‘Was Jarveaux similarly threatened, because he used you rather than the abbey scribes?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering whether the bursar’s talents ran to armed raids on the New Castle road.
Eilaf shrugged. ‘Not that he told me.’
‘You were his clerk. Do you know if he received any unusual letters or messages recently?’ Geoffrey wanted to know whether he had seen the map. With luck, it would have arrived, and Eilaf would know where Jarveaux had put it. Then, all Geoffrey would have to do was take it – by force if necessary – and hand it to Turgot. Then he would be free to leave the city and its nasty secrets, taking Roger with him.
‘Perhaps,’ said Eilaf, taking the last of the candles and using it to light his way down the aisle. ‘He had an odd missive two days before his death. Normally, he showed me everything – because he would not know what they contained unless I read them to him – but he did not show me this, which I found strange.’
‘I see.’ Geoffrey experienced a surge of hope. If the message contained a picture or symbols, like the other two maps, then there would be no need for Jarveaux to ask a scribe to explain it to him.
Eilaf stopped suddenly, and gazed at Geoffrey with frightened eyes. ‘He did choke, did he not? I mean, that missive – whatever it was – did not lead him to an unnatural death?’
‘Choking is hardly natural,’ said Geoffrey evasively, not wanting to unnerve the man by telling him Jarveaux had been poisoned. ‘Was this letter delivered by a knight?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Eilaf. ‘He had a mop of reddish hair and a scar on his face.’
Xavier! thought Geoffrey, pleased. So, Xavier had been one of Flambard’s agents, and he had completed his mission before he was strangled on the New Castle road. But why had he died? What was the point of killing the man after the message was delivered? Xavier’s role in the affair would have been over once the map was with Jarveaux. Or would it? Geoffr
ey realized there was a serious flaw in his logic.
Xavier had been with Flambard in Southampton, and had helped him to escape and flee the country. He was a trusted friend, and Geoffrey thought Flambard would be unlikely to use him as a mere courier. So, had Xavier delivered the map or had he visited Jarveaux for some other reason – perhaps to ensure he followed Flambard’s instructions? Geoffrey rubbed his head, and realized there were more questions to answer before he could draw any firm conclusions.
Eilaf glanced around him nervously. ‘I will tell you one more thing: be wary of Burchard. I see him creeping about the city at night, when my parishioners summon me for last rites.’
‘Alone, or are other monks with him?’
‘Both. Maybe he is out with the abbey’s blessing, but maybe not. But if you really want to find out, you can hide by the abbey’s back door, and when he slips out, you can follow him.’
‘You know a lot about Burchard’s nocturnal habits,’ observed Geoffrey, wondering whether Eilaf was the innocent he seemed.
‘I am not brave, and when I go out at night, I hide if other people come towards me. The bursar does not, so I often see him. I know it is him, because he has a distinctive gait. He lumbers, like an ape.’
‘Thank you for your help,’ said Geoffrey. He handed the man a silver coin. ‘I will mention you to Eleanor. Perhaps there are parts of the spice business she might need help with, and you can leave the brothel administration to the likes of the bursar.’
Eilaf grinned, then rummaged in the scrip that hung at his side. ‘I will not be needing this, and Alice has not asked for it. Keep it, and see what you can discover in your quest against the abbey.’
He handed Geoffrey a key, then waded through the snow to the meagre comfort of his home. Tiredly, Geoffrey lifted his dog over his shoulder and began the difficult trek to Eleanor’s house, wondering whether he would have the nerve to use the key to break into Alice’s house and rifle through her husband’s personal belongings in search of Flambard’s third map.
‘Where have you been?’ demanded Roger angrily, as Geoffrey was shown into Eleanor’s solar by one of her servants. ‘We have been worried!’
Geoffrey felt they had good cause. The blizzard that had started when he had left Alice’s home had intensified by the time Eilaf had made him leave the church, and it had been hard work walking back to Eleanor’s house carrying the dog. He was cold, wet, and exhausted.
‘I came home hours ago,’ added Eleanor accusingly. ‘We were afraid something dreadful had happened to you.’
‘We have more dead men than we can count, and Durnais and Simon are missing,’ Roger went on. ‘We are supposed to be working together, not wandering off alone and alarming the others.’
‘This is not a safe city,’ said Eleanor before Geoffrey could reply, so he began to feel that the opportunity to tell either of them where he had been would never come. ‘You should have taken some of your men with you if you wanted to go for a walk.’
‘Earlier today, you told me it was safe,’ said Geoffrey quickly, seeing Roger open his mouth to continue their duet of recriminations. ‘I did not want you to come home alone from Alice’s house, but you told me you would be fine.’
‘Durham is safe for women,’ said Eleanor impatiently. ‘It is not for men.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because of the monastery,’ said Eleanor tersely. ‘Men who speak out against it have accidents.’
‘But I have not spoken out against it,’ Geoffrey pointed out. ‘On the contrary, I have been ordered to work for it. I cannot be at risk from that quarter.’
‘If you think it is that simple, then you are a fool,’ said Eleanor sharply. ‘You are making the assumption that everyone at the abbey wants the same things as the prior. I am sure they do not: there are factions and parties inside it that want only what suits them.’
‘That is true,’ said Roger grimly. ‘Monks like that bursar strut about the city as if they own it, and make threats to force the townsfolk to do as they ask – especially where money is concerned. Did I tell you that, Geoff?’
‘Not really,’ said Geoffrey shortly. ‘But I wish you had, because then I would never have agreed to come with you in the first place.’
‘Just as well I forgot, then,’ said Roger practically.
‘The abbey’s treatment of the town is no secret,’ said Eleanor. ‘Merchants are cajoled into selling goods at ridiculously low prices to the abbey. Those who decline find that hitherto reliable customers have been “persuaded” to take their business elsewhere. Burchard offers “protection” too, even though the abbey is what most folk fear the most.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Roger. ‘What have you been doing all day, Geoff? Ulfrith and I had a good time in the taverns, but we learned nothing of interest. No one has any idea where Simon might be.’
‘I learned nothing from Alice, either,’ said Eleanor. ‘She mellowed after you left, but she either does not know or is not telling whether Jarveaux had his map. I hope your day was more successful.’
‘I have been in St Giles’ Church,’ said Geoffrey, reluctant to discuss with Eleanor what he had discovered about Jarveaux. She and Alice were friends as well as sisters-in-law, and he did not want to put her in a position where she might experience divided loyalties.
‘You can tell the truth,’ said Eleanor, reading his thoughts with an acuteness he found disconcerting. ‘All I want is for this map to be found so Roger will be safe. I will not tell Alice anything to risk that.’
‘Aye, you should not,’ said Roger vehemently. ‘She has always had too much to say for herself.’
‘Unlike you, I suppose,’ retorted Eleanor. ‘You have been talking all afternoon.’
‘About what?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘Who killed who during the Crusade, mostly,’ said Eleanor, shooting her brother a glance that suggested she did not consider it nice.
‘You disapprove of the Crusade?’ said Geoffrey.
‘I did not want Roger to go, because I knew what it would make him. He left a gentle, peace-loving man, and he has returned a hardened killer.’
Geoffrey regarded Roger doubtfully. The two knights had met near the beginning of the venture, before the slaughter and bloodshed that was to follow, and Geoffrey recalled Roger had been overly ready for a fight even then. On no account would he have described Roger as gentle or peace-loving. Not wanting to argue, he changed the subject.
‘What do you know about the priest of St Giles’? Is he honest?’
‘The poor love him because he charges less for his services than the monks,’ said Roger. ‘He was Jarveaux’s scribe, although he will lose that income now. Why do you ask?’
Eleanor smiled in understanding. ‘Because Geoffrey has been questioning Eilaf about Jarveaux and whether he received his map, and wants to know whether the priest’s testimony is trustworthy. Well, you can believe Eilaf. What did he say?’
Geoffrey relented, and decided to tell her what he had learned after all. He sensed he could trust her to act in the best interests of the brother she so obviously adored. ‘That Jarveaux received a message before he died, which may well have been our map. He did not show it to Eilaf, which suggests it was pictorial and therefore did not need to be read.’
‘Like the two we have already seen,’ said Roger.
‘He also told me it was delivered by a knight whose description matches Xavier.’
Roger sighed. ‘Good! Now we can tell Turgot that Jarveaux had the map before he died and he can get it from Alice. And that will be an end to the matter.’
‘I wish it were that simple,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But the reality is we do not know for certain whether Jarveaux received the map, or even whether that was why Xavier visited him. We can only surmise. And there is another thing. Jarveaux did not die by choking on his oysters: he was poisoned.’
Eleanor and Roger gaped in disbelief. Then they exchanged a glance that suggested they thought he might have broken his
snowy journey with a sojourn in one of the town’s taverns.
‘It is true,’ objected Geoffrey, irritated by their response. ‘When Alice said her husband broke the window in an attempt to get air, it was the poison that was choking him and making him flail around, not an oyster in his windpipe.’
‘Poisoned by whom?’ asked Roger, his voice loaded with scepticism.
‘I do not know. I am not even sure why, although it probably has something to do with this damned business of Flambard’s.’
‘No,’ said Eleanor firmly. ‘Alice would never tolerate her husband poisoned at her own table.’
The obvious response to that objection was that Alice had poisoned him herself. It would not be the first time an elderly man had been dispatched by a young wife, or vice versa, and Jarveaux’s death might be no more than a badly timed murder on Alice’s part.
Eleanor sat next to him. ‘I do not feel comfortable with any of this. I would order you away from the city tonight, but Cenred told me that all roads are totally blocked by snow. If this bad weather continues, you will be here for weeks!’
‘I would not leave you alone, Ellie,’ declared Roger chivalrously. ‘And when I leave for the Holy Land, you will come with me.’
Geoffrey regarded him dubiously. ‘A fortress filled with Crusaders is no place for a lady.’
‘We will find lodgings in the city,’ said Roger. ‘She will keep house while I go looting. You can sit at home and earn the odd penny by scribing.’
Geoffrey laughed, amused by the image Roger had concocted, and his own feeble role in it. But for all that, it was more appealing than helping the prior locate Flambard’s treasure.
‘It all sounds very comfortable,’ said Eleanor with rank disinterest. ‘But I do not want to live in a place where I will be obliged to thrive on the proceeds of slaughter. And anyway, none of us will be going anywhere unless we reason some sense into the muddle of facts you have accumulated. We should spend a few minutes going over what we have learned.’
Roger groaned. ‘Must we? My head aches.’
‘It always does when there is thinking to be done,’ said Eleanor unsympathetically. ‘Go and fetch some of that cold pork from the kitchen, then, while Geoffrey and I sort this out.’
The Bishop's Brood Page 20
