The Bishop's Brood

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘No,’ said Geoffrey. ‘We cannot burst into the abbey and demand he is handed over. We only have Mother Petra’s word he is the man we want, anyway. And she is old.’

  ‘So? She is wiser than anyone else around here. She is also my great-grandmother.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose she is,’ said Geoffrey, thinking it astonishing that the simple and straightforward Roger should lay claim to such devious progenitors. ‘But leave Weasel for now. We know where he can be found, should we decide to question him later. First, though, I want to know what Burchard has discovered.’

  ‘Damned monks! Why do they always make things so complicated and sinister? It is because of all that writing, you know. I have always said no good would come of it.’

  ‘You sound like Simon. He also distrusts men who read.’

  ‘Quite rightly,’ said Roger firmly. ‘If we were meant to make scratches and spots on bits of parchment, we would be born with inkwells attached to our hands. I know you like to dabble in those black arts from time to time, but it is different for monks – they spend all day doing it, and it turns their minds to the ways of the Devil.’

  ‘Does it now?’ said Geoffrey mildly, his mind on other matters as Roger ranted.

  ‘Just look at the evil those maps have wrought. Men have died because of them – Peterkin, the roof-top brawler, Xavier and his squire, Jarveaux, Stanstede, and Weasel’s two friends.’

  ‘That is not the fault of the maps – it is the fault of the man who made them and the people who want to steal his gold.’

  ‘I have been thinking,’ said Roger, declining to continue a discussion that maligned his beloved father. ‘The prior said one of my father’s three Hospitallers was called Gilbert Courcy. I remember a lad of that name – a freckled-faced brat with big teeth.’

  ‘He grew up. I think he was the young man fighting on the roof-top in Southampton.’

  Roger stared at him in surprise. ‘How did you guess that when I have only just reasoned it out for myself? He was my father’s ward, and must have joined the Hospitallers as a novice. He would have been the right age for the fellow on the roof. I did not recognize him at the time, but there was something about him that was familiar: he had the same mop of brown hair.’

  ‘He recognized you, though.’

  ‘I know, and he was trying to tell me something. He wanted me to ensure that Aaron’s Rod did not fall into the wrong hands – “Brother Gamelo’s”, if I recall correctly.’

  ‘Not this again,’ said Geoffrey tiredly. ‘Flambard cannot give Aaron’s Rod to the cathedral because there is no evidence it existed after Aaron died.’

  ‘I suppose you read that, did you?’ asked Roger scathingly. ‘Well, your books misled you, and I know I am right. Gilbert Courcy was telling me to save Aaron’s Rod from evil-doers.’

  At the abbey, they asked whether the bursar was available, and were shown to the prior’s house, where Burchard was ensconced with his superior. Once again, the two knights waited in the hallway, while Algar, the ambitious secretary, went to see whether Burchard might grace them with his presence. Burchard, however, was in no hurry to see them, and Geoffrey was on the verge of leaving before he finally came downstairs.

  Burchard was not pleased that Geoffrey and Roger had disturbed him, so to appease him Geoffrey told him most of what he had learned. He omitted his suspicions about Simon, did not mention Alice was his prime suspect for the murder of Jarveaux, or tell him that Mother Petra said Weasel was a monk. Burchard listened carefully, but was not helpful in return. He declined to share anything he had discovered, then began to question the veracity of Geoffrey’s conclusions.

  ‘Who said Jarveaux was poisoned?’ he snapped. ‘Where is your evidence?’

  ‘The blistering on his tongue and hands,’ said Geoffrey patiently. ‘Go and see for yourself if you do not believe me. There must be men in the abbey who can deduce such things from corpses.’

  ‘Are you accusing us of harbouring poisoners?’ demanded Burchard.

  Geoffrey sighed. ‘You know I am not. I am trying to help.’

  ‘I do not need your help,’ said Burchard, putting his sweaty face close to Geoffrey’s in a way that was intended to be menacing, but that merely succeeded in annoying him.

  ‘And I do not need yours,’ he said calmly. ‘But the prior charged us with a task, and I imagine it will be easier for both of us if we cooperate.’

  ‘Cooperation is not in the best interests of the abbey. I would rather you ceased your meddling and left everything to me.’

  ‘There is nothing I would like more,’ said Geoffrey. ‘However, that is for your prior to decide.’

  ‘Do not take that attitude with me. I am no snivelling apprentice you can frighten with your vile Holy Land ways, like those lads in the market square.’

  Geoffrey was nonplussed by the accusation. As far as he knew, he had intimidated no one – unfortunately, not even the untruthful Alice. ‘I am not trying to frighten anyone,’ he said. ‘I only—’

  ‘I do not want you here,’ grated Burchard. ‘You poke about corpses that have been prepared for burial, you frequent brothels and the houses of loose women—’

  ‘Here,’ began Roger, offended. ‘I hope you are not talking about my Ellie …’

  ‘So do I,’ said Geoffrey, genuine menace in his words. He was not prepared to stand by and allow Burchard to insult Eleanor. Seeing he had overstepped the mark, the monk hurriedly pressed on with his litany of grievances.

  ‘You make women faint in the marketplace, and you spread scurrilous lies about the abbey. You are a bad influence here, and I wish you would leave, never to return.’

  ‘We have spread no rumours about the abbey,’ said Geoffrey.

  ‘You have been gossiping with the priest of St Giles’. And do not deny it: you were overheard.’

  So, Geoffrey thought, someone had heard his conversation with Eilaf – and watched him examine the bodies of Jarveaux and Stanstede – and the footsteps in the snow had been those of an eavesdropper in the pay of Burchard. Was it Weasel, whom Geoffrey knew liked to sneak around in the dark, or another spy? Or was it even Burchard himself?

  ‘Overheard by whom?’ he asked coolly. ‘Was it you creeping around like a thief, listening to other people’s private discussions?’

  Burchard bristled. ‘I do not perform such lowly tasks myself. I hire others for that.’

  On reflection, Geoffrey was not surprised. The bursar was too clumsy for such activities. He would have made heavy work of running away through the snow, and Geoffrey would have seen him.

  ‘Eilaf will pay for his indiscretion,’ Burchard went on nastily. ‘No one will use him as scribe again, and his parishioners will come to me for burials and weddings. That will teach him to tell lies.’

  ‘You are a petty, spiteful man,’ said Geoffrey in disgust. ‘The priest is not the only one who told me how you intimidate merchants into giving you money, and how you punish those who speak against you by destroying their businesses.’

  ‘I do no such thing,’ shouted Burchard, incensed.

  ‘But you have just described how you plan to deal with Eilaf, because he had the courage to voice what everyone else thinks anyway. No further proof is needed of the way you conduct yourself.’

  Burchard glowered. ‘And you pose a threat to the security of my abbey. I do not want you investigating the maps, so leave them alone. I will tell the prior of your decision.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Geoffrey, raising his voice to the point where he knew it would be heard in the solar above. ‘Inform Turgot that Roger and I are no longer acting for him – on your instructions.’

  His tactic worked, because there was a thump of hurried footsteps and the sound of a door opening. Turgot stood at the top of the stairs with Hemming behind him.

  ‘Wait,’ he called. ‘What is going on? What do you mean you are no longer helping me?’

  Geoffrey turned to face him. ‘I did not want to investigate this ungodly business, a
nd I only agreed because of Roger. Your bursar believes he can solve the mystery without my help, and I am more than happy for him to do so. Good morning, Father Prior.’

  ‘Stop!’ commanded Turgot in such a voice of authority that Geoffrey turned in surprise.

  ‘I was only—’ Burchard started.

  ‘I know what you were doing,’ said Turgot coldly. ‘You were countermanding my orders.’

  ‘No,’ objected Burchard. ‘I was trying—’

  ‘Geoffrey and Roger will continue to look into this matter,’ said Turgot icily. ‘And so will you. You said you knew the whereabouts of the lost map last night. Why is it not in my possession now?’

  ‘You have found it?’ asked Geoffrey.

  ‘I did not say I knew precisely,’ hedged the bursar, red-faced with shame at having been caught out in a truthless brag. ‘I said I was close to finding it.’

  ‘Close is not good enough,’ said Turgot, his blue eyes bright and hard under his monstrous eyebrows. ‘I want that map and I want it soon.’

  ‘That should not pose too much of a problem,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Roger and I know where it is.’

  Roger, Burchard and Hemming gaped at Geoffrey in astonishment, while Turgot’s eyes held a gleam of avarice.

  ‘Steady on, lad,’ whispered Roger hoarsely. ‘We do not want my father’s treasure falling into just anyone’s hands. I would sooner slit my own throat than tell the likes of Burchard what we have discovered. Whatever that is,’ he added uncertainly, making it clear his own deductions had not been successful in that quarter.

  ‘I am not just anyone,’ snapped Turgot. ‘I am the man who will realize your father’s plans and see his cathedral is completed. Where is the map?’

  Geoffrey leaned against the wall and folded his arms. ‘Of the three maps, the only one in the hands of its intended recipient is the one Roger gave you. The second – found in Simon’s house – I believe is the one that should have been delivered by Odard to Durnais.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ demanded the bursar, a disbelieving sneer on his face. ‘Durnais has been missing for days. He is probably dead in a ditch somewhere, given how many people connected with this treasure seem to meet with unpleasant ends.’

  That was very possible, Geoffrey thought. But it was equally possible the sheriff was happily wielding a spade in some godforsaken spot or other, hoping to find gold.

  ‘Let him speak,’ said Turgot, silencing Burchard with a wave of his hand.

  Geoffrey continued. ‘Odard was seen visiting Durnais in the middle of the night ten days ago. Durnais left Durham the following dawn, although everyone tells me he never usually strays outside the city. I conclude that something very important seduced him out of his stronghold: Flambard’s hoard. However, I also think Odard did not give him the real map, and he is looking in the wrong place.’

  ‘How have you reached that conclusion?’ asked Hemming, bemused.

  ‘One map alone will not reveal where the treasure is hidden – Turgot has two, and he still does not know where it is. Thus, Durnais would not have gone racing off to look for the treasure with only one of the things. Ergo, I think he was fed false information by Odard, perhaps to ascertain whether he would be tempted into trying to cheat Flambard.’

  ‘And he has failed the test,’ mused Hemming. ‘Flambard wanted prior, goldsmith, and sheriff to search for the treasure together, and Durnais has shown himself disloyal and greedy.’

  ‘The map you found in Simon’s house was the one he was supposed to have had?’ asked Turgot.

  Geoffrey nodded. ‘Although I do not know how it came to be there. Simon is Flambard’s son, so perhaps Odard trusts him.’

  ‘Where is he, then?’ asked Hemming. ‘Simon, I mean. He is said to be missing.’

  ‘Fled, I suspect, taking his pig with him,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He is fond of the animal, and if anything bad had happened to him, it would still be in its sty. I suspect the disappearance of the pig at the same time as the disappearance of Simon is more than coincidence.’

  ‘This is all rubbish!’ declared Burchard. ‘You can conclude nothing on the basis of a missing pig. The beast was not popular, and someone has probably killed it. It’s absence tells us nothing about Simon.’

  ‘I cannot believe we are discussing a pig while my cathedral stands on the brink of disaster,’ said Turgot, closing his eyes in exasperation.

  ‘But the pig is irrelevant,’ said Burchard insistently. ‘Its whereabouts have nothing to do with Simon, because Simon was seen in the city last night. You think he is missing, but he is not.’

  ‘You saw him?’ asked Roger eagerly. ‘Was he well?’

  ‘He was seen,’ replied Burchard enigmatically. He treated Roger to an unpleasant look. ‘All your trawling around insalubrious taverns with your stupid Saxon servant did you no good at all. You went to the wrong places and asked your questions of the wrong people.’

  ‘Then obviously Roger is not as well acquainted with insalubrious taverns as you are,’ said Geoffrey provocatively.

  Turgot silenced Burchard’s outraged spluttering with a raised hand. ‘So, Geoffrey, I possess the maps intended for me and for Durnais. Where is the one intended for the goldsmith?’

  ‘The priest of St Giles’, who is an honest man, saw Xavier visit Jarveaux, which suggests that the third map probably did reach its intended destination.’

  ‘You have not answered my question,’ said the prior with an impatient sigh. ‘I asked where the map is now.’

  ‘Eilaf helped me to determine that,’ said Geoffrey, fixing Burchard with a cool stare.

  ‘He is a good man, and will find his reward in Heaven,’ said Hemming with a smile.

  ‘I would just as soon he had his reward here, on Earth,’ said Geoffrey, knowing he was in a position to demand favours and fulfil his promise to the impoverished priest. ‘He should be found regular work as a scribe, and someone should ensure he has enough to eat.’

  ‘I will do it,’ said Hemming quietly. ‘I shall see he does not starve.’

  ‘But the man is a gossip,’ objected Burchard. ‘Rewarding him for treacherous talk will encourage disobedience and revolt among the townspeople. It will not do!’

  ‘Sometimes it is wiser to listen to the voices of discontent than try to silence them,’ said Hemming. ‘Perhaps I should look into the cause of Eilaf’s unhappiness – with your blessing, Father Prior?’

  ‘No, do not do that,’ said the bursar quickly. Hemming smiled an unreadable smile.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Turgot. ‘If I do not know what makes people angry, how can I redress the problem?’

  Geoffrey watched the exchange carefully. Did Turgot’s willingness for Hemming to investigate Burchard’s nasty activities mean he did not know how his bursar boosted the abbey’s finances? Eilaf wanted to believe Turgot was innocent, and Geoffrey had been sceptical, thinking that even a man tucked inside a monastery could not fail to be aware of what was happening in his city. But perhaps Geoffrey had been wrong.

  ‘It will be a waste of his time,’ blustered Burchard, guilt making him more belligerent than ever. ‘We have better things to do than listen to the ramblings of poverty-stricken priests.’

  ‘I will decide that for myself,’ said Turgot. He regarded his bursar thoughtfully. ‘I hope I will not hear tales of oppression. That would not do at all. I want people to love the abbey, not fear it.’

  ‘I will start immediately,’ said Hemming. His smile was serene, and it was clear he was looking forward to doing something that would show Burchard in a poor light, and in so doing probably increase his own standing in abbey and town.

  Turgot addressed Geoffrey, and his voice was hard and angry. ‘The whereabouts of the map, if you please.’

  ‘It was handed to Jarveaux by Xavier about a week ago, probably a day or so after Odard delivered his to the sheriff.’

  ‘These Hospitallers did not travel together, then?’ asked Hemming.

  Geoffrey shook his head. ‘Th
at would have been too dangerous. If they had been attacked, the thieves would have been in possession of two of the three maps. They travelled separately.’

  ‘If Xavier delivered this map a week ago, why was he killed two days later?’ demanded Burchard.

  Geoffrey wished he knew, because he did not want to admit to Burchard that there were aspects of the affair he still did not understand. ‘Xavier joined Stanstede’s travelling party at Chester-le-Street. I think he probably travelled there looking for the sheriff.’

  ‘But Durnais did not go to Chester-le-Street,’ said Hemming. ‘The villagers say he never arrived.’

  ‘Xavier probably did not know that.’

  ‘The answer to all this is obvious,’ said Burchard smugly. ‘Xavier went to Chester-le-Street to kill Durnais, who had gone there to dig for our treasure.’

  ‘But it was Xavier who died,’ Roger pointed out.

  ‘True,’ said Burchard. ‘But perhaps he killed Durnais first.’

  ‘These questions are impossible to answer as long as we are trapped in Durham by the snow,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But regardless, Xavier was killed en route to Durham. Maybe his murderer thought he still had the map. Eilaf said Xavier delivered Jarveaux’s message discreetly, so it is possible the killer did not know he no longer had it.’

  ‘Then he was killed for nothing?’ asked Hemming in a soft voice. He crossed himself and muttered a brief prayer. ‘How sad, and how pointless.’

  ‘So, Jarveaux did have his map, but then he died, too,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Murdered by hellebore.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Hemming, fascinated. ‘By whom? And why?’

  ‘We are not interested in the sordid details of Jarveaux’s death,’ snapped Turgot, on the verge of losing his temper completely. ‘We only want to know one thing: where is the map?’

  ‘Still in Jarveaux’s house, of course,’ said Geoffrey.

  Once the prior had the information he wanted, Geoffrey and Roger were unceremoniously dismissed, and the harried secretary showed them out.