‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey softly. ‘I doubt that would be wise.’
Epilogue
Reddinges, November 1103
It did not take Geoffrey long to recover from the skirmish, and he set off towards England the moment he was able to ride. Hilde insisted it was too soon, but Geoffrey wanted his interview with the King concluded as soon as possible. There were no ambushes as they rode, and Hilde was safely deposited at Goodrich, along with her widowed sister.
Then Geoffrey, Roger and Bale rode fast and hard to Reddinges, a place for which Henry held an unaccountable affection. There were rumours that he intended to found an abbey there, to atone for his sins. Geoffrey wondered whether Hywel’s murder would be among them, because as he travelled and had time to reflect on all that had happened, he decided it would have been all but impossible for the King not to have known what was in Eudo’s letters.
Before leaving Kermerdyn, Bishop Wilfred had given him William’s statue, claiming he did not want a pagan goddess in his church. It was, he said, a gift to the King.
When they arrived at Reddinges, they found it full of the customary bustle associated with the royal presence, with clerks and scribes everywhere. They met Pepin, who informed them that he had been promoted to Eudo’s post, but was finding it a trial, and Geoffrey suspected he would soon be relieved of the position. Pepin was no Eudo, and Henry would be looking for someone more devious.
While they waited to be summoned, Geoffrey sat in the parish church, reading. It was not long before Roger came to sit next to him. He rarely strayed far from his friend’s side now, mortified that he had missed a battle that had nearly claimed Geoffrey’s life.
‘What is that?’ he asked.
‘A letter from Giffard,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I told him about William’s secret, and he writes that we are wrong to assume that a statue, or even a vision, can turn a man into a saint. He says goodness comes from within and is ignited by the hand of God.’
‘Well, he is a bishop,’ said Roger dismissively. ‘He would claim that sort of thing.’
‘What do you believe?’ asked Geoffrey, although he suspected he would be better not knowing.
Roger shook his head. ‘Not that the statue has any particular powers. I touched it several times, but it did not make me feel holy. But perhaps I am holy enough already, what with having been on the Crusade.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But William believed it.’
They were silent for a moment, listening to the coo of a dove somewhere in the rafters.
‘Tell me again what happened,’ said Roger. ‘I did not pay much attention back in Kermerdyn, and the King might ask for my views. I will look foolish if I do not understand it all.’
‘I am not sure I understand it,’ said Geoffrey, amused by the notion that Henry would ask Roger’s opinion on so complex a matter.
Roger cleared his throat. ‘It began when Eudo decided it would be better for Henry if a Norman held the castle in Kermerdyn, because Hywel was too popular. He was afraid Hywel would think he had better things to do than swear allegiance to a Norman king and might make trouble.’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘He thought Richard fitz Baldwin would be a better choice, and told me himself that he thought Henry was wrong to have given Rhydygors to Hywel.’
‘So Eudo wrote letters to Richard and Gwgan arranging Hywel’s murder,’ said Roger. ‘And he hoped that the “secret” that made William and Hywel decent would act on the surly Richard, too.’
‘Yes. But Edward overheard Eudo and managed to gain access to his strongbox, where his suspicions were confirmed. He tackled Eudo by the pond at La Batailge. Eudo told him that no letters had been written, and, rather stupidly, Edward believed him.’
‘And then Edward killed him,’ said Roger.
‘Edward thought that Hywel was safe, but Eudo had already written the letters.’
‘And Henry gave them to you,’ said Roger.
‘Yes, he did, and refused to let Maurice rewrite them. That may imply Henry knew what they contained and thought he had nothing to lose by letting the plot run its course – he could always deny culpability, and Eudo could not contradict him. But, equally, he might have not thought it worth the bother of inspecting the work of a trusted scribe.’
‘Which do you think?’ asked Roger.
‘That Henry is innocent,’ lied Geoffrey, unwilling for his friend to know the truth, lest he blurted it out at some inopportune moment.
Roger continued the tale. ‘So Edward rode west, thinking the plot was thwarted, and was appalled when he saw you deliver a message to Richard. He tried to kill you before you gave Gwgan his, then tried to kill Richard with poison, but Abbot Mabon took it by mistake.’
‘It horrified him, so he left the business of dispatching Gwgan and Richard to his troops after that, telling them that they should not reach Kermerdyn alive.’
‘But their efforts failed, and Richard and Gwgan murdered Hywel. Delwyn had already been hired, too, ready to step in and deliver the letters, should anything happen to you.’
‘Delwyn lost more than his life,’ said Geoffrey. ‘His abbey will soon be under a Norman.’
‘That is a pity, because you had brokered a sort of peace between Wilfred and the abbey.’
‘Giffard’s prayer of kindness, compassion and forgiveness did that; it had nothing to do with me.’
‘Well, at least you forced Edward’s men to return the money they stole from Fychan at Lanothni. However, it was unkind to insist that a portion went directly towards a new church. It was Fychan’s money; you had no right to tell him what he could do with it.’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘I liked Lanothni’s priest, and the money will do more good with him than with Fychan, who would just sit counting it until someone else decided to rob him.’
‘Incidentally, did I tell you that I spoke to Pepin about the two letters that were confused?’ asked Roger. ‘Mabon’s epistle sent to Wilfred, and vice versa?’
‘What did he say,’ asked Geoffrey.
Roger smirked. ‘That he was very, very careful about what went where, because he had made mistakes before. He is certain he made no errors. But he left them for the King to seal.’
‘It was Henry who exchanged them?’ asked Geoffrey, shocked.
Of course it was, he thought. Henry wanted a report on the two churchmen, and what better way to test them than to arrange a ‘mistake’? He would not need Geoffrey’s report, because their reactions would tell him all he needed to know. La Batailge would receive St Peter’s tithes if Ywain was trustworthy and passed the letter to its intended recipient, and if Wilfred was honest, Ywain would write to Henry to claim the promised hundred marks.
‘But La Batailge did get the tithes,’ said Roger in confusion, when Geoffrey explained it to him. ‘And Ywain did not get the hundred marks. So why suppress the abbey? It was Ywain who was honest, not Wilfred.’
‘Quite. And an honest man is likely to lose in the long run. Or perhaps Henry appreciated the fact that Wilfred ensured a claim was not made on the treasury. Regardless, he prefers Wilfred, and my recommendation to let them find their own resolution was ignored.’
‘Leah will not be pleased,’ said Roger. ‘She vowed to stay in that abbey until she received a sign from God to say she is forgiven for murdering William.’
‘Perhaps she will think that is the sign,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Richard has agreed to take her back, so I imagine she will be looking for the first portent that appears. And she might pass Pulchria going the other way when she leaves the protection of the Church, because I understand that Cornald has finally been forced to recognize his wife’s illicit behaviour and is considering sending her to a nunnery. It would be appropriate justice.’
Roger nodded, then looked at Geoffrey’s dog lying contentedly at his feet. ‘Are you really pleased to have that thing back?’
‘Of course I am pleased,’ said Geoffrey, leaning down to ruffle the animal’s fur. It growled softly. ‘I missed
