ramblings of anyone else — and Walter’s clerks charge me a fortune for their services. I am loath to squander good money.’
‘It is addressed to Drogo,’ said Geoffrey, his interest piqued. ‘And dated five years ago.’
‘What does it say?’ asked Revelle. There was a pained expression on his face: he found the diversion tiresome and wanted to get back to Giffard’s epistles. ‘And who is it from?’
‘It is unsigned, but from someone who feared for his life. It is also in peculiar English, as if it was not its writer’s native tongue. Perhaps he was Welsh. It reads: The killer hunted me in darkness, and it is not long ere my light is gone. The great battle turned an already evil mind and Satan walks the earth.’
‘Lord!’ breathed Roger with a shudder. ‘That is unpleasant. I wish you had not bothered. There is a seal, too, at the bottom of the letter.’
‘It is not a seal,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It is a shape filled with red ink. It looks like an angel.’
‘Not an angel,’ said Roger, frowning. ‘It is some archaic weapon. Or perhaps Satan!’
‘Actually, it is a boat,’ said Revelle. ‘There are a number of families in Estrighoiel who have made their fortunes from shipping — like Cadowan and Nest. Perhaps one of them has taken this symbol to represent them. Regardless, it means nothing.’
But Geoffrey was not so sure.
Revelle left eventually, to Geoffrey’s relief. The pain in his arm had settled down to a dull nag, and he wanted to sleep. Or should he? He did not feel safe in the castle.
‘I will take first watch,’ said Roger, reading his mind, ‘and wake you later.’
Geoffrey lay down and fell into a doze immediately, having the soldier’s ability to nap anywhere and in almost any conditions. He felt better when he awoke, although his arm still throbbed unpleasantly. He supposed he should inspect it, but that would entail removing his armour, and he was reluctant to do that as long as he was in the castle. He decided to leave it until later.
To take his mind off it, he thought about what he had learned of Leger’s death. Unfortunately, it was pitifully little. He knew there were suspects in the town, the castle and the priory, and that all blamed the others for the man’s murder. He also knew Leger had probably been killed because Ivar had trusted him with a dangerous secret. Who had Leger gone out to see immediately after Ivar had confided his tale? Was that person the killer? Could it be assumed that it was no one at the priory, because Leger had left soon after the discussion with Ivar?
Geoffrey frowned. He could assume nothing, because the evidence was not there. He let his mind wander to Giffard, and hoped the bishop was enjoying his sojourn in Exeter. Then he thought about Ivar and his cave, and how dismal it must have been in winter, even for a man used to Greenland weather. And he thought about the sky- stone. Could it really heal? Why had it helped Nest and not Eleanor? Was it really because it would help only the living, and those who had already passed into death were out of luck?
Bored with waiting for dawn to come, he began to count the stones in the wall, working out patterns and multiples in his mind. He noticed that one stone stood slightly proud of the others, and the longer he looked at it the more he became sure that something was odd about it. He stood, and the movement disturbed Roger, who, rubbing sleep from his eyes, rose to see what his friend was doing.
It did not take Geoffrey long to see that the brick was loose. He tugged it out. Beyond it was a recess, in which was concealed a small box. It was beautifully made, and boasted three red chevrons, the de Clare family symbol. Geoffrey opened it. Inside was a crude wooden cross and several gold coins. Roger’s eyes gleamed.
‘Treasure!’ he exclaimed. ‘Who would have thought it? Give it to me. I shall put it somewhere safe, although you can keep the cross.’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It is evidence.’
Roger did not look impressed. ‘Evidence for what?’
‘Evidence that Marcus is the spy at the monastery.’
Roger gaped at him. ‘How in God’s name did you reach that conclusion?’
‘Because he, alone of the monks at the priory, wears a gold cross around his neck — all the others wear wooden ones like this. I suspect he was given a better one to wear in its place.’
Roger looked doubtful. ‘That is weak, Geoff. You are not thinking clearly.’
But Geoffrey had not finished. ‘He is arrested often, but is not put in a cell. He is brought here, where guests are housed. Why, if he is a prisoner? The answer is that he is not a prisoner at all, but a guest. He provides information, and Walter provides money. But Marcus cannot take it back to the priory, where communal living would give him away.’
‘So he keeps it here,’ finished Roger, ‘in a special box Walter has given him. I think you had better have a word with him at first light.’
Clouds had blown in from the west during the night, and the sky was a dark, ominous amber-grey. It was a shock after so many days of gentle sunshine. Roger regarded it uneasily.
‘The storm will be a bad one,’ he predicted. ‘They always are when clouds have that nasty yellow sheen. Perhaps you were right to be worried about your crops.’
Geoffrey was eager to talk to Marcus before Walter awoke; he did not want the constable to know he had guessed the identity of the spy. He left the castle and walked briskly towards the priory. His arm still ached, but there was no time for such matters, because all he wanted was to identify Leger’s killer and leave Estrighoiel as quickly as possible — preferably before Walter decided Geoffrey was not the sort of ally he wanted anyway.
There was a flicker of lightning, followed by a distant growl of thunder as he knocked on the gate, although it was a long way off. The same lay brother peered through the grille at them, but this time he opened the door and indicated that Geoffrey and Roger were to enter. They were not the only ones to visit: Cadowan and Nest had arrived before them. They nodded at the knights, although there was no warmth in the greeting, only unease.
Dawn prayers had just finished, and the monks were filing out of the church. Some, seeing the state of the weather, headed for the dormitory to collect hoods and cloaks before the deluge, while others drifted towards the scriptorium or the kitchens. Odo had cornered Aidan and was talking to him in a low, urgent voice, while Marcus turned and shot back inside the church when he spotted Geoffrey.
‘Where is he going?’ asked Roger suspiciously.
Ivar, who was passing and overheard, answered. ‘I noticed his mind was elsewhere during the Mass. I imagine he has gone to say a few more prayers, to salve his conscience.’
‘It needs salving for more than that,’ remarked Roger before Geoffrey could stop him. He spoke very loudly, and monks, Cadowan and Nest turned to listen. ‘He is the one who has been telling your priory’s secrets to Walter de Clare.’
Ivar gaped at him. ‘Marcus is the spy? No! It is far more likely to have been Odo.’
‘Odo? Why him?’ asked Geoffrey, watching as the prior broke away from Aidan and disappeared around the side of the church. His affable monk went in the opposite direction and was soon lost to sight among the chicken coops.
Ivar lowered his voice. ‘Because he pretends to be pleasant, but there is a black heart beneath his habit. My other suspect is Aidan, who alone of the monks likes to wander the town on his own. None of us knows what he does, and he gets testy when we ask. And the spy cannot be Marcus, anyway, because he is the one who is most vocal about the damage the spy does with his tales.’
And that, Geoffrey thought, was exactly what Marcus would say when he was confronted with the evidence of his treachery. He was about to say so when Ivar, seeing Cadowan and Nest indicate they wanted to speak to him, turned and broke into a run. They followed, making a comical procession as they rounded the church.
Then the gate opened again and Walter strode inside, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle; his four knights were at his heels. Their arrival was oddly timed, and Geoffrey wondered whether they had heard Roger’s pronouncement from outside — it had certainly been loud enough. Pigot’s dark face creased into a scowl when he saw Roger, although Revelle smiled a friendly greeting. Walter grinned when he saw Geoffrey, all teeth and no sincerity.
‘You are up early,’ the constable remarked. ‘I expected you to sleep late, given that you must have been tired after yesterday’s exertions. I am sorry business claimed me last night, depriving us of the opportunity to chat, but we shall rectify that today. I am eager to make better acquaintance with one of the King’s agents.’
Odo appeared suddenly from the direction of the church. He was breathless and looked flustered; Aidan was not far behind him. Odo stopped dead in his tracks when he heard Walter’s words.
‘You are the King’s agent?’ he demanded, regarding Geoffrey with alarm. ‘You did not mention that yesterday.’
