the grounds to the north were populated by Benedictines who had been ousted from their usual haunts.
Eudo lay face down in one of the ponds, a short distance from the bank, and there was a knife in the middle of his back. It was a cheap metal weapon – Geoffrey had seen dozens of them lying around in the kitchens. The killer was not going to be identified from it.
‘Lord!’ muttered Maurice, crossing himself fervently. ‘Eudo is dead, and I have spent the last hour saying terrible things about him. God will not appreciate such behaviour!’
‘Eudo was arrogant and devious,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Being dead does not change that.’
‘You are a hard man, Geoffrey,’ said Maurice, sketching a blessing at him. ‘God forgive you.’
A number of people had responded to Delwyn’s shrieks of alarm. They included Sear and Alberic, who stood together with impassive faces. Edward was near them, fanning his face with his hand to indicate the run down from the abbey had been strenuous for him; Geoffrey wondered how he managed to control a garrison when he was so patently unfit. Meanwhile, Delwyn was leading a large party towards the scene of the crime, skinny arms flapping wildly.
As no one seemed inclined to do more than stare, Geoffrey waded into the water and hauled the body out. By the time he had the clerk on the bank, a sizeable audience had gathered. It included a large number of scribes and courtiers, plus several monks, although most Benedictines were at their mid-morning prayers. There were also servants, both Henry’s and lay-brothers from the abbey. They clustered around the King when he arrived, and several began to gabble at him.
‘Eudo asked me if I knew of a quiet place, so I told him it is always peaceful here,’ said Brother Ralph, the abbey’s sacristan. His face was ashen. ‘But I would never have suggested it, had I known…’
‘Who would want to kill poor Eudo?’ cried Pepin, appalled. ‘He never harmed anyone.’
Geoffrey glanced up to see a number of courtiers shooting each other meaningful looks and shuffling uncomfortably.
‘Who found him?’ Henry demanded. His face was a shade paler than usual, and Geoffrey saw that the death of a trusted scribe had upset him.
‘I did,’ said Delwyn shakily. ‘Do you remember me, sire? I am from the abbey in Kermerdyn; I delivered you some letters from Mabon.’
‘How could I forget?’ asked Henry dryly, looking him up and down. ‘Well? What happened?’
‘I came here for a quiet walk, because people keep picking on me when I loiter around the abbey.’ Delwyn shot Sear and Alberic a reproachful glance.
‘And what did you see?’ prompted Henry.
‘Eudo floating face-down in the water.’ Delwyn shuddered. ‘I am unused to violent death, and it was something of a shock. I am sorry if my agitated cries distressed you.’
‘Oh, they did,’ said Henry. ‘Especially when I learned poor Eudo was the reason for them. So why was he down here? I thought he had plenty of work to keep him busy in the Chapter House. God knows, enough of my court have complained about delays and hitches.’
‘He has been missing for several hours,’ said Pepin, rather tearfully. ‘We have been worried, because he never leaves us alone when there is important business to be done.’
‘Well, obviously he does,’ snapped Henry. ‘Because here he is.’
‘He spoke to me just after dawn,’ said Ralph. He crouched next to Geoffrey, peering into the dead man’s face. Then he reached out to touch it, although he withdrew his hand quickly and immediately crossed himself. ‘It is now mid-morning. It looks to me as though he has been dead for two or three hours at least.’
Geoffrey wondered how he could tell, although his own experience with corpses made him suspect the sacristan was right. Eudo was cold, but not yet stiff, and he could not have been dead for long – especially if he had been seen not long after dawn.
‘Do any of you come down here?’ asked Henry, gazing around at the assembled mass. ‘To escape the hurly- burly of court life?’
There was a chorus of denials and a lot of shaken heads.
‘Then did you see anyone else setting off in this direction?’ pressed Henry. ‘Think carefully, because Eudo was useful to me, and I am not pleased by his untimely demise.’
‘I may have seen him, sire,’ said Sear in a low voice. ‘At least, I saw someone hurrying in the direction of the ponds, but it was misty just after dawn, so I may have been mistaken.’
‘And he was on his own?’ demanded Henry.
Sear coloured. ‘I am sorry, sire. As I said, it was misty. He may have been alone, but he might equally well have been following someone who was already invisible in the fog.’
Henry turned to Ralph. ‘You seem to know about corpses. Tell me how he died. Was the knife in his back fatal?’
‘Well, it would not have done him any good,’ hedged the sacristan uncomfortably.
‘He drowned,’ said Geoffrey. He saw the King’s raised eyebrows and pointed to the foam that frothed from the clerk’s mouth and nose. ‘Only drowned men ooze so, and the knife wound is not in a place that would be instantly fatal.’
‘You are right,’ said Henry, leaning forward to look. ‘It is too high to have been mortal so quickly. So it seems he was stabbed first and then pushed in the pond.’
‘And churned mud and broken reeds suggest it happened there,’ said Ralph in an effort to redeem himself, as he pointed to a spot some distance away. Geoffrey was inclined to believe him, and went to look. Sear and Delwyn followed.
‘This is not your affair, monk,’ said Sear haughtily to Delwyn. ‘Mind your own business.’
‘It is not yours, either,’ flashed Delwyn.
‘It is – I am one of the King’s favourites,’ snapped Sear. ‘He gave me Pembroc Castle, so he will be interested to hear my opinion on this matter.’
While they sniped at each other, Geoffrey knelt and inspected the ground. There were footprints, but they were too smudged to be of any use, and some were likely to be Eudo’s anyway. There was also a smattering of blood on several reeds, which suggested that Eudo had indeed been stabbed first and then pushed in the pond to drown. Water had splashed into the footprints, and Geoffrey wondered whether the killer had followed Eudo into the pond and held him under until he was dead.
The only other thing was several silver pennies that had apparently been dropped during the struggle. Trailed by Sear and Delwyn, Geoffrey returned to the body, where a brief inspection indicated Eudo’s purse was still firmly closed. The money had not been lost by him, but by his killer.
‘What have you found?’ demanded Henry.
It was Sear who replied, speaking loudly and importantly. ‘The footprints are large ones. They were not made by an insignificant man, such as Delwyn here, but a bigger fellow, such as myself.’
‘Are you telling us you are the culprit?’ asked Delwyn archly. Several courtiers sniggered, and Sear flushed.
‘Do not be stupid,’ he snarled. He turned to the King. ‘It is just an observation, sire, which may help to solve the crime.’
‘Thank you, Sear,’ said Henry, with what sounded to be genuine sincerity. ‘Your observations are welcome.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sear smugly.
Henry smiled at him, and Geoffrey saw the knight was right when he claimed to be a royal favourite. Henry turned to Geoffrey.
‘And you?’ he asked. ‘What can you tell me?’
‘There were these,’ said Geoffrey, showing Henry the coins he had found.
‘Pennies from my mint in Pevenesel,’ mused the King, taking them. He did not hand them back, and Geoffrey saw them disappear into the royal purse. ‘Does it mean the killer is local?’
‘I have Pevenesel pennies, too, sire,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And so will most of your courtiers by now. Nothing can be concluded from it, except one thing: the killer is unlikely to have been a servant, because he would not have abandoned such a princely sum.’
‘A monk?’ asked Sear. ‘They are wealthy.’ He included Delwyn in his scathing glance.
‘I doubt a monk killed Eudo,’ said Henry, looking around at the throng in a way that made several glance
