away uneasily. ‘It must be a courtier. Or a knight.’
Because he did not like the notion of men standing around idly when they should be labouring on his behalf, Henry ordered everyone back to work, although he indicated that certain people were to stay. These included some of his favourites, the contingent from Wales, Pepin and several clerks, and Geoffrey. Maurice lingered, too, watching with narrowed eyes when the King caught Sear’s arm and whispered something that made him smile.
‘I do not understand what His Majesty sees in him,’ the prelate muttered to Geoffrey. ‘Oh, he is mannerly enough, and a bold warrior. But he is nothing unusual, and I do not see why the King makes a fuss of him.’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘Perhaps he just likes him. It does happen that men make friends.’
‘That is not the King’s way,’ insisted Maurice. ‘There is a reason for everything he does, and he does not dispense his goodwill lightly. But Eudo’s death is a nuisance for you. Now you will never know what he was doing with Tancred’s letter.’
Geoffrey nodded unhappily. ‘Did he have a close friend? One he might have confided in?’
‘No. Eudo was not a man for companions. Still, I am glad I gave you that letter after he was murdered – I dread to think what would have been said had you confronted him and hot words been exchanged.’
Geoffrey would not have cared, as long as he had been given answers. He was still shocked by Maurice’s discovery, and now he was also frustrated that an explanation for Tancred’s uncharacteristic threats should have been so tantalizingly close, only to be ripped away. He left Maurice and went to speak to Pepin, who was standing in a disconsolate huddle with his fellow clerks. He showed them the burned letter.
‘Have any of you see this before?’ he asked.
Pepin took it from him, then shook his head. ‘I do not see how it can relate to Eudo’s murder, because it is addressed to you. I thought you told me you could read.’
‘Did you drop it in the fire by mistake?’ asked another clerk. ‘Eudo did that a lot – either he got flustered and consigned documents to the flames that should have been kept, or he fell asleep while reading by the fire and set them alight by accident.’
Pepin glared at him. ‘It is unfair to reveal such matters to strangers, Justin. Do you want people to think badly of Eudo?’
‘I want them to know the truth,’ countered Justin. ‘He was not the paragon you claim. He was not even very efficient. We were always helping him cover his mistakes.’
‘The King trusted him,’ cried Pepin, distressed. ‘He dictated all his most secret letters to him.’
‘Yes,’ agreed a third clerk spitefully. ‘Eudo certainly knew his share of secrets, and was as closed-mouthed as any man, I will grant him that. Of course, it made him dangerous, and I imagine there are dozens of men at court who will be delighted he is dead.’
‘This letter,’ said Geoffrey, not interested in Eudo’s death. ‘Are you sure none of you has seen it before. It is important.’
‘Is it now?’ asked Justin snidely.
Pepin examined it again. ‘I am good at recognizing handwriting, but this style is unfamiliar. Besides, none of us knows Italian – we only use Latin and French.’
‘Eudo knew Italian,’ interposed Justin. ‘He was the only one who did.’
Geoffrey watched them walk away, inclined to believe they were telling the truth: whatever Eudo had done had not involved them. But what had he done? And how was Geoffrey to find out now that he was dead and his colleagues were ignorant of the matter?
‘Now I wish I had never given it to you,’ said Maurice unhappily, coming to stand beside him. ‘I would not have done, had Eudo’s corpse been found earlier. All I have done is given you cause for distress, and it will make you restless to leave, too.’
‘Leave where?’ asked Henry, appearing suddenly behind them. ‘La Batailge, to go and do my bidding in Kermerdyn?’
‘Leave England, sire,’ said Maurice, before Geoffrey could stop him. He took the letter from Geoffrey and showed it to the King. ‘I found this several months ago. Eudo had burned it.’
‘What does it say?’ asked Henry. ‘The language is unfamiliar to me.’
‘It contains fond greetings from Prince Tancred, and was written at Easter,’ explained Maurice, although Geoffrey wished he had kept his mouth shut. He did not want the King to know his business. ‘It is either a forgery, to encourage Geoffrey to ride to his execution, or it is a real letter from Tancred, showing friendship and concern – meaning the hostile ones were false.’
Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘And you believe Eudo was complicit in this affair? But why would he do such a thing? What did you do to earn his dislike, Geoffrey?’
‘I met him for the first time a few days ago,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He had no reason to wrong me. The only explanation that makes sense is that someone paid him to do it.’
‘An enemy,’ mused Henry. ‘I imagine your insolence has earned you plenty. In the meantime, this does not look good for you.’ He looked pointedly at Eudo’s body.
‘Geoffrey knew nothing of this letter until I gave it to him a few moments ago,’ said Maurice firmly. ‘And then I helped him look for Eudo and did not leave his side for a moment. He did not slip away to murder your scribe. I will stake my life on it.’
‘Then I shall believe you,’ said Henry. ‘Geoffrey does have a hot temper, though, and I have warned Sear to be on his guard as they ride west together. I am fond of Sear and do not want to lose him to a spat. But time is passing, and I have much to do.’
He flicked imperious fingers, and his people surged towards him, all eager to please. Sear and Alberic were the first to arrive. Edward followed more slowly, sighing theatrically when he saw that mud had stained the bottom of his fine cloak.
‘We were discussing your journey west,’ said Henry, smiling pleasantly at Sear. ‘I know you and Alberic would rather go alone, but travelling together will be safer for everyone. My roads are freer of outlaws now than they were in my brother’s reign, but you cannot be too careful.’
‘Well, I am more than happy to be in a large party,’ declared Edward. ‘And when we reach Brechene, we shall have my garrison to accompany us, too. I did not bring them all the way here when I was summoned to see you, sire, because it was more economical to leave them in Wales.’
‘Very practical,’ said Henry, smothering a smile. ‘How large a force is it?’
‘Two dozen men, all well trained,’ replied Edward. ‘At least, that is what my captain tells me, and I am sure he is right. They certainly look the part – all oiled leather and gleaming weapons.’
‘Good,’ said Henry. ‘You are all very dear to me, and I shall sleep happier knowing you will be in each other’s company.’
Geoffrey was instantly on his guard, knowing he was not dear to Henry at all. Was Henry’s insistence that the party ride together to protect Sear? Geoffrey did not think so – Sear looked perfectly capable of looking after himself, and so did Alberic. Was it Edward, then, who was unlikely to be much good in a fight? Or Delwyn? Geoffrey doubted the grubby monk would rate highly among Henry’s friends and could only conclude that it was Edward he wanted to safeguard.
‘It might be a good idea, sire,’ began Maurice that evening, ‘to rewrite the letters Geoffrey will carry tomorrow. Then we can be sure of their contents.’
They were in the Abbot’s House. Henry was sprawled in front of the fire in a cushion-filled throne. There were several dogs at his feet, and he was devouring raisins at a rapid rate.
Geoffrey had been summoned to attend Henry at dusk, but had been kept waiting while the King looked over a horse, and then again while he ate his supper. By the time he had been admitted to the royal presence, he was tired, restless and irritable. Maurice had elected to accompany him, lest he say something to land himself in trouble.
Geoffrey’s mind was not on the King’s business, but on Tancred’s letter. He had never broken a vow in his life, and it did not seem a good idea to start by reneging on one made to the Almighty. Yet he longed to resolve the misunderstanding with the man he loved as a brother. It occurred to him to write to Tancred, but how could he be sure that his message would not be intercepted and replaced by one that would make matters worse?
‘But I am sure of their contents,’ Henry was saying, his voice bringing Geoffrey back to the present. ‘Eudo wrote them for me.’
‘Quite,’ said Maurice baldly, and Geoffrey held his breath, wondering whether the Bishop had overstepped the
