discovered some literal way of earning his good fortune.’
Geoffrey frowned. ‘It sounds like superstition to me.’
‘Perhaps. However, if you do discover some actual, physical thing that turned William into a saint, I strongly recommend you leave it in Kermerdyn.’
Geoffrey regarded him askance. ‘But the King obviously wants it delivered to him.’
‘Do not even think of meddling in such matters, Geoffrey,’ said Maurice sternly, crossing himself. ‘Whether this secret derives from God or from sorcery, you would be well advised to leave it alone. I would not tamper, and I am a bishop.’
‘Not even for Henry?’
Maurice considered. ‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘not even for him. Although he could make life unpleasant for me on Earth, that is nothing compared to the eternity that comes after. So investigate this matter and be ready to give the King an honest report. But if the secret does transpire to be something tangible, leave it where it is.’
‘Very well.’
‘I am serious, Geoffrey. I promised Giffard to keep you safe, and that vow extends to your soul. Do not interfere in matters beyond human understanding.’
‘Come,’ called Henry, beckoning them forward as the messenger bowed his way out. He yawned. ‘Lord, I am weary! Have you two finished pestering me with silly questions?’
‘William fitz Baldwin’s secret,’ said Maurice worriedly. ‘You told Geoffrey to find out what it was, although I fear it may not be one you want to know.’
Henry’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, whatever it was did not protect William, because he died in suspicious circumstances. If my memory serves me correctly, there were rumours that he was poisoned. By rancid butter.’
Geoffrey could tell the information was not news to Henry, although the monarch did his best to feign astonishment.
‘Are you saying one of my constables was murdered?’ he asked. ‘That is a grave crime and one that must be investigated. Take Hilde with you, Geoffrey, and see what can be learned from Isabella about this secret. And if William was murdered, I want you to find the culprit.’
‘But William died seven years ago, sire,’ said Maurice, alarmed on Geoffrey’s behalf. ‘I doubt it will be possible to solve the case after so long.’
Henry smiled coldly. ‘On the contrary, if William was dispatched to gain his secret, it is just a case of seeing who at his deathbed has been showered with blessings ever since. Besides, William really did become a different man after he built Rhydygors, and I want to know why. I cannot have inexplicable events occurring in my kingdom – it may lead to trouble.’
‘Why look into the matter now?’ pressed Maurice. ‘Why not when it happened?’
‘Because I was not king when it happened,’ replied Henry shortly. ‘I have only had my throne three years, and there have been other matters to occupy me – such as quelling rebellions. But now my enemies are crushed, I find myself with more time to explore different matters.’
Except he would not be doing the exploring, thought Geoffrey. He would be lounging in abbots’ halls, eating raisins, while his hapless subjects trudged miles to distant castles to investigate incidents that had occurred far too long ago for any clues to remain.
‘I shall do my best,’ Geoffrey said unhappily, deciding that when he had completed this mission, nothing would keep him in England. Maurice would release him from his vow, and he would travel straight to Tancred.
‘Meanwhile, Maurice can explore Eudo’s death,’ Henry went on. ‘I want the culprit hanged.’
‘ I am not qualified to investigate such matters,’ said Maurice, horrified.
‘Then you will have to learn,’ said Henry shortly. ‘It is good for my bishops to develop a variety of skills. It is a pity Giffard was rebellious, because he would have done it.’
‘Very well,’ said Maurice. ‘Like Geoffrey, I shall do my best.’
‘Have you expunged the evil from my letters?’ asked Henry, nodding that Maurice was still clutching them. ‘Or shall I order a witch summoned to do it?’
‘Please, sire,’ said Maurice with quiet dignity. ‘Do not jest about such matters.’
Henry ignored him and looked back at Geoffrey. ‘And if you deliver my letters and send me William’s secret, I shall forgive you for helping Giffard escape last year. Do not look surprised, man! You know perfectly well that I am still unhappy with you for it.’
‘I accompanied him to the coast,’ admitted Geoffrey. ‘But I had nothing to do with his decision not to be consecrated. That was a matter between him and his conscience.’
‘He should have mentioned his qualms before the ceremony started,’ said Henry angrily. ‘It was not polite to leave in the middle of it. Nor to enjoy the adulation of commoners afterwards – they cheered him for defying me. He is my enemy now, and his friends are my enemies.’
‘In that case, perhaps you should entrust your mission to someone else,’ said Geoffrey.
‘How dare you!’ snarled Henry, coming quickly to his feet. There was a dangerous light in his eyes, and Maurice signalled frantically behind his back for Geoffrey to recant. ‘You are lucky Eudo is dead, or I would install you in my dungeons and send him instead.’
‘Sear is-’ began Geoffrey, ignoring Maurice’s increasingly agitated gestures.
‘How can I ask Sear to deliver a message to himself when he arrives in Kermerdyn?’ raged Henry. ‘He would do it, of course, honourable man that he is. But it is not for you to argue with me. Do it again and you will be sorrier than your darkest fears can imagine.’
‘My apologies, sire,’ said Geoffrey. His darkest fear was that Hilde and Joan would pay the price for his incautious tongue, and he was sure Henry knew it. ‘I spoke out of turn.’
‘Yes, you did,’ snapped Henry. His voice became a sneer. ‘You think someone tampered with Prince Tancred’s letters and that he still feels affection for you, but you are wrong. He will not miss such an insolent rogue, and was certainly sincere in his offer to put a noose around your neck. Now get out of my sight before I do it for him.’
Before Geoffrey could make a rejoinder, Maurice bundled him out of the room.
‘Are you insane?’ the Bishop hissed as soon as they were out of Henry’s hearing. ‘Do you want him to execute you? Then what would I tell Giffard?’
Geoffrey sighed and rubbed his head, anger subsiding as quickly as it had risen. ‘So the letters are a ruse, an excuse to take me to Kermerdyn and discover what turned an ordinary man into one who enjoyed wealth and success? And this same man died – possibly murdered with rancid butter – some seven years ago, and I am to discover how?’
‘So it would seem,’ said Maurice. His face was uncharacteristically bleak. ‘However, do not dismiss those letters as inconsequential, because I have a very bad feeling about them. Be on your guard at all times, and tell no one – no one – what you have been charged to do. Go with God, Geoffrey – I suspect you will need Him.’
Four
Near Goodrich, Herefordshire, October 1103
The journey from La Batailge to Geoffrey’s manor was one of the least pleasant he could remember. The weather turned sour on the first day out from the abbey and did not improve thereafter. Bitter winds and driving rain made riding miserable and turned the roads into boggy morasses, so progress was infuriatingly slow. The horses slipped and skidded constantly, and the knights, unwilling to risk injury to their expensive animals, walked more than they rode. Geoffrey had lost his cloak in the shipwreck, and the replacement that Roger had bought him did not keep him either warm or dry.
Furthermore, it was frequently impossible to find places to stay at night. Even Geoffrey, who had spent large portions of his life on campaign and was used to bedding down under hedges or in sheds, became tired of the discomfort, thinking it was one thing to sleep rough in the summer or in a desert, but another altogether in an English October.
Geoffrey and Roger also had to put up with Delwyn and Edward, who were poor travellers. Edward was an abysmal rider, incapable of making even half the distance the knights had expected. They might have abandoned
