reduced to delivering letters and exploring nonsensical secrets for one he despised.
But he pushed such gloomy thoughts from his mind as he cantered through the village. People stopped to watch him pass, and one or two raised their hands in salute when they recognized him. Father Adrian stood from where he had been weeding his graveyard, but only crossed himself. He did not approve of warriors and firmly believed that Geoffrey was a ruthless slaughterer of unarmed women and children. Nothing Geoffrey said or did could convince him otherwise.
Geoffrey stopped to exchange greetings with Will Helbye, who had accompanied him to Normandy twenty years before and fought at his side. Helbye was too old for such antics now and had returned to Goodrich to retire with his wife and their collection of prize pigs. Delighted to meet his captain again, Helbye invited Geoffrey to share a jug of ale.
‘I cannot, Will,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I need to warn Joan that she is about to be invaded.’
‘My wife will do that,’ said Helbye, grabbing the reins of Geoffrey’s horse and indicating he should dismount. ‘She will not mind.’
‘Of course I will not,’ said the large, comfortable woman who emerged from the house, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Go inside and sit down, Sir Geoffrey. I will speak to Lady Joan.’
‘Invaded by whom?’ asked Helbye, when she had gone, and Geoffrey had given a brief explanation as to why he was not halfway to the Holy Land.
‘Two knights named Sear and Alberic, who have argued with Roger every step of the way, and another knight named Edward, who has managed to keep them from skewering each other. There is also a monk named Delwyn.’
‘That is not too bad,’ said Helbye, indicating he was to sit at the table. ‘Joan can cope with those. She already has visitors, see. There was some sort of fealty-swearing ceremony in Gloucester, and these people have stopped off on the way home. They are bound for Kermerdyn.’
‘Kermerdyn?’ asked Geoffrey, startled. ‘But that is where Henry has ordered me to go. What a curious coincidence!’
‘Not so curious,’ said Helbye soberly. ‘Those at court will know about this ceremony, and they will know that its participants would return this way.’
‘I doubt “those at court” anticipated that these fealty-swearers would stop at Goodrich.’
‘Yes, they would,’ countered Helbye. ‘Because one of them – Cornald the butter-maker – is friends with Joan and Olivier. He always stops in Goodrich when he travels out of Wales, and I know for a fact that he has mentioned it to acquaintances in the King’s retinue. Obviously, someone remembered and stored the information for future use.’
Geoffrey racked his brains for anyone who might have done such a thing. ‘Bishop Maurice? He knows Cornald, because he has given me a letter for him.’
Helbye smiled. ‘No, not Maurice. He is not treacherous, and he would never embroil you in anything devious. I imagine it was one of Henry’s clerks. They can read, and – present company excepted – that means they cannot help being sly.’
Geoffrey stifled a sigh at such prejudice and changed the subject. ‘Do I know anyone in this group from Gloucester? Or are they all strangers? I have never heard Joan or Olivier mention Cornald the butter-maker.’
‘You have not spent two full months here since you were eleven, so that is not surprising. Cornald has been a friend of your family for years. He is a lovely man, very generous. Everyone likes him. But his wife…’ Helbye shook his head, lips pursed.
‘What about his wife?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘She is a walking brothel,’ replied Helbye bluntly. ‘My wife says she has never met a more wanton specimen.’
Geoffrey wondered whether she would extend her services to the new arrivals, thus sparing the hapless locals. ‘Are Cornald and his wife the only visitors?’
Helbye rested his elbows on the table. ‘No, and the others are an unsavoury crowd, so you should be on your guard. First, there is Richard fitz Baldwin, a vile creature with a vicious temper. He has already struck Father Adrian. Of course, I would not mind doing that myself at times, but it has done nothing to dispel Adrian’s belief that all knights are louts.’
‘Richard,’ mused Geoffrey, thinking about the letter he carried inside his surcoat. It would be one less missive to deliver in Kermerdyn. Then he frowned. Adrian was sanctimonious, but he was a priest, so it went with the territory. ‘I cannot imagine Joan allowed that to pass unremarked.’
‘I thought she was going to hit him back,’ said Helbye with a grin. ‘But Olivier stopped her, so she settled for giving Richard a piece of her mind instead, which was probably worse. I felt sorry for his wife, Leah, who is a poor, sweet creature. She suffers from headaches, but it is probably Richard that gives them to her.’
Geoffrey winced. ‘Please tell me they are the only ones.’
‘I am afraid not. They are accompanied by a man named Gwgan, who is a high-ranking Welsh counsellor. He seems decent enough, although he can read, so you would be wise to be wary of him. He is your brother-in-law, married to Lady Hilde’s sister.’
Geoffrey stared at him. Helbye was right: it could not be coincidence that two recipients for the King’s letters should happen to be in Goodrich. Someone had arranged for them to be there when he arrived. Was that why Eudo had been so annoyingly tardy about producing the letters? To ensure he did not travel too quickly and so miss them?
‘Finally, there is Kermerdyn’s abbot – a man called Mabon. He is a curious devil; I have never met a monastic like him.’
Geoffrey put his head in his hands. Henry had given him missives for Sear, Richard, Gwgan, Mabon and Bishop Wilfred, and four of them were at Goodrich. What was Henry up to? Or was it Eudo’s doing? As Maurice had said that Eudo was apt to scheme on the King’s behalf, Geoffrey was inclined to believe the latter. So would the plot die now the clerk was not alive to see it through? Or would it stagger ahead, leading to danger for those unwittingly caught up in it?
No answers came, although Geoffrey made three decisions. First, he would give Richard, Gwgan and Mabon their letters that day, although he would still have to travel to Kermerdyn to deliver the ones to Sear and Bishop Wilfred. Second, he was not going to put his family in danger by staying at Goodrich; he would feed his guests, collect dry clothes, and be gone within the hour. And third, Hilde would not be going to Kermerdyn to wheedle secrets about William’s secret from her sister. He did not want her embroiled in whatever sinister plan was unfolding.
‘Why do you say Mabon is a curious devil?’ he asked, raising his head to see that Helbye was regarding him worriedly. It would have been good to confide his fears and suspicions, but Helbye, with his deep distrust of the written word, was not the right candidate.
‘You will understand when you meet him, and I do not have your way with words. But this subject has upset you, so let us talk of other matters. Would you like to see my new pig?’
It was tempting, but Geoffrey had already spent longer than he had intended with Helbye, and knew he should at least try to arrive at the castle before the others. He took his leave, promising to return later, when his guests were settled.
‘Watch yourself, lad,’ said Helbye, reaching up to grab his arm before he could ride away. ‘None of us at the village likes Lady Joan’s guests, and you will not, either.’
It had stopped raining by the time he left Helbye, and the clouds had rolled away to reveal a blue sky. The sun was shining for virtually the first time since La Batailge, and Geoffrey and his horse steamed in the sudden warmth. The rest of the day was going to be fine.
The bailey was busy as he trotted into it, full of horses and people. Some were servants, scurrying here and there with cloaks, boots and cups of hot wine. Others were richly dressed, and, since he did not know them, they were clearly the guests. In the middle of the hubbub was a small, neat man with a moustache but no beard – an odd fashion in England, when most men did it the other way around. He was giving orders to the servants, and a bird sat on his wrist, its head covered by a tiny leather helmet. Sir Olivier d’Alencon, Geoffrey’s brother-in-law, was about to take his visitors hawking.
The clamour lessened when Geoffrey appeared, and people stopped talking to each other to see who was coming. Then a woman broke free of the cluster and ran towards him, her face an unrestrained beam of
