Dawn the following day was pink and gold, and although Geoffrey’s inclination was to leap out of bed and make preparations for leaving as soon as possible, Hilde persuaded him to linger, pointing out that no one else would be ready. All the guests had imbibed liberally the previous night, and even the vigorous Roger was drained by the journey from La Batailge. It would be a kindness – and good manners – to allow them a day to recover.
As they lay in bed, he told Hilde about the attack the previous night.
‘Do you think it had to do with the letters?’ she asked.
‘Not the one from Maurice, certainly. It was a recipe for cheese.’
Hilde frowned. ‘But Henry would not tell you what his missives contain. Perhaps someone does not want them delivered.’
‘That means the culprit is someone who was already at Goodrich, because no attempts were made to harm me as we rode from La Batailge.’
‘Not necessarily. You told me that none of your travelling companions – except Roger – knew about the King’s letters. They believed you carried one from the Archbishop and several from Maurice. But then yesterday you started passing out missives from Henry. Ergo, it was only yesterday that they learned what you really carried.’
Geoffrey stared at her. Hilde was right. Then he shook his head. ‘Sear, Alberic, Edward and Delwyn were trying companions, but none is the kind to loose crossbow bolts in the dark.’
‘Then perhaps we are going about this the wrong way – looking for suspects before assessing the evidence,’ said Hilde. ‘Tell me exactly what happened. Who else was nearby?’
‘Sear and Alberic were breathless shortly afterwards; they may have been running. So was Edward, who was sitting on the steps taking the air. Cornald claimed he could not shoot, but Pulchria contradicted him. Richard was aggressively defensive, and Gwgan invited me to challenge him in the butts.’
‘And the women cannot be dismissed, either,’ mused Hilde. ‘I can use a crossbow.’
‘I do not suspect you.’
‘I should hope not! But where were Pulchria and Leah when all this was happening?’
‘Leah was by the latrines, and Pulchria was near the chapel.’
‘If my opinion counts for anything, I would say you can dismiss Leah and Cornald. Leah is too timid, and Cornald likes making friends, not killing them.’
Geoffrey was about to quiz her further when there was a sudden yowl from the bailey. He went to the window to see what was happening.
‘Murder!’ Delwyn was screeching, racing from the direction of the latrine. ‘My abbot has been murdered!’
Geoffrey raced down the stairs in shirt and leggings, leaving Hilde to get dressed. The latrine was a thatched shed some distance from the other buildings. It comprised a seat that could accommodate three or four users simultaneously, separated by reed screens. It had been an evil place in Geoffrey’s youth, but Joan saw it cleaned daily, and fresh soil was shovelled into the pit each night to reduce odours.
Mabon was sitting in the last stall, clutching a fistful of leaves. He was slumped to one side, eyes closed, as if he had fallen asleep. Geoffrey poked him, but there was no response.
‘I have already done that,’ said Joan. ‘And there is no life-beat in his neck.’
‘It is murder!’ cried Delwyn.
‘What has happened?’ demanded Edward, thrusting his way forward. He stopped when he saw Mabon, and the blood drained from his face. ‘Christ God! Is he dead? But he was hale and very hearty last night.’
The other guests arrived to express their horror, too – Richard, Sear and Alberic pushing past servants with unnecessary roughness; Gwgan entering more gently; Leah, hands to her mouth in mute horror; Pulchria, one eye on the abbot, and the other on the men in the crowd; Cornald white-faced next to her.
‘Help me carry him outside,’ ordered Geoffrey. ‘It is not seemly to inspect him here.’
But Mabon was a large man, and his armour made him heavy. Sear and Richard helped, but Delwyn was useless, and Geoffrey was grateful when Roger elbowed the monk aside and lent his considerable strength to the procedure. Once they had manoeuvred Mabon out, they laid him on a bier and carried him to the chapel. Geoffrey ordered the servants back to work, but the guests lingered with Joan, Olivier and Hilde. Acutely aware of being watched by a sizeable audience, Geoffrey knelt to inspect the abbot.
Mabon was still slightly warm, so his death had not occurred long before, but there was nothing to say how he died. He was wearing mail and his black surcoat, but there were no breaches to indicate he had suffered a mortal blow, nor had he been struck on the head.
‘He may have had a natural seizure,’ Geoffrey said to Delwyn. ‘There is nothing to suggest he was unlawfully slain.’
‘Then it must be poison!’ declared Delwyn. ‘What other reason could there be for a healthy man to die so suddenly?’
Ignoring the murmurs of disgust from the onlookers, Geoffrey prised open the dead man’s mouth and peered into it. He was horrified to see a bloody rawness within. Clearly, the bombastic abbot had ingested something caustic.
‘You should not be doing that,’ came a voice at his shoulder. It was Father Adrian, a priest with good Latin, but bound by ideas that betrayed an unworldly naivete. ‘It is not nice.’
‘Neither is being poisoned,’ retorted Geoffrey. ‘And Delwyn is right: Mabon has swallowed something that seems to have seared his innards.’
There was a horrified gasp from the guests, and Adrian immediately began to pray. Edward, Hilde and Leah bowed their heads, but everyone else was looking at each other with expressions that ranged from shock to curiosity to disinterest.
‘Did you have to announce that?’ muttered Joan angrily. ‘It will do our reputation as hosts no good at all.’
‘Why would anyone harm Mabon?’ asked Geoffrey, cutting through Adrian’s petitions for the dead man’s soul. The priest glared but Geoffrey ignored him.
There were a lot of shaken heads and shrugged shoulders. Edward made a sudden dive for the door. There followed the sound of him being violently sick.
‘I am glad Kadweli is in such manly hands,’ muttered Richard.
‘It is a more honourable reaction than yours,’ snapped Cornald, his cheerful face pale with shock. ‘Cold indifference is never attractive.’
‘Then it is a good thing you are not a soldier,’ sneered Richard. ‘And-’
‘Why would anyone harm Mabon?’ repeated Geoffrey, more forcefully. He did not want to listen to his guests sniping.
‘Perhaps because he is not everyone’s idea of an abbot,’ suggested Delwyn, seeming more angry than distressed by the loss of his leader. ‘But that is our business, and it is not for outsiders to interfere. Now we shall have Ywain foisted on us, and I am not sure we are ready for that.’
‘That is a fine, compassionate attitude for a monk,’ said Sear in distaste. ‘And what do you mean exactly? Ready for what?’
‘For the future,’ snapped Delwyn. ‘And the changes it will bring. But it is not me who should be interrogated here. I did not kill Mabon – I loved him like a father.’
‘We can probably discount Delwyn as a culprit,’ murmured Hilde in Geoffrey’s ear. ‘He would not want Mabon dead if Mabon will be succeeded by someone he dislikes.’
‘Perhaps,’ Geoffrey whispered back. ‘However, Mabon despised Delwyn and refused to let him read the letter Henry sent. Delwyn lies when he says he loved Mabon.’
‘What will you do with that particular missive now?’ asked Hilde.
‘Give it to Mabon’s successor, I suppose. It contains orders to submit to the Bishop, so I imagine that applies as much to Ywain as Mabon.’
‘You are no doubt thinking that Mabon’s death means you are relieved of one of Henry’s quests, but you are not. He will expect a report on Ywain instead and his relationship with Bishop Wilfred. I will help you write-’
Hilde stopped speaking when Delwyn sidled up to them.
‘You had better give me the Archbishop’s letter,’ he said in a low voice. ‘And any others intended for Kermerdyn. After all, someone did try to kill you last night.’
