Geoffrey stared at him. ‘But that is miles beyond Goodrich! It is not on the way at all.’
And, he thought, there was always going to be trouble with the Welsh, and he could hardly remain at Henry’s beck and call until an entire nation was subdued. Secretly, Geoffrey thought the Welsh were right to fight for their independence from the acquisitive, ruthless and greedy Normans.
‘It is still my country,’ Henry pointed out. ‘And I need a knight who can speak Welsh – preferably one who understands the politics of the region.’
‘But I do not understand them,’ objected Geoffrey. ‘Not down there. They are not the same as around Goodrich. Moreover, the language is not the same either. It varies from region to region, and the people there will find me incomprehensible.’
‘I am sure you will find a way around it,’ said Henry dismissively. ‘But, as it happens, my commission is very simple. I want you to deliver a letter that I hope will avert any trouble.’
‘Deliver a letter?’ echoed Geoffrey suspiciously. This was hardly work for a knight – kings had trained couriers for that sort of thing.
‘Yes, and I am doing you a favour, because the recipient is your kin – the husband of your wife’s sister Isabella.’
Geoffrey regarded him warily. He had never met Gwgan or Isabella, although his wife had mentioned them. He hoped his new relation was not the kind of man who indulged in rebellion.
‘Is he accused of treason or some such crime? This letter is one he will not want to receive?’
Henry grimaced. ‘Why must you always think the worst of me? It is hardly seemly, and there is only so long I can be expected to tolerate your insolence.’
‘I am sorry, sire,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Recent weeks have been difficult, and I am overly tired.’
‘You look tired,’ conceded Henry, softening a little. ‘Dirty, too. It seems suppressing revolts has left you scant time to wash.’
Geoffrey thought it best not to respond to such a remark.
‘The letter to Gwgan is nothing to do with treason,’ Henry went on. ‘It is one he will be quite happy to receive, I assure you, loyal subject that he is. But its contents are sensitive nonetheless.’
‘You mean you want it delivered with no one knowing about it?’
‘Precisely! I shall write a missive to the local bishop, too – one that will involve a princely amount of money, and so warrants a knight to deliver it. And I shall include one to Abbot Mabon, for the same reason. They do not like each other, and I do not want Mabon to take offence because I wrote to Bishop Wilfred and ignored him.’
‘Who is Abbot Mabon?’ asked Geoffrey, a little bewildered.
‘Head of Kermerdyn’s abbey,’ explained Henry. ‘Mabon is Welsh, and Bishop Wilfred itches to replace him with a Norman. They bicker constantly and are always writing to me about it. Indeed, there is a messenger from Mabon here now.’
‘Is there?’ Henry’s court was vast, and Geoffrey had not tried to work out who was who.
‘A sly monk named Delwyn. Doubtless, he will want to travel with you when you go west, because it will be safer in a larger party.’
Geoffrey did not like the sound of that. But he made no comment and brought the subject back to Kermerdyn’s religious squabbles.
‘What will you do?’ he asked. ‘Back the Norman bishop who will have the support of the Church, or the Welsh abbot who will have the support of the people?’
‘You see?’ asked Henry with a wry smile. ‘You do understand the politics! You show more insight by that question than my clerks have revealed in great discourses. And I, of course, want to be popular with both Church and people. So I shall resolve the matter by doing nothing.’
‘I do not understand,’ said Geoffrey, intrigued despite himself.
‘One of them will emerge triumphant, and I shall back whoever it is,’ explained Henry. ‘I cannot be seen to be on the losing side, but the winner will be worthy of my approbation.’
‘But the winner might not be a man you wish to own as an ally,’ Geoffrey pointed out. The moment he spoke, he wished he had not, because a predatory smile suffused Henry’s face.
‘Then there is something else you can do for me – send me your impressions of these two churchmen, recommending which is more deserving of my support.’
‘I am not suitable for such a delicate task, sire,’ objected Geoffrey. ‘I am a soldier, not a diplomat, and may inadvertently give you poor counsel.’
‘You will not,’ said Henry, making it sound more like a threat than a vote of confidence. ‘And I shall be happy to have your views regardless. Besides, I am sure you are grateful for me giving you this opportunity to prove yourself.’
‘To prove myself?’ asked Geoffrey, bemused. Surely, he had done that by risking his life to prevent rebels from trying to take Henry’s throne.
‘I am in the process of exiling anyone affiliated with my brother, the Duke of Normandy – and you became a knight under his tutelage. However, I am willing to overlook that in return for this small service. Refuse me, and you lose Goodrich – and I am sure your sister will not be happy about that.’
Joan would be livid, and Henry knew it. Geoffrey felt his temper begin to rise. He was not one of Henry’s creatures, to be ordered hither and thither, but a knight who had survived the Crusade – his white surcoat with its red cross told all who saw it that he was a Jerosolimitanus, one who had liberated Jerusalem from the Infidel. He bitterly resented being manipulated.
‘I have no allegiance to Robert, and neither does Joan,’ he said shortly.
Henry nodded. ‘Then you will do as I ask. You will deliver the letters to Abbot Mabon and Bishop Wilfred, and spend a little time in their company to provide me with impressions. And you will deliver my missive to Gwgan without anyone else knowing.’
‘Yes, sire,’ said Geoffrey, making no effort to keep the resentment from his voice.
The letters were not ready when Geoffrey went to collect them from the Chapter House – which had been commandeered by the King’s clerks – and he sighed irritably when he saw he was going to be made to wait yet again. He was eager to be on his way now he had permission to leave. It was not yet noon – with good horses, he could be twenty miles away by nightfall.
‘I am sorry,’ said Eudo, not sounding at all contrite. ‘But we have more pressing business to attend than yours.’
‘I am sure you do,’ said Geoffrey shortly. ‘But it will not take you a moment to gather these letters together, and then I can be away to do the King’s bidding.’
‘I will do it as soon as I can,’ snapped Eudo. ‘But you looming over me will not expedite the matter, so go away. I shall summon you when they are ready.’
Infuriated that a mere clerk should try to dismiss him, Geoffrey promptly sat on a large chest and folded his arms.
‘I would not like you to forget,’ he said in a voice that carried considerable menace.
‘I will not forget,’ said Eudo, alarmed. Crusader knights had a reputation for ruthless ferocity, and Geoffrey’s battle-stained armour and the compact strength of his body said he was a dangerous man.
‘Good,’ said Geoffrey, watching Eudo sort deeds into two neat piles with unsteady hands. He sighed, never easy with intimidation, and tried to engage Eudo in polite conversation instead, sensing friendliness might better serve his cause. ‘What can you tell me about Kermerdyn?’
Eudo shrugged. ‘Not much. It is under the dominion of a Welsh prince named Hywel. The King installed him there on the advice of influential nobles, because he helped quell the rebellion on the borders. But it was a mistake.’
‘Why?’
‘Because everyone likes him.’
‘And that is a problem?’
‘It is. He is powerful in his own right, and I doubt he will want to remain the King’s vassal. He will rebel, and he will have a strong base, because we installed him in a fortress called Rhydygors.’
‘But if Hywel has any sense, he will see that it is safer to live in harmony than to wage a war.’
‘You would think so, but, in my experience, rebels are usually rather short on sense. Moreover, there is always the danger that he will encourage other Welsh princes to join him. Not everyone appreciates that the best
