‘Well, I hope it was not obvious to Sear,’ said Geoffrey wryly, ‘because I was not accusing him. I was merely trying to learn whether Eudo had ever tampered with his correspondence.’
‘I imagine he did,’ said Roger carelessly. ‘Men who read are not noted for their integrity. And Sear almost certainly did kill Eudo. I told you the first time we met him that he was a villain.’
‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey, too tired to argue.
Roger nodded smugly. ‘So pay attention to what I say in future, because I am always right. Still, it is a good thing you had Hilde in bed with you last night, and not Pulchria. I imagine she would have screeched and howled and got in the way of the fighting. Hilde located your sword and handed it to you, but sensibly stayed out of the way.’
‘Thank God she was not hurt,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I wish I had not brought her. Do you think the King knew she would be thrown in the way of danger?’
He rubbed his head. Of course Henry would not want Hilde harmed. The Baderon clan was a powerful ally, and it would suit him to have one at Goodrich – he would not want Geoffrey marrying someone else. Unless, of course, the King had heard the rumours that Hilde – like her sisters, apparently – was barren and unable to produce the desired heir. But why would Henry concern himself with such an insignificant part of his realm?
‘You say you believe these men were the same as the ones who attacked us after Brechene?’ Roger asked, changing the focus of the subject. ‘That is unsettling. It means they have followed us here. But who are they? Are you sure you can remember nothing to let us identify them?’
‘It was pitch black, so I could not see. And they were silent, so I could not tell whether they were Welsh, English or Norman. But I am glad you arrived when you did.’
‘You had already ousted them, lad,’ said Roger. ‘They had gone by the time I arrived, more is the pity. How many of them were there?’
‘At least six, judging by the number of footsteps.’ Geoffrey hesitated. ‘I was too befuddled to notice last night, but what were our companions doing?’
‘You think it was them?’ asked Roger. He stroked his beard. ‘Delwyn, Edward and Cornald emerged from their room fairly quickly, all in a state of undress, and they did look as though they had been sleeping. Sear and Alberic were with me, but their men were later found to be missing. Gwgan and Richard were staying with friends in the village.’
‘What about Pulchria?’
‘You think she arranged it?’ Roger considered. ‘Well, she certainly resents the fact that you make it difficult for Bale to service her, and she is wealthy enough to hire villains. But I do not see this as the work of women, Geoff. And lest you think to ask, Leah was asleep, too – I could hear her snoring from the corridor.’
Geoffrey scrubbed hard at his face. ‘I must still be addled: of course none of them is responsible, not if the attack was by the same band that has harried us along the way. All our companions fought back when we were ambushed, which they would not have done if it was against their own hirelings.’
‘Delwyn and the women did not fight back,’ said Roger.
Geoffrey dismissed that notion. ‘Bear in mind that I may not be the only one carrying messages from the King. Sear is Henry’s favourite, Richard ranks more highly than me, and Edward is the Constable of Kadweli. Henry may have given them letters, too.’
‘I suppose it could have been a case of mistaken identity,’ said Roger doubtfully. ‘The raiders could not have known who was in which chamber. There was no moon, and the inn’s window shutters are very secure.’
Geoffrey did not know what to think.
‘Come to the church,’ said Roger, after more fruitless hunting for clues. ‘Fychan arranged for the body to be taken there last night. If we look at it in daylight, something might spring out at you.’
‘What body?’ asked Geoffrey, bewildered.
‘The body of the villain you killed, of course,’ snapped Roger. ‘What is wrong with you? Surely, you remember? And judging from the blood on the stairs, you injured at least two more. It was not a bad tally, under the circumstances.’
Geoffrey knew that some of his wild swings with dagger and sword had struck home, but his memories were distinctly hazy. Moreover, he doubted that looking at a corpse would advance his enquiries. But it would do no harm, either, so he followed Roger.
The church was a circular building with a sod roof and mud-brick walls. It was a poor structure for a village that appeared to be prosperous, although a pile of cut stones in one corner of the churchyard indicated something grander was planned.
Roger pushed open the door and wrinkled his nose. The place reeked of damp, and droppings on the floor said birds had made themselves at home. Attempts had been made to repair the roof and shore up the listing walls, but the building was losing its battle with gravity. It was clearly loved, though, because flowers had been placed on the windowsills, and the chancel had been swept clean.
The corpse had been set before the altar, and Geoffrey felt a surge of guilt at seeing one of his victims in a holy place. He crossed himself, wondering whether it would discourage Maurice from releasing him from his vow. Bale was already there, looming over the body like some massive carrion bird, head gleaming in the faint light from the window. Knowing the squire’s penchant for stealing from the dead, Geoffrey wondered uncomfortably what he had been doing.
‘Looking for clues to tell us who he was, sir,’ Bale replied in a sibilant whisper when Geoffrey put the question. ‘Sir Roger gave me permission.’
‘And have you found any?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Bale, although his failure did not seem to have detracted from his enjoyment of the task. ‘I brought Fychan here at first light, but he said he did not know the villain, either. And I know he was telling the truth, because I said I would slit his throat if he lied.’
There were times when Geoffrey felt unequal to dealing with Bale, and that morning was one of them. ‘You should not have said that,’ he said rather feebly.
‘No,’ agreed Roger. ‘Especially as poor Fychan was a victim himself – also knocked on the head. And, worse yet, relieved of all his money. Obviously, he was not complicit in the attack.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Fychan was attacked?’
Roger regarded him askance. ‘Yes. I told you about it last night. Sear and Alberic found him when they were conducting their search. He had been sitting in his kitchen, counting his money, and the villains burst in, punched him senseless and stole his gold.’
‘I do not remember,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But surely this puts a different complexion on matters? If he was assaulted, too, then-’
‘It means they saw a man counting his money and decided to earn themselves a little extra,’ interrupted Roger firmly. He walked to the body and pulled away the blanket that covered it. ‘It changes nothing. Now look carefully. Do you recognize him?’
Geoffrey stared at the unfamiliar features. The body was that of a man in his forties, heavily built with an oddly scarred nose. He wore leather leggings and a mail jerkin, and the sword at his side was in excellent repair. There was no question that he was a professional soldier. But was he one who had turned outlaw, robbing with a gang of like-minded men for his own benefit? Or was he a mercenary, who had sold his services to someone who wanted dirty work done?
‘I have never seen him before,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I would have remembered the nose.’
‘So would I,’ agreed Roger. ‘Are you sure there is nothing to identify him, Bale?’
Bale nodded. ‘He did not even have any jewellery. Whoever he was, robbery did not make him wealthy. Perhaps he was not very good at it.’
‘Or he was not paid much,’ said Roger. ‘But we cannot waste more time on this business. We should round up our companions and be on our way. Who knows? Perhaps when you deliver the letters, these attacks will stop.’
Geoffrey sincerely hoped so, but he had a bad feeling their arrival in Kermerdyn would just make matters worse.
They started to walk towards the door, but it opened suddenly, and both knights’ hands dropped to the hilts of their swords, and Bale drew one of his sharp little knives. The priest who entered cried out in alarm and took several steps backwards.
