Rhydygors’ residents think him unacceptably nosy – or that Isabella’s sister had married a man not quite in control of his wits.
Hywel glanced around. ‘It will be, once it is finished in stone, although I wish William fitz Baldwin had sited it nearer the town. But I am always pleased to show guests my domain. Come. I shall take you around every nook and cranny.’
He was as good as his word, and, as he was willing to provide detailed information, it was easy for Geoffrey to identify which buildings had been extant in William’s time and which had been raised since. Hywel was proud of his little fortress, and Geoffrey might have found the extensive tour tedious had he not been assessing every inch of it for potential hiding places.
Unfortunately, there was nothing to find, because William’s buildings had been simple and functional, and there was little storage space. Geoffrey assessed the walls for hidden recesses, looked up the chimneys, and stamped across the floors to assess whether something might be buried underneath, but it was all to no avail. Moreover, it was obvious that William’s retainers would have noticed if their master had started digging holes or hacking at the walls.
Geoffrey suppressed a sigh when, once finished with the buildings, Hywel led him on an exhaustive expedition around the grounds. Again, there was nowhere William could have buried something he did not want anyone else to find, and Geoffrey was forced to conclude that whatever he was looking for was not in Rhydygors. He would have to look in the abbey and church.
When Gwgan had finished briefing Hywel’s troops about the outlaws, the Prince excused himself from Geoffrey to spend time with his counsellor. Geoffrey retrieved his horse from the stables and mounted up, intending to return to Kermerdyn to check on Roger. Hilde and Isabella came to intercept him.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Hilde worriedly. ‘It will be dark soon, and it is not wise to ride out alone, given what happened earlier today.’
‘Please stay,’ begged Isabella. ‘I have not thanked you for saving my husband’s life. He told me how you knocked away the knife that would have killed him today.’
‘There is no need to thank me,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But I have a letter for you, as it happens. From Bishop Maurice.’
‘Bishop Maurice?’ asked Isabella, startled. ‘Why would he write to me? I barely know him.’
Geoffrey could hardly say it was in order to disguise the fact that he was delivering more contentious letters from the King, so he said nothing and merely held it out to her, along with the now battered packet that contained the raisins.
‘Read it to her,’ instructed Hilde, taking the raisins and opening them. She began to eat them. ‘Or Isabella will have to wait for a clerk to become available, and I imagine she is impatient to know what it says.’
‘I am curious,’ admitted Isabella.
Geoffrey did not want to do it. ‘It might be personal,’ he hedged, suspecting they would all be embarrassed by its sentiments. Maurice had an unerring eye for beautiful women, and he would certainly have noticed Isabella.
‘It will not!’ laughed Isabella. ‘I did not help him with his unbalanced humours, if that is what you are thinking, so it can contain nothing to shock us. Besides, I am a married woman.’
Geoffrey broke the seal, forbearing to remark that a woman’s marital status was neither here nor there to Maurice when his humours were awry. He scanned the letter quickly, ready to omit anything indelicate. The first section contained some rather bald and inappropriate statements about her fine figure and alluring eyes, but the rest was, as Maurice had claimed, information about a place where good raisins might be bought. Geoffrey paraphrased the first part to render it innocuous, and read the second verbatim, while Hilde made inroads into the raisins.
‘Well,’ said Isabella, bemused. ‘It is good of him to remember me, but I am not sure why I should warrant such attention. Perhaps you will help me compose a suitable reply, Geoffrey?’
‘He did not send many of these raisins,’ said Hilde, shaking the packet to see whether there were any left. ‘You would think he would have been a little more generous. They cannot be easy to come by here.’
‘Oh, you can buy them readily in Kermerdyn,’ said Isabella. ‘We shall purchase some tomorrow, and Geoffrey will take them to Maurice as a gift when he returns to the court.’
‘So I am a raisin courier now?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering to what depths he would have to plummet before his duties to the King were complete.
‘We will buy you some, too,’ promised Isabella. ‘As payment.’
‘Please do not,’ said Geoffrey with a shudder. He took up his reins and prepared to leave, thinking he had abandoned Roger quite long enough.
‘Wait – I will come with you,’ said Hilde. She sounded disappointed that her reunion with her sister was going to be cut short.
Geoffrey smiled. ‘Stay. You and Isabella will have much to discuss.’ And, he thought but did not say, Hilde would be considerably safer in Hywel’s stronghold than in town.
He rode to Kermerdyn alone, alert for trouble. He thought about Hywel as he went, and decided it was not surprising that there was speculation that he had discovered William’s secret, because the man certainly possessed abilities and virtues in abundance. In fact, Geoffrey wondered whether that in itself would work against Hywel. There were men who would be jealous of such easy amiability, including King Henry.
When he arrived at the Trout, Geoffrey found Roger much improved and in the middle of consuming a gargantuan meal with Bale. He laughed when Geoffrey told him how Hywel had helped him search Rhydygors for William’s secret.
‘Let us hope he never learns the real reason for your interest in his domain,’ he said. ‘Incidentally, I have not been totally useless while you have been gone. I have done some investigating on your behalf.’
‘Have you?’ asked Geoffrey in alarm.
Roger grinned at his reaction. ‘Nothing to cause you trouble, so do not worry. I asked the landlord whether he knew where the Bishop might be, and he said we are fortunate, because Wilfred is in Kermerdyn this month. He spends a lot of time travelling, apparently.’
‘A few days’ rest will put Sir Roger back on his feet,’ said Bale, although Geoffrey could see the big knight would not need that long and suspected it was self-interest that prompted Bale’s remark. Pulchria lived in Kermerdyn, and Bale did not find it easy to recruit female admirers.
They talked a while longer, but Roger was tired and sleep soon claimed him again. Geoffrey lay on a pallet that he had placed against the door – anyone invading would have to move him first – and stared at the ceiling as he thought of all he would have to do the following day. At first light, he would visit the abbey, and deliver the Archbishop’s letter to Mabon’s successor. He would have to apologize for the fact that Mabon had died in his home, too, and then assess the new abbot for his report to Henry. He would also try to search the place for William’s secret.
When he finished that, he would deliver Henry’s letter to Bishop Wilfred and hope to spend long enough in his company to gather sufficient information for the second half of his report. That done, he would set about exploring the church. And if those places did not reveal William’s secret – and he had scant hope they would – he decided that he would tell Henry that a religious vision had turned William into a saint.
And William’s murderer? Geoffrey would just have to tell His Majesty that too much time had passed to allow him to investigate the matter properly. He was loath to pass on his list of suspects – now down to Delwyn, Sear, Gwgan, Cornald and Pulchria – lest royal retribution followed and four innocents paid the price for one guilty party. He would also admit that there was insufficient evidence to trap Mabon’s killer, and hoped the King would overlook the matter on the grounds that Mabon’s successor was likely to be more malleable and less likely to fight with the Bishop.
It took a long time for him to fall asleep. His rest was plagued by concerns that Henry was going to be less than satisfied with his performance and might demand another favour to compensate. He dreamed about Tancred, too, and the clerks whose poisonous pens had destroyed their friendship. One disturbing nightmare had Eudo rising from his grave to stab Bishop Maurice with a quill, for failing to lay hold of his killer. All in all, Geoffrey was relieved when the first glimmer of grey showed morning was approaching.
Although Roger claimed he was fully recovered, Geoffrey could tell by the stiff way he held his arm that he was not. Roger did not argue when Geoffrey declined his company; he seemed more than happy to spend the day in
