rulers are Normans, and that we are acting for their own good when we subjugate a people.’
‘Right,’ said Geoffrey, amused.
‘It is true!’ declared Eudo. ‘I know, from studying tax returns, that your father turned Goodrich into a highly profitable venture, whereas it was struggling under the Saxons.’
Geoffrey nodded. Godric Mappestone had been a ruthless tyrant, who had subdued his tenants with a fist of iron and had made up for any shortfalls by helping himself to his neighbours’ resources and supplies.
‘Is that all you know about Kermerdyn?’ he asked. ‘That its ruler is popular?’
‘I do not waste time learning about distant outposts.’ Eudo flinched as Geoffrey stood, although the knight had not intended to frighten him. ‘But I can tell you that Hywel represents a threat to the stability of the entire region.’
‘Really? But alliances have been made with marriages. My wife’s sister, for example. Surely, these count for something?’
‘They may keep some Welsh leaders from taking up arms,’ acknowledged Eudo. ‘But the longer I chat here with you, the longer it will be before your letters are ready. With your permission, I shall be about my duties.’
It was bad enough that Geoffrey had again been coerced into doing Henry’s bidding, but to be forced to wait for scribes was outrageous. Tiredness exacerbated his irritation, and he was sufficiently annoyed that he did not trust himself to hunt out Sir Roger, who had been travelling with him to the Holy Land before the storm had intervened. Roger might react with violence if he felt Geoffrey was being insulted.
Instead, he went for a walk, his dog loping at his side. It galled him that Henry should manipulate him quite so readily, and it occurred to him to leave without waiting for the letters. But that would be a mistake: Henry was vengeful, and Geoffrey did not want Hilde and Joan to suffer the consequences.
It was difficult to find a place to be alone when the abbey was full of Henry’s retainers, but a bell chimed to announce that a meal was ready, and the church emptied quickly. Geoffrey walked to the chancel, which was blessedly free of kings and clerks.
‘Geoffrey! I had no idea you were still here,’ came a cheerful voice from behind him.
Geoffrey spun around quickly, vexed that he was not to be permitted even a few moments of peace, but his pique faded when he found himself facing Maurice, the portly Bishop of London. Maurice was famous for his absolute loyalty to the King, his building of a magnificent cathedral, and his insistence that he suffered from a medical condition that necessitated regular frolics with pretty women. Geoffrey had worked with him in the past and liked him.
He smiled, feeling his bleak mood lighten. Maurice extended his be-ringed hand for the traditional episcopal kiss, but the moment the formal greeting was over, he gave the knight an affectionate hug.
‘It is good to see you, my friend!’ he cried. ‘Bishop Giffard often asks for news of you in his letters and will be delighted when I can report that you are safe and well.’
‘You look well, too,’ said Geoffrey, meaning it. The prelate was rosy-cheeked and shone with health and vitality.
Maurice leaned close. ‘I have just had a couple of very pretty damsels, and my humours are in perfect alignment. Of course, it will not last, and I shall have to find another one before long. I do not suppose your lady is with you, is she?’
‘You mean my wife?’ asked Geoffrey, sincerely hoping the lecherous prelate did not intend to put Hilde on his list of conquests.
‘No,’ whispered Maurice, looking around hopefully. ‘Your other lady. The one who was with you last summer, whom I dubbed Angel Locks. She gave me such pleasure one night!’
‘Oh, my squire,’ said Geoffrey flatly. ‘Durand.’
It was a sore point. With his flowing golden hair and mincing gait, Durand had often been mistaken for a woman from behind and had not minded at all. Geoffrey did not like to imagine what he had done with Maurice one dark evening to convince the prelate that he was a member of the fairer sex. He knew only that Maurice was keen to repeat the experience and that Durand had been paid extremely well.
‘Is she here?’ demanded Maurice eagerly.
‘He is no longer with me,’ replied Geoffrey shortly. ‘I have another squire now. Bale.’
Maurice grimaced. ‘I do not know why you persist with this charade of pretending she is a man, Geoffrey. There is no other woman like her.’
‘We can agree on that,’ said Geoffrey. He changed the subject. ‘How is the construction of your cathedral in London?’
‘St Paul’s,’ said Maurice with a fond smile. ‘It proceeds apace, thank you. But I am surprised to see you here. I thought you would be in the Holy Land by now.’
‘I took a vow not to go,’ said Geoffrey unhappily. ‘And the King has found a mission for me. Again. Will he never leave me alone?’
‘Hush!’ Maurice glanced around uneasily. ‘Walls have ears, and so does His Majesty. Long ones. I do not want to be seen as a traitor, even if you do not seem to care what he thinks. But let us talk of happier matters. Tell me about your new wife. Is she pretty?’
‘She has nice eyes,’ said Geoffrey loyally. No one in his right mind would call Hilde pretty.
‘Well, a man cannot be too fussy about his wife,’ said Maurice. He saw Geoffrey’s troubled expression, and his voice became kind. ‘Henry really has upset you. What does he want? Is there more trouble on the Marches?’
‘In Kermerdyn,’ said Geoffrey. ‘On the opposite side of the country. It seems he expects me to keep the peace through all of Wales, which is a lot more than he demands of his earls.’
‘Geoffrey, please!’ exclaimed Maurice, glancing around uneasily again. He took the knight’s arm and led him to an alcove. ‘If you have no care to keep your own head attached to your body, then try to think of mine.’
‘Sorry,’ said Geoffrey, genuinely contrite this time.
‘You mentioned Kermerdyn,’ said the Bishop. ‘There have been rumours at court about Kermerdyn.’
‘What rumours?’ asked Geoffrey, hoping he was not about to be sent into a situation that was more dangerous or complex than Henry had led him to believe. ‘Anything I should know?’
‘It can do no harm,’ said Maurice. ‘And I have not forgotten what you did for Giffard last year. Nor has he, and he made me promise to watch out for you in return.’
‘You mean escorting him out of the country after he defied the King?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering whether this had factored into Henry’s commission.
Maurice nodded. ‘Henry was furious, and there are many who would not hesitate to kill anyone who vexes their King – not that Henry would condone an act of violence against the Church, of course. But he surrounds himself with some very vicious men, and poor Giffard will not be safe until Henry has forgiven him.’
‘Does Henry know it was me who helped Giffard to the coast?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘Yes, of course. Nothing happens in his kingdom without his knowledge. Perhaps you will wipe the slate clean with this favour you are about to perform.’
Geoffrey sincerely hoped so.
Geoffrey joined Maurice for a stroll in the abbey grounds, moving away from the populated areas and walking down a hill to a series of boggy fishponds. Because most of the court was still eating, it was peaceful there, the only sounds the eerie calls of curlews and the wind whispering in the reeds.
They discussed mutual acquaintances and the adventures they had shared the previous year when they had worked hard to oust the tyrant Robert de Belleme from Henry’s domain. Maurice talked about his cathedral, too, and Geoffrey wished he could see how it had progressed. Unusually for a knight, he was literate and had once entertained hopes of attending the university in Paris. Philosophy was his first love, but he might have enjoyed a career in architecture, too.
‘So what are these rumours about Kermerdyn?’ he asked eventually, eager to learn about the place from a man whose opinions he trusted.
‘Its castle – Rhydygors – was built some ten years ago by the Sheriff of Devonshire, one William fitz Baldwin,’ Maurice began.
‘Why would the Sheriff of Devonshire build a castle so far from his home?’
‘He was ordered to by the last king. It was odd, though. William was not a very nice fellow when he lived in Devon – I found him extremely unpleasant. But in Kermerdyn, he changed – he became God-fearing, honest and
