‘I cannot go to the Holy Land,’ said Geoffrey, becoming impatient in his turn. ‘How many more times must I say it? I swore a vow.’
Roger opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the arrival of one of Eudo’s scribes, who came to say that Geoffrey was to report immediately to the Chapter House. Not sorry to be free of his friend’s testy company, Geoffrey walked there quickly, then sighed when he was ordered to wait because Eudo was out.
‘The letters are ready,’ said a portly Benedictine clerk named Pepin, pointing to a leather pouch on the table. ‘But he told me not to let you have them until he returned. He promised to be back before sext, so I cannot imagine where he might be. He is not normally late.’
‘Of course not,’ said Geoffrey, suspecting he would soon be told to return the following morning. It had not escaped his attention that most of the other petitioners had left, and his commission was one of the last to be completed.
‘No, really,’ said Pepin earnestly. ‘He is always extremely punctual, and it is not his fault you have been delayed. Indeed, he is anxious to get rid of this particular parcel.’
‘Oh?’ asked Geoffrey, instantly suspicious. ‘Why? Does it contain anything dangerous for the carrier?’
Pepin reached out to finger the material of Geoffrey’s surcoat. ‘You are a Jerosolimitanus, so nothing will trouble you. I heard that only the most dedicated warriors returned alive.’
That was true, although more soldiers had died from disease, thirst and starvation than in skirmishes with enemies. Geoffrey was not proud of what the Crusaders had done in other lands, and had considered abandoning the surcoat. Unfortunately, he, like all Tancred’s officers, had taken a vow to wear it whenever he donned armour.
‘Look inside the pouch,’ he suggested, when more time had passed and there was still no sign of Eudo. ‘To ensure everything is there. It would be unfortunate if I were to arrive in Kermerdyn and find someone forgot to put one of the missives in.’
Pepin bristled. ‘We may be slow, but we are not incompetent. I assure you, the package contains exactly what the King ordered us to include. No more and no less.’
‘Show me,’ ordered Geoffrey.
‘I suppose I can oblige, although you cannot take them until Eudo arrives.’
‘The letters,’ prompted Geoffrey.
Pepin opened the pouch and removed the contents. ‘There are five of them-’
‘ Five?’ interrupted Geoffrey. ‘The King told me there would be three.’
‘He changed his mind,’ said Pepin. ‘There is no point sending a second messenger when you can take the other two as well. Here is the first. It is the thickest and is for Bishop Wilfred. It tells him that some of his parish churches now belong to La Batailge – that the tithes accruing from them will come to this abbey, rather than to his own coffers.’
‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Geoffrey. ‘No prelate will be happy to receive that sort of news.’
‘No,’ said Pepin smugly. ‘I imagine he will be furious. But this endowment will make La Batailge the fifteenth richest house in England.’
‘I am sure Wilfred will be delighted to hear it,’ said Geoffrey acidly. ‘Especially as his See is in Wales. He will not mind his resources leeched away to fund already-wealthy houses.’
‘Has anyone ever told you that you have a caustic tongue?’ asked Pepin. ‘And it is not becoming in a man who has set eyes on the holiness of Jerusalem.’
‘Forgive me,’ said Geoffrey sourly.
Pepin sketched a blessing at him. ‘Very well, you are absolved, although you should bear in mind that God only forgives those whose penitence is genuine.’
‘Where is the letter to Abbot Mabon?’ asked Geoffrey.
Pepin held out a folded piece of parchment. ‘I have drawn a small green circle on the bottom, so you can tell it apart from the others, because it would not do to confuse them. You will not mistake Wilfred’s, because it is the thickest.’
‘I can read,’ said Geoffrey coolly. ‘Your coloured circles are quite unnecessary.’
‘Really?’ asked Pepin in surprise. ‘How curious! However, I would not attempt to digest these missives, if I were you. Even I do not know what is in some of them, because Eudo wrote them himself. The seals are special, too – tamper-proof. If you try to open them, they crack, and the recipient will know. Even I cannot bypass them, and God knows I have tried.’
‘I see,’ said Geoffrey. It had not occurred to him to interfere with the King’s messages, and he was astonished that the scribe should have done so.
‘So I am afraid you will have to carry them without knowing exactly what they say,’ Pepin went on. ‘But most messengers are in that position.’
‘I suppose they are,’ acknowledged Geoffrey.
‘I know what is in Abbot Mabon’s, though. It is not from the King, but from the Archbishop of Canterbury, and tells Mabon he must subjugate himself to Bishop Wilfred’s rule and defer to him in all things.’
Geoffrey groaned. It would not be easy gaining the measure of the two churchmen when he was the bringer of such unwelcome news. Had Henry done it deliberately, to make the commission more difficult? Or was it to annoy them both to indiscretion, to make Geoffrey’s task easier? Somehow, he suspected an agent’s ease would not be uppermost in Henry’s mind.
‘One of Mabon’s monks is here in La Batailge,’ said Pepin. ‘I imagine Brother Delwyn will ask to travel with you to Kermerdyn. The highways are not as dangerous as they were under King William Rufus, but it is a rash man who risks them alone.’
‘Then why does he not deliver the letter to Mabon?’ asked Geoffrey irritably.
‘He is keen to do just that, but the King gave specific orders that you were to do it.’ Pepin shrugged. ‘I have no idea why, and neither does Eudo.’
Geoffrey rubbed his head. The quest was becoming less appealing by the moment. ‘The next letter is to Gwgan,’ he said, reading the name.
Pepin nodded. ‘I understand he is the husband of your wife’s sister.’
‘News travels fast,’ remarked Geoffrey.
‘The King told me,’ said Pepin. ‘He also said that you can be trusted absolutely.’
‘Good,’ muttered Geoffrey, wondering whether he should bungle the mission, so Henry would be less inclined to ask for his help in future.
‘Its contents are secret, so I cannot divulge what is in it,’ said Pepin. Then he grimaced. ‘Well, I could not even if I wanted to, because Eudo would not let me see it. The fourth letter is for Richard fitz Baldwin. Its contents are highly sensitive, too.’
‘Richard fitz Baldwin,’ said Geoffrey, frowning. ‘He is the brother of the man who built Kermerdyn’s castle – and then died of an inexplicable fever.’
Pepin nodded appreciatively. ‘Taking the trouble to learn about the people there shows initiative. There were rumours that William fitz Baldwin was poisoned because he was believed to have acquired some kind of secret.’
‘A secret that made him happy and successful.’ Geoffrey was thoughtful. ‘Perhaps he learned something that allowed him to blackmail someone in authority. That would bring him riches and promotion – and happiness would follow.’
Pepin was shocked. ‘That is a terrible thing to say! There was not a malicious or greedy bone in his body. As I understand it, his secret had to do with something more… ethereal. He found a way to cover himself with holy blessings.’
‘Right,’ said Geoffrey, feeling he was wasting his time. He brought the discussion back on track. ‘So I am to deliver a message to this man’s brother. I do not suppose its sensitive contents pertain to what happened to William, do they?’
‘I sincerely doubt it,’ said Pepin scornfully. ‘He died seven years ago, and I cannot imagine anyone still being interested. Richard runs the Kermerdyn garrison, so I imagine the message will be about troops or supplies.’
‘And the last letter?’
Pepin pursed his lips. ‘That is to be delivered to Sear.’
‘Sear? Of Pembroc?’
