and quick. I can show you.’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey, moving away in distaste. Bale followed.
‘A man can never have too many sharp knives,’ he went on, a manic light gleaming in his brown eyes. ‘I always carry at least three.’
Geoffrey regarded him warily, wondering whether he was entirely in control of his faculties. He was a massive man, standing half a head above Geoffrey, and his arms and shoulders were unusually powerful. His head was bald, kept free of hairs by constant shaving and application of some sort of shiny grease. He was too old to be a squire – at least five years Geoffrey’s senior – but Olivier had insisted Geoffrey take him. Geoffrey had accepted, but was having serious misgivings. Bale was far too interested in slaughter.
‘He is the epitome of violence,’ said Father Adrian, as he stood with Geoffrey and watched Bale pulling the heads off spring flowers. ‘It is only a matter of time before he commits other murders, and the sooner you take him away, the better.’
Geoffrey stared at the priest. ‘
Father Adrian was annoyed with himself. ‘I should not have said that – there was no proof, so I might be maligning an innocent man.’
‘Whom did he kill?’ demanded Geoffrey.
‘His parents,’ said Father Adrian, glancing around to make sure that Joan could not hear. ‘They were found butchered, although Bale claims he was in a tavern at the time. That was about two years ago. Then there was a brawl that ended in death, but witnesses say Bale was goaded.’
Bale’s company was sounding distinctly unappealing, and Geoffrey saw he had gone from one extreme to the other: Durand fainted if he saw blood, while Bale revelled in it.
‘Tell me about more about Henry,’ said Geoffrey, looking away as Bale went after a blackbird with his sword. ‘We were interrupted when we talked before, and you were beginning to tell me about his affair with Isabel fitzNorman.’
Father Adrian backed away. ‘Joan says it is a matter best left alone.’
Geoffrey followed him into the church. ‘Was Henry’s affection for Isabel reciprocated?’
‘She says not,’ said the priest. He changed the subject. ‘When will
‘When I feel like it,’ replied Geoffrey tartly.
‘It will not be long. Joan will not let you leave until you have impregnated a wife.’
‘I am not a breeding bull,’ said Geoffrey, not liking the notion that an entire estate was waiting for him to perform his duties in the wedding bed.
‘Perhaps you will wed Isabel,’ mused Father Adrian. ‘If she already carries Henry’s child, then it makes sense for fitzNorman to give her to you.’
‘How do you know she carries Henry’s child?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Did she tell you so?’
‘I cannot say,’ said Father Adrian firmly.
‘The seal of confession?’
‘Joan said not to, and her wrath is more terrifying than breaking the sacred secrecy of a man’s business with God.’
‘Then I shall ask Isabel myself,’ said Geoffrey.
‘No! You will cause all manner of problems.’ Father Adrian rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Very well. Henry said bedding her was the best way to secure her as a bride.’
‘FitzNorman was against the match?’
Father Adrian nodded. ‘He wanted an alliance with Goodrich, but he disapproved of Henry taking Isabel before the marriage agreements were drawn up.’
‘And what about Isabel? Did he force her to lie with him?’
Father Adrian shrugged. ‘She says she thought he was someone else.’
Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. ‘Is she short of wits, then? Or fond of her wine?’
‘Neither,’ replied Father Adrian. ‘She is blind.’
The priest could not be persuaded to say more, and Geoffrey began to suspect that the only way to gain answers would be to visit Dene. He was mulling over the prospect when he became aware that someone was behind him. He turned quickly, dagger in hand.
‘Do not creep up on me like that, Bale,’ he advised irritably. ‘Most soldiers do not ask questions before they stab.’
‘I know,’ said Bale with a grin, giving the impression that he had stabbed a few hapless victims himself. ‘But something arrived for you, and Sir Olivier said I should bring it.’
Geoffrey waited. Several moments passed, but Bale merely continued to beam. ‘What did Olivier tell you to bring?’ he asked, when he saw that they might be there all morning unless he spoke.
‘A letter,’ said Bale. ‘On scraped calfskin.’
‘Vellum,’ said Geoffrey, wondering who would send him a message on vellum when parchment was cheaper. Could it be Roger, who had appropriated a considerable quantity of silver from Bristol the previous winter, and who liked making extravagant gestures? He waited again. ‘Where is it?’
Bale fumbled in his unsavoury clothes and eventually found what he was looking for. He handed the message to Geoffrey and then came to loom over his shoulder.
‘I thought you said you could not read,’ said Geoffrey, moving away.
‘I cannot,’ replied Bale, following him.
Geoffrey edged away again, wanting to read the message in peace, but Bale moved with him, standing uncomfortably close. Geoffrey began to lose patience. ‘What are you doing?’
Bale was surprised. ‘Waiting for orders, Sir. Anything written on vellum is likely to be sinister, and you will not want to speak loudly. So I am standing close.’ He reconsidered. ‘Although, if anyone overhears, I can slit his throat to ensure his silence.’ He looked around hopefully.
Shaking his head, Geoffrey turned his attention to the letter. It carried a seal that he recognized immediately: William Giffard, the Bishop of Winchester. He was assailed by an immediate sense of unease. Giffard was a good man, but was entrusted with a lot of the King’s business. Geoffrey considered tossing the missive away, to remain oblivious to whatever Giffard wanted, but he supposed there was no point when Olivier, Bale and probably others knew it had been delivered. Reluctantly, he broke the seal.
The message was brief. It told him Giffard was currently at the nearby estate of Dene, and asked Geoffrey to visit. It was badly written, as if penned in a hurry, and its brevity lent it an urgency that the knight found worrisome.
‘I am going to Dene,’ he said. Despite the voice inside his head warning him that it might be wise to decline the summons, he liked Giffard, and did not want to fail him.
Bale fell into step beside him as he strode towards the castle, and began to chat. ‘The forest around Dene belongs to the King, and Constable fitzNorman looks after it and its animals – so the King can slaughter them whenever he likes.’
Geoffrey could think of no reply to such a remark, so he walked to the stable, where Jervil and Torva were talking. They stopped when they saw him.
‘We are off to Dene,’ Bale announced, shoving past them. ‘Move. I must saddle the horses.’
Groom and steward exchanged a glance. ‘Why Dene?’ asked Torva.
Geoffrey was inclined to tell them it was none of their affair, but said instead, ‘An old friend invited me.’
Jervil turned to Torva in agitation. ‘He is going to talk to Lord Baderon about Henry. And the Constable and his daughter and God knows who else. Will there be no end to this business?’
‘Seguin is a violent man,’ said Torva. ‘You would do well to stay well clear of him and his brother Lambert. And Baderon, for that matter.’
‘They are not at Dene,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I met them yesterday in Llan Martin. They-’
‘Baderon and his henchmen
‘Here!’ snapped Bale, emerging from the stables with Geoffrey’s horse. ‘Watch your mouth. No one talks to him like that when
