Geoffrey felt sorry for Douce. He ignored Ralph and offered to escort her to where a servant was waiting with their horses, bringing about a triumphant beam on her father’s face.
‘Is it far to Bicanofre?’ Geoffrey asked, flailing around for polite conversation.
‘Bicanofre,’ she said brightly. ‘It is a village.’
‘I know,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I asked how far it is from Goodrich.’
‘My brother Ralph has a green cloak with silver thread,’ burbled Douce happily. ‘And our cat had fifty kittens last week. Or was it five? I can never remember numbers.’
‘I see,’ said Geoffrey. He was relieved when they reached the horses and a servant stepped forward to help her into her saddle.
‘She is a good lass,’ said Wulfric, winking at Geoffrey. ‘You will never have any trouble from her – not like some of the others you could choose. Hilde is manly, Margaret is dead and Corwenna would kill you on your wedding night.’ He took the reins of his daughter’s horse and led her away.
‘I did as you asked, Father,’ Geoffrey heard her say. ‘I did not answer any questions I did not understand and I kept the discussion to pleasant, normal things.’
‘And Isabel?’ asked Geoffrey of Ralph, aware that Wulfric’s list had not included the fair, grieving figure. ‘What about her?’
‘She needs to do penance for her sin with your brother,’ said Ralph contemptuously.
‘She needs you,’ said Geoffrey, fighting the impulse to say he could not imagine why. ‘She grieves for Margaret, and has been asking for you.’
‘I no longer know her,’ said Ralph coldly. ‘And we will not speak of this matter again.’
‘God’s teeth!’ swore Geoffrey, as Bale and Helbye’s wife came to stand next to him to watch the Bicanofre contingent ride away. ‘That man is asking for my sword in his unfeeling heart.’
‘Isabel is better off without him,’ said Helbye’s wife. ‘Love is double-edged; it brings misery as well as happiness. People should try to avoid it, because it is such a gamble.’
‘I was in love once,’ said Bale. ‘But she said she would only marry me if I agreed never to bring a blade into the house. So I turned her down.’
‘What did you think of Douce?’ asked Helbye’s wife in the silence that followed.
‘She is half out of her wits.’
‘More than half,’ agreed Bale. ‘But that will not matter if she begets you children – and she will.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘She has already produced a couple, which is why her father wants her settled,’ replied Bale. ‘He will not want her worn out before she can produce legitimate ones.’
‘He said she was a virgin,’ objected Geoffrey.
‘Perhaps he thinks you will not know the difference. Well? What did you think of her? Helbye’s wife says she is the best of the batch. Now Margaret is dead and Isabel wants to take the veil, there is only Hilde, Corwenna and Douce left.’
‘Well, there is Eleanor,’ said Helbye’s wife. ‘I doubt
‘Why?’ said Geoffrey, understanding that he was expected to ask.
‘Her suitability,’ said Helbye’s wife, while Geoffrey thought that if insanity and pre-marital pregnancies did not make a woman unsuitable, then he could not imagine what Eleanor had done. But Helbye’s wife had had enough gossip, and moved away. Meanwhile, Geoffrey remembered why he had gone to the church in the first place.
‘Father Adrian!’ he called. ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘No,’ said Father Adrian in alarm. ‘Not about your brother, and not about any of those women Mistress Helbye has been telling you about, either. Joan will have her own views, and I will not interfere.’
‘It is about the dagger Joan gave you.’
‘She said I could sell it, to provide alms for the poor. So I took it to Rosse two days ago. A silversmith gave me three shillings for it. Why? Did you want it back?’
‘Three shillings is a good price,’ said Bale. ‘Did you tell this silversmith it was a Black Knife?’
Father Adrian looked furtive. ‘He did not ask. Besides, it had lain under my altar for months, so it was clean. The merchant would not have given me three shillings if I had told him its history. People can be superstitious.’
‘Including you,’ said Geoffrey, ‘if you felt it needed three months in a church before it was fit for sale.’
‘That is different,’ replied Father Adrian primly. ‘That is
Geoffrey was not sure where the line lay, but he wanted answers, not a debate. ‘How many people knew the dagger was there?’
‘The whole village,’ replied Father Adrian. ‘I asked people to pray for its purification, so it would raise money for the poor.’ He looked smug. ‘It worked: three shillings
‘Have you done business with this silversmith before?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering how it had gone from the Rosse craftsman to Jervil. Perhaps the groom had been uncomfortable stealing from a church but was not squeamish about robbing a merchant.
Father Adrian shook his head. ‘It is not every day I have valuable knives to sell. I thought I might have to break it up – sell him the silver hilt and prise the emerald out to sell to a jeweller. But he agreed to take the whole thing.’
‘
Father Adrian nodded patiently. ‘It was a green stone.’
‘Joan said it was red.’ And the King had mentioned a ruby in the knife Jervil had given to Baderon – and Geoffrey was sure that
‘It was green,’ said Father Adrian firmly. ‘She cannot have looked properly.’
But Geoffrey knew Joan would have been familiar with what she possessed.
‘It was covered in blood,’ said Bale keenly. ‘There was a great wound in Henry’s stomach. Right here.’ He indicated a point just below his ribs. ‘And it was deep. I shoved my finger in it to see.’
‘Bale!’ exclaimed Father Adrian, aghast. He glanced nervously at Geoffrey, who was not in a position to be squeamish, since he had poked fingers in wounds to assess their depths himself. Father Adrian hurriedly changed the subject. ‘It
‘I do not want it back,’ said Geoffrey absently, reviewing the facts. Joan had pulled a red-jewelled knife from their brother, and it was a red-jewelled knife that had been sold to Baderon. Yet Joan had given the knife to Father Adrian, whereupon the jewel had become an emerald. There was only one conclusion: someone had swapped it in her bedchamber. She said she could not look at it, so she had probably given it to Father Adrian without making sure that it was the same one. But who had access to Joan’s room?
He considered the servants. But an emerald was a valuable jewel, and no servant would casually provide one to swap for a ruby. The only sensible answer was that someone outside Goodrich had asked a servant to make the exchange, and had no doubt been delighted when the deception had gone so long undetected. Baderon came immediately to mind. But then why had Jervil waited to give it to him?
‘Henry’s grave,’ he said to Father Adrian, changing the subject when no answers were forthcoming. ‘I straightened his cross twice last week, but it was back on the ground again today.’
‘People come to spit and trample on it,’ said Father Adrian, more matter-of-fact than Geoffrey felt was warranted for such desecration. ‘But I have seen no one attacking it recently.’
‘It must stop,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘Henry is dead, and his sins are between him and God.’
‘I will try to dissuade them,’ said Father Adrian. ‘But it will not be easy.’
Geoffrey hovered in the churchyard while the priest closed the church door – then opened it again when he realized that he had shut someone inside. There emerged an ancient crone, devoid of teeth and with skin so brown and wrinkled, it looked more vegetable than human.
‘Mother Elgiva,’ said Father Adrian suspiciously. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘Listening,’ replied Elgiva with a predatory smile. ‘Folk seek my advice, so eavesdropping is helpful. It is astonishing what you can learn. For example, I know Sir Geoffrey has asked several people about the fate of his brother, but no one has told him anything useful. And I know most folk think he should marry Douce, despite her lack of wits and loose morals.’
