‘The King wants me to travel west with him,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But I will make better time alone.’
‘You will go with Delwyn, if that is what Henry desires,’ said Maurice severely. Then his expression softened. ‘Please do not defy him, Geoffrey. I do not want to see you in trouble – I count you among my friends. And I do not have many.’
‘But it is-’
‘And think about it logically,’ interrupted Maurice. ‘These letters cannot be urgent, or you would have been on your way days ago. Ergo, it cannot matter whether you take two weeks or two months to travel to Kermerdyn. Do as Henry asks – there is nothing to be gained by flouting his wishes.’
Geoffrey knew he was right. He took the cup Maurice proffered and took a gulp.
‘I am to travel with Sear, too,’ he said gloomily.
‘I have yet to gain his measure, although my instincts are to distrust him,’ said Maurice. He frowned. ‘However, Sear and Delwyn are paragons of virtue compared to Eudo. It is a pity he invented those tamper-proof seals, because I would like to open the letters you are to deliver.’
‘You would read Henry’s private correspondence?’ Geoffrey was shocked.
The prelate winced. ‘It is not something I indulge in regularly, but I distrust Eudo. It would not be the first time he has meddled in matters without the King’s consent, and he has accrued altogether too much power. I am afraid of what he might have included in these messages.’
‘Pepin said he was not permitted to see them, and that only Eudo knows their full contents.’
Maurice sighed. ‘Well, there is nothing we can do about it, I suppose. I dare not meddle with the seals, because I do not want to be exiled like Giffard – or to see you hanged. You will have to deliver them as they are, but I advise caution.’
‘I am always careful.’
‘It might be wise not to mention them to anyone else. Delwyn will know about the one to his abbot, but that is from the Archbishop, not Henry.’
‘Pepin told Sear I was delivering letters from you.’
Maurice beamed suddenly. ‘What a splendid idea! I shall write some immediately. I promised Giffard I would look after you, and this will go some way to salving my conscience.’
Geoffrey regarded him doubtfully. ‘Do you know anyone in Kermerdyn? If not, the lie may be unconvincing.’
‘I know lots of people there,’ declared Maurice, sitting at a table and reaching for pen and ink. ‘First, there is Robert, the steward of Rhydygors. He is distant kin, so I can regale him with details about my cathedral in London. You will like him. He is very odd.’
Geoffrey regarded him askance. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He has a gift for seeing into the future. I have it, too, although to a lesser extent. It must run in the family.’
‘And what do you see in mine?’ asked Geoffrey gloomily. ‘Death and danger?’
‘Of course, but you are a warrior, so that is hardly surprising.’
‘I will be a farmer when I have finished this errand. At Goodrich.’
Maurice reached up to pat his shoulder. ‘Good. I shall visit you there, and you can arrange for me to spend another enchanted evening with Angel Locks. But back to the business in hand. I shall write to Bishop Wilfred, too – I will send him a copy of a rather beautiful prayer that Giffard wrote.’
It sounded contrived to Geoffrey. ‘Can you not think of something else?’
‘Nothing comes to mind,’ said Maurice after a few moments of serious thought. ‘I do not like Wilfred very much. But I met a Kermerdyn butter-maker called Cornald in Westminster last year; he seemed a nice fellow. I shall write to him, too, and send him a recipe for a lovely cheese I sampled in Winchester.’
Geoffrey groaned. No one was going to believe such matters required the services of a knight. It would be worse than folk thinking he carried missives from the King.
‘These will be sealed, Geoffrey,’ said Maurice, seeing what he was thinking. ‘No one will know their contents are trivial until they are opened. And by that time, you will be in Kermerdyn. This ruse will serve to keep you safe.’
‘Very well,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Although it still does not explain why the King ordered me to join Sear, Edward and Delwyn. If I am your messenger, my plans are none of his concern.’
Maurice chewed the end of his pen. ‘Then we shall turn it about and say His Majesty is eager to ensure his constables arrive in one piece – that you are elected to protect Edward and Sear.’
Geoffrey regarded him in horror. ‘I doubt Sear will appreciate that!’
Maurice waved a dismissive hand. ‘Leave him to me. I think I shall pen a line to Isabella, your sister-in-law, too.’
Geoffrey’s jaw dropped. ‘You have not seduced…’
‘No!’ said Maurice hastily. Then he looked wistful. ‘Although I would not have minded her help with my health. However, I tend to stay away from ladies with jealous husbands, and my message will give her the name of a London merchant who sells excellent raisins. I may even include a sample. You will not eat them, will you?’
‘I will not,’ said Geoffrey firmly.
Maurice set the pen on the table and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘There is something else I should probably tell you, although I am not sure what it means. Before I do, will you promise not to leap to unfounded conclusions?’
‘What?’ Geoffrey had the distinct impression he was about to hear something he would not like. He saw the Bishop’s pursed lips. ‘Yes, I promise.’
Wordlessly, Maurice stood and unlocked a stout chest that stood near the window. He rummaged for a moment, then passed Geoffrey a piece of parchment. It was partially burned, but Geoffrey would have recognized the distinctive scrawl of Tancred’s scribe anywhere. It was in Italian, his liege lord’s mother tongue. To my dear brother, Geoffrey, greetings, on Easter Sunday, the third since you left us. I trust your health is returned, and the brain-fever that led you to write such
Geoffrey stared at it. It had been penned just five months earlier, and was dated after the one he had received threatening him with death if he ever returned. What did it mean?
Three
‘I found it during the summer,’ explained Maurice, as Geoffrey stared at the parchment in his hand. ‘I was looking for Eudo one day in Westminster and saw documents burning in his hearth. The room was empty, so, out of simple curiosity, I poked one, to see what it said.’
‘There were others?’ asked Geoffrey, his mind whirling.
‘A bundle, although they were too singed to allow me to say whether they were all in the same hand. Eudo is in the habit of destroying incriminating documents, and piles of ashes are commonplace in his lair, so they may have had nothing to do with you.’
‘But you cannot say for certain,’ pressed Geoffrey.
‘No,’ agreed Maurice. He looked down at his plump hands. ‘The thing has plagued my mind ever since. Clearly, it is a letter to you from Tancred. Yet I suspect, from the expression on your face, that it was not one you received. You have never seen that letter before, have you?’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And the ones I did receive certainly did not call me “dear brother”. They did when I first left the Holy Land, but the later ones addressed me as “treacherous serpent” or “disloyal vermin”.’
‘I have given it a good deal of thought,’ said Maurice. ‘And it seems to me that someone intercepted them, replacing ones of affectionate concern – Prince Tancred seems to think you are ill – with unpleasant ones that he never wrote. It would not be the first time an allegiance was destroyed by a clerk with a talent for forgery, and Eudo is rather good at it.’
‘But why in God’s name would he do that?’ asked Geoffrey, bewildered. ‘I had never met him before a few days ago. And do not say he did it for Henry, because I doubt even he would stoop that low.’
‘No, he would not,’ agreed Maurice. ‘But someone has, and your friendship has been shattered. If Tancred thinks you were afflicted by a brain fever, then clearly someone sent him messages purporting to be from you that were uncharacteristically abusive or insolent.’