‘You are right,’ said Henry, leaning forward to look. ‘It is too high to have been mortal so quickly. So it seems he was stabbed first and then pushed in the pond.’
‘And churned mud and broken reeds suggest it happened there,’ said Ralph in an effort to redeem himself, as he pointed to a spot some distance away. Geoffrey was inclined to believe him, and went to look. Sear and Delwyn followed.
‘This is not your affair, monk,’ said Sear haughtily to Delwyn. ‘Mind your own business.’
‘It is not yours, either,’ flashed Delwyn.
‘It is – I am one of the King’s favourites,’ snapped Sear. ‘He gave me Pembroc Castle, so he will be interested to hear my opinion on this matter.’
While they sniped at each other, Geoffrey knelt and inspected the ground. There were footprints, but they were too smudged to be of any use, and some were likely to be Eudo’s anyway. There was also a smattering of blood on several reeds, which suggested that Eudo had indeed been stabbed first and then pushed in the pond to drown. Water had splashed into the footprints, and Geoffrey wondered whether the killer had followed Eudo into the pond and held him under until he was dead.
The only other thing was several silver pennies that had apparently been dropped during the struggle. Trailed by Sear and Delwyn, Geoffrey returned to the body, where a brief inspection indicated Eudo’s purse was still firmly closed. The money had not been lost by him, but by his killer.
‘What have you found?’ demanded Henry.
It was Sear who replied, speaking loudly and importantly. ‘The footprints are large ones. They were not made by an insignificant man, such as Delwyn here, but a bigger fellow, such as myself.’
‘Are you telling us you are the culprit?’ asked Delwyn archly. Several courtiers sniggered, and Sear flushed.
‘Do not be stupid,’ he snarled. He turned to the King. ‘It is just an observation, sire, which may help to solve the crime.’
‘Thank you, Sear,’ said Henry, with what sounded to be genuine sincerity. ‘Your observations are welcome.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sear smugly.
Henry smiled at him, and Geoffrey saw the knight was right when he claimed to be a royal favourite. Henry turned to Geoffrey.
‘And you?’ he asked. ‘What can you tell me?’
‘There were these,’ said Geoffrey, showing Henry the coins he had found.
‘Pennies from my mint in Pevenesel,’ mused the King, taking them. He did not hand them back, and Geoffrey saw them disappear into the royal purse. ‘Does it mean the killer is local?’
‘I have Pevenesel pennies, too, sire,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And so will most of your courtiers by now. Nothing can be concluded from it, except one thing: the killer is unlikely to have been a servant, because he would not have abandoned such a princely sum.’
‘A monk?’ asked Sear. ‘They are wealthy.’ He included Delwyn in his scathing glance.
‘I doubt a monk killed Eudo,’ said Henry, looking around at the throng in a way that made several glance away uneasily. ‘It must be a courtier. Or a knight.’
Because he did not like the notion of men standing around idly when they should be labouring on his behalf, Henry ordered everyone back to work, although he indicated that certain people were to stay. These included some of his favourites, the contingent from Wales, Pepin and several clerks, and Geoffrey. Maurice lingered, too, watching with narrowed eyes when the King caught Sear’s arm and whispered something that made him smile.
‘I do not understand what His Majesty sees in him,’ the prelate muttered to Geoffrey. ‘Oh, he is mannerly enough, and a bold warrior. But he is nothing unusual, and I do not see why the King makes a fuss of him.’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘Perhaps he just likes him. It does happen that men make friends.’
‘That is not the King’s way,’ insisted Maurice. ‘There is a reason for everything he does, and he does not dispense his goodwill lightly. But Eudo’s death is a nuisance for you. Now you will never know what he was doing with Tancred’s letter.’
Geoffrey nodded unhappily. ‘Did he have a close friend? One he might have confided in?’
‘No. Eudo was not a man for companions. Still, I am glad I gave you that letter after he was murdered – I dread to think what would have been said had you confronted him and hot words been exchanged.’
Geoffrey would not have cared, as long as he had been given answers. He was still shocked by Maurice’s discovery, and now he was also frustrated that an explanation for Tancred’s uncharacteristic threats should have been so tantalizingly close, only to be ripped away. He left Maurice and went to speak to Pepin, who was standing in a disconsolate huddle with his fellow clerks. He showed them the burned letter.
‘Have any of you see this before?’ he asked.
Pepin took it from him, then shook his head. ‘I do not see how it can relate to Eudo’s murder, because it is addressed to you. I thought you told me you could read.’
‘Did you drop it in the fire by mistake?’ asked another clerk. ‘Eudo did that a lot – either he got flustered and consigned documents to the flames that should have been kept, or he fell asleep while reading by the fire and set them alight by accident.’
Pepin glared at him. ‘It is unfair to reveal such matters to strangers, Justin. Do you want people to think badly of Eudo?’
‘I want them to know the truth,’ countered Justin. ‘He was not the paragon you claim. He was not even very efficient. We were always helping him cover his mistakes.’
‘The King trusted him,’ cried Pepin, distressed. ‘He dictated all his most secret letters to him.’
‘Yes,’ agreed a third clerk spitefully. ‘Eudo certainly knew his share of secrets, and was as closed-mouthed as any man, I will grant him that. Of course, it made him dangerous, and I imagine there are dozens of men at court who will be delighted he is dead.’
‘This letter,’ said Geoffrey, not interested in Eudo’s death. ‘Are you sure none of you has seen it before. It is important.’
‘Is it now?’ asked Justin snidely.
Pepin examined it again. ‘I am good at recognizing handwriting, but this style is unfamiliar. Besides, none of us knows Italian – we only use Latin and French.’
‘Eudo knew Italian,’ interposed Justin. ‘He was the only one who did.’
Geoffrey watched them walk away, inclined to believe they were telling the truth: whatever Eudo had done had not involved them. But what had he done? And how was Geoffrey to find out now that he was dead and his colleagues were ignorant of the matter?
‘Now I wish I had never given it to you,’ said Maurice unhappily, coming to stand beside him. ‘I would not have done, had Eudo’s corpse been found earlier. All I have done is given you cause for distress, and it will make you restless to leave, too.’
‘Leave where?’ asked Henry, appearing suddenly behind them. ‘La Batailge, to go and do my bidding in Kermerdyn?’
‘Leave England, sire,’ said Maurice, before Geoffrey could stop him. He took the letter from Geoffrey and showed it to the King. ‘I found this several months ago. Eudo had burned it.’
‘What does it say?’ asked Henry. ‘The language is unfamiliar to me.’
‘It contains fond greetings from Prince Tancred, and was written at Easter,’ explained Maurice, although Geoffrey wished he had kept his mouth shut. He did not want the King to know his business. ‘It is either a forgery, to encourage Geoffrey to ride to his execution, or it is a real letter from Tancred, showing friendship and concern – meaning the hostile ones were false.’
Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘And you believe Eudo was complicit in this affair? But why would he do such a thing? What did you do to earn his dislike, Geoffrey?’
‘I met him for the first time a few days ago,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He had no reason to wrong me. The only explanation that makes sense is that someone paid him to do it.’
‘An enemy,’ mused Henry. ‘I imagine your insolence has earned you plenty. In the meantime, this does not look good for you.’ He looked pointedly at Eudo’s body.