‘Please, sire,’ said Maurice with quiet dignity. ‘Do not jest about such matters.’
Henry ignored him and looked back at Geoffrey. ‘And if you deliver my letters and send me William’s secret, I shall forgive you for helping Giffard escape last year. Do not look surprised, man! You know perfectly well that I am still unhappy with you for it.’
‘I accompanied him to the coast,’ admitted Geoffrey. ‘But I had nothing to do with his decision not to be consecrated. That was a matter between him and his conscience.’
‘He should have mentioned his qualms before the ceremony started,’ said Henry angrily. ‘It was not polite to leave in the middle of it. Nor to enjoy the adulation of commoners afterwards – they cheered him for defying me. He is my enemy now, and his friends are my enemies.’
‘In that case, perhaps you should entrust your mission to someone else,’ said Geoffrey.
‘How dare you!’ snarled Henry, coming quickly to his feet. There was a dangerous light in his eyes, and Maurice signalled frantically behind his back for Geoffrey to recant. ‘You are lucky Eudo is dead, or I would install you in my dungeons and send him instead.’
‘Sear is-’ began Geoffrey, ignoring Maurice’s increasingly agitated gestures.
‘How can I ask Sear to deliver a message to himself when he arrives in Kermerdyn?’ raged Henry. ‘He would do it, of course, honourable man that he is. But it is not for you to argue with me. Do it again and you will be sorrier than your darkest fears can imagine.’
‘My apologies, sire,’ said Geoffrey. His darkest fear was that Hilde and Joan would pay the price for his incautious tongue, and he was sure Henry knew it. ‘I spoke out of turn.’
‘Yes, you did,’ snapped Henry. His voice became a sneer. ‘You think someone tampered with Prince Tancred’s letters and that he still feels affection for you, but you are wrong. He will not miss such an insolent rogue, and was certainly sincere in his offer to put a noose around your neck. Now get out of my sight before I do it for him.’
Before Geoffrey could make a rejoinder, Maurice bundled him out of the room.
‘Are you insane?’ the Bishop hissed as soon as they were out of Henry’s hearing. ‘Do you want him to execute you? Then what would I tell Giffard?’
Geoffrey sighed and rubbed his head, anger subsiding as quickly as it had risen. ‘So the letters are a ruse, an excuse to take me to Kermerdyn and discover what turned an ordinary man into one who enjoyed wealth and success? And this same man died – possibly murdered with rancid butter – some seven years ago, and I am to discover how?’
‘So it would seem,’ said Maurice. His face was uncharacteristically bleak. ‘However, do not dismiss those letters as inconsequential, because I have a very bad feeling about them. Be on your guard at all times, and tell no one – no one – what you have been charged to do. Go with God, Geoffrey – I suspect you will need Him.’
Four
Near Goodrich, Herefordshire, October 1103
The journey from La Batailge to Geoffrey’s manor was one of the least pleasant he could remember. The weather turned sour on the first day out from the abbey and did not improve thereafter. Bitter winds and driving rain made riding miserable and turned the roads into boggy morasses, so progress was infuriatingly slow. The horses slipped and skidded constantly, and the knights, unwilling to risk injury to their expensive animals, walked more than they rode. Geoffrey had lost his cloak in the shipwreck, and the replacement that Roger had bought him did not keep him either warm or dry.
Furthermore, it was frequently impossible to find places to stay at night. Even Geoffrey, who had spent large portions of his life on campaign and was used to bedding down under hedges or in sheds, became tired of the discomfort, thinking it was one thing to sleep rough in the summer or in a desert, but another altogether in an English October.
Geoffrey and Roger also had to put up with Delwyn and Edward, who were poor travellers. Edward was an abysmal rider, incapable of making even half the distance the knights had expected. They might have abandoned him – and Delwyn, too – had Pepin not appeared as they were leaving and read a declaration from the King that commanded them to remain together until Kermerdyn. The order was unequivocal and made Sear responsible for ensuring it was so. Sear took his duties seriously, and although Geoffrey could have given him the slip, it did not seem a prudent move. The rest of the company left a lot to be desired, as well. It had not taken long for Geoffrey to come to dislike the arrogant, smug and condescending Sear, and Alberic was almost as bad.
Geoffrey also missed his dog. There had never been much true affection on either side, but he found himself constantly aware that it was not there. For the first few days, he thought it would reappear, as it had done in the past, but as days passed into weeks, he knew it was gone for good. Roger and Bale assured him that he was well rid of it, but he was astonished to learn he missed it as much as his previous horse.
Despite his lack of equestrian ability, Edward proved to be intelligent and amiable, and won almost everyone around with his unfailing cheerfulness. He encouraged Geoffrey to debate the philosophical texts they both had read in the past, although Sear and Alberic scoffed their disdain at such unmanly activities. However, they were all mystified by Edward’s penchant for womanly gowns of an evening, and Geoffrey steadfastly refused to borrow one, preferring his own sodden clothes to Edward’s flowing kirtles.
‘They are warm, dry and comfortable,’ Edward declared one evening, pulling a pair of pale purple gloves over his hands before stretching them towards the fire. ‘I shall wake tomorrow refreshed and happy. You, on the other hand, will wake shivering and stiff – if you sleep at all.’
‘It is not a good idea to remove your armour in a strange place,’ Geoffrey cautioned.
‘It is not a good idea to be uncomfortable all the time,’ Edward shot back. ‘Thank God I was not rash enough to have rallied to the Pope’s call for a Crusade. I would have been miserable the entire time if it involved sitting around in damp clothes for weeks on end!’
‘It involved a lot more than that,’ Bale murmured, eyes gleaming. ‘It involved killing, too.’
‘Lord!’ Edward shuddered. ‘Worse and worse!’
Meanwhile, Delwyn endeared himself to no one with his constant litany of complaints. Geoffrey was not the only one who itched to knock him off his horse. And there were Geoffrey’s saddlebags: someone rifled through them regularly. Geoffrey did not think the culprit was a fellow knight – although Roger did so on occasion – and Delwyn was the only likely culprit. The monk denied it vigorously, but Geoffrey suspected that Delwyn was looking for the letter intended for Abbot Mabon, which Pepin had inadvertently mentioned.
‘I am Mabon’s envoy!’ Delwyn whined on a daily basis. ‘What will he think when I return empty-handed, but you carry a missive from the Archbishop?’
‘I am sorry,’ said Geoffrey shortly. ‘But I am under orders to deliver it myself.’
‘Then show me the letters you carry from Bishop Maurice instead,’ wheedled Delwyn. ‘I will study his handwriting and pen one from him to Mabon. Mabon will never know it is a forgery and will reward me for securing him such a powerful friend.’
‘And what happens when Mabon replies?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘When Maurice receives the letter, he will write back in such a way that Mabon will know exactly what has happened.’
‘He will not,’ declared Delwyn, ‘because I shall deliver it myself, amended accordingly. Do not look shocked. It is a clerk’s prerogative to tamper with other men’s correspondence.’
‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey, bitterly thinking of Tancred, ‘so I have learned.’
Even Roger proved to be a mixed blessing. Geoffrey was glad of his companionship, but Roger needled Sear constantly. Geoffrey was obliged to prevent several fights with his sword, and Edward averted even more with his capacity for gentle diplomacy.