It felt like an age before the first familiar landmarks of home appeared on the horizon, and when they did, Geoffrey was so relieved that he no longer cared what Hilde and Joan would say when he rode into Goodrich’s bailey with a party of men who were unlikely to be gracious guests.
Geoffrey itched to give his horse free rein as they rode along the wooded path on the final few miles. It was raining again, his armour chafed, and he longed to don dry clothes and sit by a fire. But the track was potholed and rutted, and some of the puddles were knee-deep. It would be a pity to ruin his horse, just because he was eager to be home. He pulled the destrier to a halt at the crest of a hill and waited for the others.
‘What place is this?’ asked Sear, looking disparagingly at the village on the slope below them.
‘Rwirdin,’ replied Geoffrey, supposing it did look dismal in the drizzle. Rain had turned its thatches brown, and the road was awash with mud. Moreover, there was not an open door or window in the entire settlement, although smoke said people were home. ‘It belongs to Goodrich.’
‘Then why have you not trained them to greet you with a welcoming cup?’ demanded Sear. ‘I would not tolerate such a display of insolence in Pembroc.’
‘Because I have encouraged them to be wary of unidentified horsemen,’ said Geoffrey tartly. ‘Peace is fragile in this region, and incursions can be bloody.’
‘Then crush such insurrection,’ suggested Sear. ‘Or step aside, so a stronger man can do it for you.’
‘William fitz Baldwin would have stamped out rebellion,’ added Alberic. ‘He may have been a saint, but he was no weakling. I still miss him, even though he has been dead for seven years.’
‘His spirit is still strong,’ agreed Sear. ‘And his secret lives on.’
‘What secret?’ asked Geoffrey innocently.
‘The one that made him a great man and a powerful leader,’ replied Sear. ‘I am inclined to think it was a magical sword, like the one King Arthur owned. I think William found one just like it.’
‘Do you have any idea where it might be?’ asked Geoffrey with a sinking heart, thinking the King would certainly want to get his hands on such an object. Geoffrey would be expected to steal it, and he had never been comfortable with theft, not even on the Crusade, when looting was a way of life.
‘He never told us,’ replied Sear shortly, and Geoffrey saw that William’s failure to confide had hurt his feelings. ‘After he died, I looked in all the obvious places, but with no success. Perhaps it disappeared when William died, as these mystical objects are apt to do.’
Geoffrey wondered what Henry would say to that explanation. Feeling gloomy, he led the way through Rwirdin, towards where the River Wye was barely visible through the rain.
It was not long before Edward caught him up, flopping about in his saddle like a sack of grain, his friendly round face red from exertion.
‘How much farther?’ he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. ‘We have spent the last three nights in the open, and I hope there will not be a fourth.’
‘So do I,’ said Geoffrey fervently.
‘Well,’ said Edward with a sigh, ‘at least our journey has been blessed with a lack of trouble from outlaws. It is Henry’s doing, you know. The highways are much safer now. He is not called the Lion of Justice for nothing.’
‘Is he called the Lion of Justice?’ Geoffrey had never heard the title before, and it was certainly not one he would have chosen.
‘You might want to lower your voice,’ said Edward dryly. ‘Sear will take umbrage if he hears the doubt in your voice. His loyalty to the King is absolute – I am faithful myself, but I do not feel the need to prove it every few moments.’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey, who never felt the need at all.
‘And Delwyn does himself no favours with his incendiary remarks,’ added Edward. ‘He knows exactly how to aggravate Sear, Alberic and Roger. One of them will skewer him before long, and you and I may not be on hand to intervene.’
‘Perhaps we should not try.’ Geoffrey could hear Delwyn informing Roger that his facial hair was too long. Delwyn was playing with fire: Roger was proud of his beard.
‘It is tempting,’ said Edward wryly. ‘He is as irritating as a marsh-fly, but that does not give knights the right to run him through.’
Personally, Geoffrey felt he and his fellow knights had shown admirable restraint, proven by the fact that Delwyn was not only still alive but as recklessly garrulous as ever.
Edward was silent for a moment, then began to chatter again. ‘Talk of Delwyn reminds me of that last day at La Batailge. I heard the commotion when he came howling from the fishponds to tell us about Eudo. Who killed him, do you think?’
‘I have no idea,’ replied Geoffrey, startled by the question. ‘And with hundreds of courtiers, clerks, servants, monks and lay-brothers, Bishop Maurice will not find it an easy case to solve.’
‘Where were you when it happened?’ asked Edward.
Geoffrey regarded him in surprise, and the thought flashed through his mind that Henry might have asked Edward to assess whether the culprit was in the Kermerdyn party, given that Maurice would be unable to do so. Henry would not have approached Sear or Alberic, because they were insufficiently clever, and Geoffrey doubted the King would put much faith in Delwyn.
‘I was with Pepin and then Maurice,’ he replied. ‘And Roger was with Bale in a tavern all morning. Where were you?’
Edward smiled that the interrogation should be turned around. ‘I was in the stables from dawn to noon, because my horse had a bout of colic. I may not be much of a soldier, but I love my faithful warhorse, and he likes me with him when he is unwell.’
Geoffrey liked horses, too, although he would not have described Edward’s nag as a ‘warhorse’ and suspected the beast was more pet than fighting animal.
‘Can anyone confirm it?’ he asked. ‘Not that there is any reason to doubt you, of course.’
Edward laughed openly. ‘About twenty of the King’s stable-boys, who were listening to me pontificate on matters equestrian. Feel free to verify my tale the next time you visit him.’
When they reached the ford, they found it swollen with rain. Geoffrey led the way across with no problem, but Edward’s horse, alarmed by the surging water, bucked suddenly, causing its rider to slide off. It was not difficult to fish him out, but there was a delay on the other side when he insisted on divesting himself of his sopping clothes and donning a gown instead.
‘You will ride into Goodrich dressed as a woman?’ demanded Sear incredulously.
Edward tossed his wet cloak to Bale for wringing. ‘Better than arriving dripping wet. I may stain the rugs, and that would be discourteous.’
‘You are expecting rugs?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily.
‘This will not take a moment,’ said Edward, shrugging out of his mail tunic, then selecting a long red kirtle with a fur trim. He began to primp fussily, which had Sear, Alberic and Roger fidgeting impatiently, all eager to be underway.
‘I heard you asking Geoffrey about Eudo’s murder earlier, Sir Edward,’ said Delwyn. ‘Are you trying to learn who murdered him?’
‘I doubt anyone here is a killer,’ said Edward. Geoffrey almost laughed. All knights were killers: it was what they were trained to do. ‘But since you mention it, why not tell each other our whereabouts? Sear, perhaps you would oblige first?’
‘What I was doing is none of your damned business,’ retorted Sear haughtily. ‘I decline to answer, and you can try to make me at your peril.’
‘I do not mind answering on his behalf,’ said Alberic. ‘He was with me.’
‘Actually, he was not,’ countered Delwyn. ‘ You were with a milkmaid all morning.’
Alberic gaped at him. ‘How do you know? Were you spying on me, you little snake?’
‘No,’ replied Delwyn, although his face said he was lying. ‘I was merely concerned for her well-being. Afterwards, I went for a walk by the fishponds to-’