Helbye smiled. ‘No, not Maurice. He is not treacherous, and he would never embroil you in anything devious. I imagine it was one of Henry’s clerks. They can read, and – present company excepted – that means they cannot help being sly.’
Geoffrey stifled a sigh at such prejudice and changed the subject. ‘Do I know anyone in this group from Gloucester? Or are they all strangers? I have never heard Joan or Olivier mention Cornald the butter-maker.’
‘You have not spent two full months here since you were eleven, so that is not surprising. Cornald has been a friend of your family for years. He is a lovely man, very generous. Everyone likes him. But his wife…’ Helbye shook his head, lips pursed.
‘What about his wife?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘She is a walking brothel,’ replied Helbye bluntly. ‘My wife says she has never met a more wanton specimen.’
Geoffrey wondered whether she would extend her services to the new arrivals, thus sparing the hapless locals. ‘Are Cornald and his wife the only visitors?’
Helbye rested his elbows on the table. ‘No, and the others are an unsavoury crowd, so you should be on your guard. First, there is Richard fitz Baldwin, a vile creature with a vicious temper. He has already struck Father Adrian. Of course, I would not mind doing that myself at times, but it has done nothing to dispel Adrian’s belief that all knights are louts.’
‘Richard,’ mused Geoffrey, thinking about the letter he carried inside his surcoat. It would be one less missive to deliver in Kermerdyn. Then he frowned. Adrian was sanctimonious, but he was a priest, so it went with the territory. ‘I cannot imagine Joan allowed that to pass unremarked.’
‘I thought she was going to hit him back,’ said Helbye with a grin. ‘But Olivier stopped her, so she settled for giving Richard a piece of her mind instead, which was probably worse. I felt sorry for his wife, Leah, who is a poor, sweet creature. She suffers from headaches, but it is probably Richard that gives them to her.’
Geoffrey winced. ‘Please tell me they are the only ones.’
‘I am afraid not. They are accompanied by a man named Gwgan, who is a high-ranking Welsh counsellor. He seems decent enough, although he can read, so you would be wise to be wary of him. He is your brother-in-law, married to Lady Hilde’s sister.’
Geoffrey stared at him. Helbye was right: it could not be coincidence that two recipients for the King’s letters should happen to be in Goodrich. Someone had arranged for them to be there when he arrived. Was that why Eudo had been so annoyingly tardy about producing the letters? To ensure he did not travel too quickly and so miss them?
‘Finally, there is Kermerdyn’s abbot – a man called Mabon. He is a curious devil; I have never met a monastic like him.’
Geoffrey put his head in his hands. Henry had given him missives for Sear, Richard, Gwgan, Mabon and Bishop Wilfred, and four of them were at Goodrich. What was Henry up to? Or was it Eudo’s doing? As Maurice had said that Eudo was apt to scheme on the King’s behalf, Geoffrey was inclined to believe the latter. So would the plot die now the clerk was not alive to see it through? Or would it stagger ahead, leading to danger for those unwittingly caught up in it?
No answers came, although Geoffrey made three decisions. First, he would give Richard, Gwgan and Mabon their letters that day, although he would still have to travel to Kermerdyn to deliver the ones to Sear and Bishop Wilfred. Second, he was not going to put his family in danger by staying at Goodrich; he would feed his guests, collect dry clothes, and be gone within the hour. And third, Hilde would not be going to Kermerdyn to wheedle secrets about William’s secret from her sister. He did not want her embroiled in whatever sinister plan was unfolding.
‘Why do you say Mabon is a curious devil?’ he asked, raising his head to see that Helbye was regarding him worriedly. It would have been good to confide his fears and suspicions, but Helbye, with his deep distrust of the written word, was not the right candidate.
‘You will understand when you meet him, and I do not have your way with words. But this subject has upset you, so let us talk of other matters. Would you like to see my new pig?’
It was tempting, but Geoffrey had already spent longer than he had intended with Helbye, and knew he should at least try to arrive at the castle before the others. He took his leave, promising to return later, when his guests were settled.
‘Watch yourself, lad,’ said Helbye, reaching up to grab his arm before he could ride away. ‘None of us at the village likes Lady Joan’s guests, and you will not, either.’
It had stopped raining by the time he left Helbye, and the clouds had rolled away to reveal a blue sky. The sun was shining for virtually the first time since La Batailge, and Geoffrey and his horse steamed in the sudden warmth. The rest of the day was going to be fine.
The bailey was busy as he trotted into it, full of horses and people. Some were servants, scurrying here and there with cloaks, boots and cups of hot wine. Others were richly dressed, and, since he did not know them, they were clearly the guests. In the middle of the hubbub was a small, neat man with a moustache but no beard – an odd fashion in England, when most men did it the other way around. He was giving orders to the servants, and a bird sat on his wrist, its head covered by a tiny leather helmet. Sir Olivier d’Alencon, Geoffrey’s brother-in-law, was about to take his visitors hawking.
The clamour lessened when Geoffrey appeared, and people stopped talking to each other to see who was coming. Then a woman broke free of the cluster and ran towards him, her face an unrestrained beam of delight.
‘So Mistress Helbye had not taken leave of her senses when she said she had seen you!’ said Hilde. ‘But you said you would be gone for months, if not years. What happened?’
‘King Henry happened,’ replied Geoffrey gloomily, dismounting and going to bow over her hand. They had not been married long enough to dispense with the formalities, and he did not want to embarrass her with a more affectionate greeting when there was an audience.
Hilde was a large, square-faced woman with a determined glint in her eye. She was older than Geoffrey by at least three years – she was coyly vague about specifics – and had been foisted on him because Goodrich had needed a politically expedient marriage. Fortunately, Geoffrey valued intelligence more highly than looks, and he had not been disappointed. Moreover, he had found himself blessed with a friend, as well as a wife.
‘Is there more trouble brewing on the borders?’ she asked in alarm. ‘The last time he sent you here, we had a virtual war.’
‘He has ordered me to Kermerdyn,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I leave in an hour.’
‘An hour?’ Hilde cried in dismay. ‘Surely, you can rest here longer than that?’
‘Best not.’
‘Kermerdyn is where Isabella lives,’ said Hilde. ‘Gwgan – her husband, who is visiting us here at the moment – has offered to take me with him. But I would much rather travel with you.’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey, more sharply than he had intended. He hastened to explain. ‘Henry told me to take you there, too, but there is something underhand about the whole affair, and I will not see you in danger.’
‘If Henry issued you with a direct order, you must obey it,’ said Hilde. ‘You know what he is like when crossed, and I do not want to be the reason for you being in trouble.’
‘He will never know.’
Hilde shook his arm gently. ‘Of course he will know! Nothing happens in his kingdom without his knowledge. I would be sorry to lose Goodrich, and so would Joan, so we had better do as he says. Besides, I am no swooning maiden who must be coddled. I thought you understood that.’
‘I do,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But-’
‘No buts,’ said Hilde, smiling. ‘I was intending to make the journey anyway, because it has been too long since I saw Isabella. If I do not go with you, I will go with Gwgan.’