Geoffrey retraced his steps and inspected the missile. It was one of Goodrich’s own – distinctive, with a slight Saracen curve. Did it mean a servant was responsible? He did not think so, especially as he had not yet provided them with an heir. But which of the guests wanted him dead? Or had the culprit been aiming at someone else? The bailey was dark, and all knights tended to look similar in the clothes they wore when at leisure. Except Edward, of course.
Geoffrey stalked towards the Constable of Kadweli, who was taking deep breaths in an apparent effort to clear his head of wine fumes.
‘Have you seen this before?’ he asked, shoving the quarrel into Edward’s hands.
Edward examined it in the faint light emanating from the hall. ‘No, but it is a very peculiar shape. Why? Surely, you do not think we should have a shooting contest now? Wait until the morning, when we shall be able to see the targets.’
Geoffrey was about to press the matter further, when he saw Sear and Alberic coming towards them, aiming for the hall. They were speaking softly in low voices. As they passed, Edward addressed them.
‘Look at this strange thing. Have you ever seen its like before?’
‘No,’ said Sear shortly. ‘But then I have never bothered to make myself familiar with crossbows. I prefer a lance.
‘And I prefer a proper bow,’ added Alberic. ‘I shall challenge you tomorrow, Geoffrey, because I warrant I am more accurate than you can be with this thing.’
‘Do not be so sure about that,’ said Cornald, making them all jump by approaching from behind. He held Pulchria by the hand. Her face was as black as thunder, and Geoffrey supposed he had decided against letting her keep her vigil. ‘Sir Geoffrey will have had far more experience of weapons than any of us.’
‘Not more than me,’ said Sear. ‘The King would not have appointed me Constable of Pembroc had I been a novice.’
‘Well, I am hopeless with weapons,’ said Cornald affably.
‘Oh, fie!’ said Pulchria. ‘You are an excellent shot. When we were first married and were poor, you kept us alive with the rabbits you caught.’
‘That was a long time ago,’ said Cornald rather furtively.
‘It is not something you forget,’ persisted Pulchria sulkily. ‘But then what do I know? I am a mere woman, after all-’
‘You showed an aptitude for the bow, too,’ said Cornald. The affable expression was gone from his round face, and something hard and angry had replaced it. ‘When we first wed and were in love. I taught you how to shoot, and you took to it like a duck to water.’
Pulchria pulled a face at him, then smiled at Geoffrey. ‘What has prompted these questions about weaponry? Is it to give us all nightmares, so we will seek solace in each other’s company?’
‘Someone just shot at me,’ replied Geoffrey curtly, aware that Richard had just joined the little gathering. Gwgan was still some distance away. ‘By the stable.’
‘Unlikely,’ said Sear with disdain. ‘You are drunk and must have imagined it.’
‘It was quite real,’ said Geoffrey quietly. ‘I am not that drunk.’
‘You do not seem drunk at all now,’ said Edward. ‘It must have sobered you fast. I am sure it would have sobered me.’
Sear spat as he traipsed into the hall, making it clear he did not believe the tale. Richard shoved past Geoffrey without a word, a rough collision that almost took both men from their feet, although Geoffrey suspected it owed more to wine than hostility.
Richard turned when he reached the top of the steps. ‘Look to your servants for a culprit,’ he suggested. ‘Mine are always trying to dispatch me.’
‘How are you with a bow?’ asked Geoffrey coolly.
Richard scowled. ‘That is a question I decline to answer, and if you want to see another dawn, you will not put it again. I do not deal kindly with men who make unwarranted accusations.’
He staggered after the others. Sourly, Geoffrey thought that if William had been anything like Richard, then it would have needed a miracle to transform him into a saint.
Gwgan arrived at last, but forestalled his questions by taking his hand and gripping it warmly. ‘There has been no opportunity to become better acquainted today. Hilde tells me we shall ride to Kermerdyn together, so I hope to converse more then.’
‘If I survive the night,’ muttered Geoffrey.
Gwgan took the quarrel from him and inspected it without much interest. ‘I have never had much use for crossbows. They take too long to wind. Welshmen prefer simpler bows.’
‘But you know how to use a crossbow?’
‘Of course, but I have not had occasion to practise in a long time. I am always willing to hone my skills, though. What do you say to a competition tomorrow?’
‘Only as long as I am not the target.’
Gwgan laughed uncertainly, then frowned. ‘Are you saying someone has just shot at you?’
Geoffrey nodded at the bolt. ‘It missed me by a hand’s breadth.’
Gwgan blew out his lips in a sigh. ‘Well, it was not me! I make a point of maintaining good relations with my kin, because I might need their help one day. Wales is unstable, and only a fool makes unnecessary enemies.’
Geoffrey was not sure what to think about anyone. He changed the subject. ‘It will be good to meet Isabella in Kermerdyn; Hilde talks of her often.’
‘She is a fine woman, although our union is yet to be blessed with brats. I understand you are still waiting with Hilde, too. A third sister has been wed seven years to a man with a dozen bastards and no sign of a legal heir. I hope Baderon has not foisted barren lasses on us.’
‘I have not been home long enough for Hilde to-’
‘Well, keep at it,’ advised Gwgan. ‘Fortunately, Welsh law sets scant store by legitimacy, and I have sons from previous liaisons. You will be under some pressure, though, being Norman.’
‘I have been charged to hand you this,’ said Geoffrey, feeling the discussion was disloyal to Hilde. He pulled the letter from his shirt, first checking it bore Gwgan’s name and Pepin’s elaborate cross. ‘It is from the King.’
‘Is it?’ asked Gwgan, surprised. Then he shrugged. ‘Then it is probably for Prince Hywel, but has been sent to me because I am his chief advisor. Hywel does not read, you see.’
‘You can read?’ asked Geoffrey. But of course he could. Gwgan’s position demanded it, and Richard had already told him as much. He took a deep breath, wishing he had not drunk so much.
‘Yes, and so can you. Hilde told me. She is very proud of you.’
‘She is?’ Geoffrey was pleased.
‘And she will love you even more if you give her a son. So do not linger out here. Go to her!’
Grateful that two of the King’s letters were now safely in the hands of the intended recipients, Geoffrey did as he was told.
Dawn the following day was pink and gold, and although Geoffrey’s inclination was to leap out of bed and make preparations for leaving as soon as possible, Hilde persuaded him to linger, pointing out that no one else would be ready. All the guests had imbibed liberally the previous night, and even the vigorous Roger was drained by the journey from La Batailge. It would be a kindness – and good manners – to allow them a day to recover.
As they lay in bed, he told Hilde about the attack the previous night.
‘Do you think it had to do with the letters?’ she asked.
‘Not the one from Maurice, certainly. It was a recipe for cheese.’
Hilde frowned. ‘But Henry would not tell you what his missives contain. Perhaps someone does not want them delivered.’
‘That means the culprit is someone who was already at Goodrich, because no attempts were made to harm me as we rode from La Batailge.’
‘Not necessarily. You told me that none of your travelling companions – except Roger – knew about the King’s letters. They believed you carried one from the Archbishop and several from Maurice. But then yesterday you started passing out missives from Henry. Ergo, it was only yesterday that they learned what you really carried.’