To pass the time, and at his father’s request, he cleaned away some of the wood-smoke that had stained the dreary wall-paintings that adorned the room. Godric directed his efforts from his bed.
“You have scrubbed at it too hard,” he snapped, trying to sit so that he could see better. “That part took me a week to do.”
“You painted this?” asked Geoffrey, surprised that his restless, irritable father had possessed the patience to pay such attention to fine detail. “I did not know you boasted such talent.”
“I suppose you think you inherited your love of the arts from your mother?” asked Godric acidly. “Well, you are quite wrong. She was like Henry, and it was her energetic spirit and fiery nature that attracted me to her. She was more warrior than many of the knights who rode with the Conqueror, and would have been at my side at Hastings had Henry not been about to favour the world with his presence. Then the battle would not have lasted so long! Your mother had a fabulous touch with the mace!”
Geoffrey, recalling the formidable woman who had easily held her own against the vile-tempered Godric, had no reason to doubt him.
“So when did you begin painting?” asked Geoffrey. “After she died?”
“Lord, no!” said Godric. “My greedy whelps would have thought that I had gone soft in the head with grief. Last spring, I decided to turn the running of my estates over to Walter and Stephen-between them I imagined they would do an acceptable job. I started this painting then, to while away the days, although I had already started to dabble with a mural here and there.”
“It is … beautiful,” said Geoffrey hesitantly, wanting to be kind, yet uncertain how best to describe the lurid, violent scenes that emblazoned the walls.
“Beautiful be damned!” said Godric, offended. “Splendid was the effect for which I was aiming, Godfrey! Or noble, perhaps. Beautiful is what I intended for my whore’s room. You can see that if you go into the chamber across the passage. Do not look so startled, boy! Do you think I have been a monk since your mother died?”
“Of course not, but-”
“But most men do not keep their whores in the bosom of their family? Is that what you were going to say? Your mother was right about you-you should have become a priest! But you will like young Rohese when you meet her. She is a good lass.”
“Where is she?”
“She is away with Joan. She performs a dual function here-or did, when I was more able-bodied. She attended me at night, while during the day she is your sister Joan’s tiring-woman. She used to be Enide’s maid, but Joan took her on after Enide’s death. Enide-now there was a fine lass, by God! A better daughter a man could not have wished for. I would have left her the manor, had she lived.”
“I wish I could have met her again,” said Geoffrey, wiping sweat from his eyes with his sleeve and looking at Godric. “I last saw her when she was eleven.”
“You would not have recognised her, Godfrey,” said Godric, his eyes shining. “She was a magnificent woman-taller than that vicious dog, Henry, and she had more brains that all the rest of you put together. She was kind, too. My whore, Rohese, does not like this room, so Enide willingly changed with me whenever I asked, so that I could have my whore happy and not babbling that my paintings frightened her while I wanted her attention on me. What other daughter would do such a thing for her old father, eh?”
“It does seem a somewhat curious arrangement,” said Geoffrey, scrubbing hard at the malevolent image of a black dog that held an equally sinister-looking black rabbit in its jaws.
“You would think that,” said Godric disdainfully. “Enide held no such monkish qualms. I wish that Joan was more like her. But Joan should be back soon-she and Rohese are visiting your manor at Rwirdin.”
“Joan’s manor at Rwirdin, you mean,” said Geoffrey, crouching down to wring out the cloth in a bucket of water and vinegar. “It seems to have been part of her dowry.”
“That transaction was not legal,” said Godric. “You can contest it any time you like, and no court in the land would find in favour of Joan. But, you see, Walter had to find something to entice Olivier to marry her-that wretched little man had been courting her for more years than I can remember. In fact,” he said, heaving himself up on his elbows, “I remember that they started paying each other attention shortly after I sent you away.”
“Olivier seems fond of her,” said Geoffrey, concentrating on wiping smoke stains from the most wicked-looking pheasant he had ever seen-he had not believed that such an inoffensive bird could be depicted to appear so malignant.
“I really have no idea whether he likes the woman or not,” said Godric carelessly. “But while I was away a couple of years ago, Walter decided that Olivier had dallied with her affections quite long enough, and offered him your manor as an incentive to do the decent thing.”
“So I gathered.”
“None of us expected you to survive the Crusade, you see, and so Walter did not think it would matter that he had illegally appropriated your inheritance. Anyway, Walter anticipated that it would rid Goodrich of the pair of them once and for all.”
“But it did not, did it?” said Geoffrey. “It seems that they still spend a good deal of time here.”
Godric laughed unpleasantly. “Walter’s plan backfired badly, because now he has Joan and Olivier watching his every move like hawks. That will teach him to meddle behind my back! Still, I applaud his efforts. We were all beginning to wonder whether Irresolute Olivier was ever going to make an honest woman of Joyless Joan, although none of us blamed him for not wanting to take the plunge.” He gave a dramatic shudder.
“What do you mean?” asked Geoffrey. “Olivier would not have courted her for so many years if there had not been some affection.”
“You wait until you meet her,” said Godric, grinning nastily. “Then you will not ask such stupid questions. Other than the fact that she is scarcely endowed with what even the most charitable of men would call a sweet disposition, she was not young and she had pursued Olivier with all the subtlety of a pack of hunting dogs after a hare for two decades. But you will see all this for yourself when she comes home.”
“Why did Walter choose Olivier as her husband?” asked Geoffrey. “I was told that Caerdig requested her, and I should have thought Walter would have gained more from her marriage to him than her marriage to Olivier.” And so might Joan, he thought uncharitably.
He rubbed hard at his temples where his head had started to ache, and went to pour a cup of wine from Godric’s enormous jug near the bed. It was strong and acidic, and did nothing to quench his thirst.
Godric gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Poor old Caerdig would have married Henry to bring peace to Lann Martin! He is desperate for a truce.”
“Is that so bad?” asked Geoffrey, pouring some water into the wine to dilute it. “But what happened to reduce Caerdig to such a state? I do not recall there being such problems with neighbours while you were more active.”
“Very true,” said Godric smugly. “And it is most satisfying to see Walter, Henry, and Stephen make such an appalling mess where I handled matters with ease.”
“So you do not care that the good relations you spent your lifetime developing have been destroyed within a few months by Walter’s niggardliness and Henry’s taste for killing?”
Godric shrugged. “That is what Caerdig keeps saying. But no, why should I care? It means that people will look back on my rule with pleasure, and my memory will be revered.”
“That is a selfish attitude to take,” said Geoffrey, unable to disguise the distaste in his voice. “Why should Caerdig’s villagers, or ours, suffer just so that people will look back with fondness on the Golden Days of Godric?”