Roger sighed. ‘This is a bad idea. Let Hilde come to ask questions, if she is going to be curious. I do not like it here and want to leave. It feels like a place where trouble is brewing.’
‘Then you should feel at home,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You thrive on trouble.’
‘I like fighting,’ acknowledged Roger. ‘But I only like doing it with enemies I can see. Here, I feel they are all around me and I cannot tell who they are. I do not like it, Geoff. We should leave this place. Tonight. I would rather sleep under the stars than stay here after nightfall.’
Geoffrey raised his hands in surrender. ‘Then go. Return to Goodrich and tell Hilde what has happened, and that I am trying to investigate. But do not let her come.’
‘Why not? She is the one wanting answers.’
‘Because you are right: there is something strange going on, and I would rather she stayed well away. She is my wife, Roger.’
‘Yes, but I have never met a lass better able to take care of herself.’ The admiration was clear in Roger’s voice, and Geoffrey wondered whether he should have married her. ‘I have rarely seen such skill with a battleaxe.’
‘You are not easily unsettled, and if you do not feel safe here then neither will she be.’
‘And neither will you,’ Roger pointed out.
Geoffrey went on as if he had not spoken. ‘Besides, I do not trust what Odo and his monks told me, and I do not understand Ivar. There is a peculiar story to be unravelled, and I would like to do it. For Hilde and for Leger.’
‘It is-’ began Roger, but stopped speaking abruptly when the door opened and Revelle and Pigot shoved their way inside. The tavern immediately divided between those who made for the rear door and those who exchanged nods and smiles with the two men. Three others followed Revelle and Pigot — two more knights, and someone who was obviously their leader. The leader was smaller than the others, with reddish hair and eyes oddly close together. Geoffrey suspected, from the richness of his clothes and the shine on his sword, that his spurs had been earned because he was nobly born, not because he had proved himself in battle.
The newcomer peered around, letting his eyes become accustomed to the gloom after the bright sunlight outside, then strode towards the table at which Geoffrey and Roger sat.
‘I understand you visited the priory,’ he said icily. ‘Why?’
‘What business is that of yours, little man?’ demanded Roger, unwisely hostile in his turn.
‘I am Sir Walter de Clare, constable of the castle,’ the man replied. ‘I am ordering you to leave Estrighoiel immediately. My family holds the favour of the King, so you will do well to do as you are told.’
‘I have never heard of you,’ said Roger rudely. ‘I know Gilbert and Roger de Clare, who are always hanging around the royal courts. But who are you? Some distant cousin?’
‘I am their younger brother,’ said Walter, angered by the insult. ‘And a knight in my own right. Now, are you going to leave peacefully or do my men have to use force?’
Geoffrey supposed Walter did bear a resemblance to the de Clares he had met when serving the King. He had not taken to them, although he suspected his dislike stemmed from the rumours regarding the peculiar death of King William II in the New Forest — and the fact that the archer who had loosed the fatal ‘accidental’ shot just happened to be married to one of their sisters. He found them sly and secretive, and he could tell that Walter was cast in the same mould.
‘Force?’ asked Roger, his voice dripping scorn as he looked Walter and his four knights up and down with calculated disdain. ‘You think they can best two Jerosolimitani?’
The loutish Pigot reacted immediately by drawing his sword, but Revelle stepped between his friend and their quarry.
‘Wait,’ he muttered. ‘Give them a chance to go peaceably.’
‘My men can best you with ease,’ said Walter to Roger, ignoring his henchman’s efforts to calm the situation. Geoffrey was amused to note that he did not include himself in the challenge.
‘Can they indeed?’ asked Roger dangerously. ‘Perhaps we should have a wager on that.’
‘Why?’ snarled Pigot. ‘You will not be alive to pay it.’
‘Why do you object to us visiting the priory?’ asked Geoffrey, cutting across the furious rejoinder Roger started to make. ‘Did we upset someone?’
‘I am not prepared to wait and find out,’ said Walter. ‘I know you were asking about Leger’s murder and the whereabouts of the sky-stone. These are not matters that concern you.’
Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. ‘Your intelligence network is impressive, but-’
Walter looked pleased with himself. ‘I know everything that happens in my town.’
‘Then who killed Leger?’ pounced Geoffrey.
‘Pigot! Elias! Escort them out,’ ordered Walter. ‘Revelle and Seine bring up the rear. I do not have time for this nonsense.’
‘We are not going anywhere,’ said Roger. He seemed to have forgotten that he had been eager to leave not many moments before. ‘We are free men; we have the right to go where we please.’
‘Not in Estrighoiel,’ replied Walter. There was a cant in his eyes that was every bit as dangerous as Roger’s, and Geoffrey saw it would be unwise to antagonize him any further.
‘We are leaving,’ he said, standing. ‘We do not want trouble.’
Anger suffused Roger’s face. ‘I am not being ousted by this upstart. And his henchmen can try to make me leave if they dare. It would be a pleasure to skewer them.’
‘We will not be gone long,’ murmured Geoffrey in his ear. ‘Just follow me now. I will explain later.’
‘There is something bewilderingly perverse about you,’ grumbled Roger, deliberately knocking into Pigot as he followed Geoffrey outside. Pigot staggered, and it was only Revelle’s warning glare that prevented him from drawing his sword. ‘I never know what you are going to do next.’
But he was used to deferring to Geoffrey in tactics, so he let the matter lie. Walter’s men had already been in the stables, and the horses were saddled and ready. To make the point that he was not to be bullied, Roger began to make a fuss about the way his bags had been secured.
‘The strap is broken,’ he declared. It had been fine earlier and Geoffrey wondered whether he had cut it himself. Roger looked directly at Pigot. ‘You had better mend it for me.’
‘Mend it yourself,’ snarled Pigot. ‘I am no man’s servant.’
‘No?’ responded Roger. ‘I thought you were the constable’s lackey.’
Pigot’s sword was out of its sheath in seconds.
There would have been bloodshed had not Revelle stepped in front of Pigot, then clicked his fingers to several men in the crowd that had gathered to watch, ordering them to mend the strap.
‘Do not annoy Pigot,’ whispered a man who stood near Geoffrey. It was the red-faced merchant called Cadowan, his pretty wife Nest at his side. ‘And tell your friend he is pushing Walter too far. Our constable is a dangerous man.’
‘In what way?’ asked Geoffrey. A messenger had arrived, claiming the attention of Walter, Revelle and the other two knights, while Pigot continued to banter words — but at least not blows — with Roger.
‘We are fairly sure he killed his predecessor — Drogo de Hauteville,’ replied Nest. Her voice was low and pleasant, and Geoffrey found himself wishing Hilde had some of her looks. ‘Drogo plummeted over a cliff in the woods, even though he knew the area well and was unlikely to have lost his way.’
‘He was killed instantly,’ added Cadowan, taking up the tale. ‘And within hours, Walter arrived. He said he just happened to be passing when he heard the news, and he stepped into Drogo’s shoes because no one else was to hand.’
‘The King must be satisfied with him or he would have been replaced.’
‘Walter put down a small rebellion,’ said Cadowan, his voice dripping disgust. ‘Although we suspect it was engineered by Revelle to give his master an opportunity to shine.’
Geoffrey frowned. The whole affair did sti nk of treachery.