‘We suspect Walter killed Leger, too,’ whispered Cadowan. ‘Although I imagine he will have blamed the monks in the priory. Or even us. Am I right?’
Geoffrey shrugged, unwilling to gossip. ‘I have been listening to accusations all afternoon. It is difficult to keep them straight.’
Cadowan shot an angry glare towards Walter. ‘Nothing has been right since that devious dog arrived. He blames it on Ivar, but it was hardly Ivar’s fault that he could not save Eleanor — the sky-stone does not work for everyone. Thank God it did on Nest.’
‘I could feel myself dying,’ said Nest quietly, ‘but then Ivar put the stone in my hand, and the life began to course through me again. Walter can say what he likes, but the stone is sacred.’
‘The monks want it badly,’ said Cadowan. ‘But they are not very saintly men, and I would not like to think of such a pure thing in their hands. I tried to buy it from Ivar, so I could take it to a monastery with devout monks, rather than this worldly horde. But Ivar will not sell.’
‘Does he explain why not?’
Both shook their heads. ‘He said he would wait for God to tell him who to give it to,’ said Nest. ‘But-’
‘Enough,’ roared Walter, finishing with the messenger and seeing Geoffrey speaking to the merchant and his wife. ‘Get on your horses and leave. You have wasted enough of our time.’
Eager to avoid further confrontation, Geoffrey mounted up. But Roger once again had to have the final say.
‘Perhaps you could bend down so that I could step on your back to mount,’ he said to Pigot.
The other knight’s face was a mask of unbridled hatred as he reached for his sword. But Roger struck him on the forehead with the metal hilt of his dagger, and Pigot dropped senseless to the ground.
The constable squawked in alarm as all the knights immediately assumed fighting stances. In a move born out of sheer terror, he lobbed his sword at Geoffrey. It was an unconventional manoeuvre, and not one any sane knight would perform — it would leave him effectively unarmed. But because of its very nature, it took Geoffrey by surprise, and there was a burning pain in his arm — his armour had leather sleeves, and the blade had sliced through one of them. He struggled to raise his shield as first Elias and then Revelle began a series of hacking blows.
‘The King will have your head for this,’ Roger bellowed, realizing too late that the odds were not very favourable. ‘He will not appreciate his agents being murdered.’
‘Agents?’ asked Walter, making an abrupt gesture that stopped his knights from attacking, although they remained alert. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Geoffrey is one of his most trusted officers,’ said Roger loudly.
‘Geoffrey?’ asked Walter uneasily. ‘Not Sir Geoffrey Mappestone? Of Goodrich?’
‘The very same,’ shouted Roger. ‘Which you would have known, had you bothered to ask.’
‘My cousin, William Giffard — who is the Bishop of Winchester — mentioned Geoffrey Mappestone in a letter he wrote to me,’ said Revelle, sheathing his sword. ‘And his description matches this man. Giffard said Geoffrey has helped the King with a number of difficult problems.’
‘Then why did you not tell us who you were?’ said Walter, expansive and oily. ‘Your reputation goes before you, and His Majesty has often sung your praises. Elias! Seine! Why are you standing there like great apes? Welcome our new friends. We must amend this silly misunderstanding.’
Geoffrey did not want to step inside Castelle de Estrighoiel — not because it was the lair of a man who had lobbed a sword at him, but because it was owned by the King. He had learned from bitter experience that it was safer to stay well away from anything under Henry’s control.
‘We will stay in an inn,’ he said, trying not to show how painful his injury was.
‘Nonsense,’ declared Walter. ‘They are likely to be full by now, and there is plenty of room at the castle. Besides, it is the least I can do. You do understand that I would never have tackled you had you told me your name, do you not?’
Geoffrey nodded, although he was not much comforted. It meant Walter was not averse to ambushing other innocent visitors, which hardly made Estrighoiel a place of safety.
‘Then we will stay at the priory,’ he said. ‘There is no need for-’
‘You will not be safe there,’ said Walter darkly. ‘Please, Sir Geoffrey. You will be much more comfortable with us. And you know I mean you no harm — if I had, you would be dead by now. And you are still very much alive.’
‘Why did you stay your hand?’ asked Geoffrey. The King would be vexed to lose the services of a retainer, but no more — Geoffrey might be useful to Henry, but Henry did not like him, and the feeling was wholly reciprocated.
‘Because the King told me you were a good man to call in times of trouble,’ replied Walter. ‘And this is a turbulent region. If I am to maintain my hold on Estrighoiel, then I shall need all the allies I can get.’
‘Your hold on Estrighoiel is insecure?’
If that were the case, then Geoffrey was disgusted, because defending such a mighty fortress should have been child’s play. Then he looked at the constable’s shiny mail and untried sword, and understood the situation: Walter was but a shadow of his older brothers. Estrighoiel was his chance to make a mark, but it was unlikely that he would be equal to the task.
Walter shot him a furtive glance. ‘Treachery is rife. No one can be trusted, with the exception of these four knights — Revelle, Pigot, Seine and Elias.’
‘Why is treachery rife?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘There will be grievances between Normans and locals — both English and Welsh — but you should be able to manage those with diplomacy.’
‘People will not do as they are told,’ said Walter sullenly, and Geoffrey saw he was a petty despot — that he ruled by fear.
‘It is not an area that responds well to force,’ Geoffrey said carefully. ‘Bribery works much better.’
‘Why should I yield to the demands of peasants?’ snapped Walter angrily. ‘I am above such paltry dealings. But why did you come to Estrighoiel? What did you want here?’
It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to remark that he should have asked that before trying to throw him out of the town, but he managed to suppress the instinct.
‘I came because my wife’s uncle wrote to say he was in fear of his life. Unfortunately, I arrived too late to help him.’
‘Leger,’ mused Walter. ‘Odo or one of his brethren will be responsible for Leger’s death. It is a pity — Leger was the only reasonable fellow among them and I am sorry he is dead. But the culprit will not remain free for long. He will be a monk, and lay brothers gossip.’
‘Your spy in the priory is a lay brother?’ asked Geoffrey, supposing that would narrow it down. There were only six of those, as opposed to ten monks and a prior.
Walter smiled enigmatically. ‘I am not such a fool as to reveal my sources to anyone who asks. Suffice to say that nothing happens in that priory without my knowledge — and that is important, given that the wicked child-killer and devil-lover Ivar lurks there.’
‘A Satanist would hardly take up residence on consecrated ground,’ said Geoffrey reasonably. ‘It would cramp his style, to say the least.’
‘You assume the priory is holy,’ said Walter curtly. ‘But it is not. Ivar’s demonic evil has rubbed off on them, and they are all wicked now, even if they were not before. It is a pity they are not all stabbed in their church. But never mind this. Let me ask you a question: what were you hoping to learn about Leger’s death?’
‘Just who killed him,’ replied Geoffrey simply.
‘I have just told you who killed him — a monk. Any of them is strong enough, although my money is either on Odo or Aidan, on the grounds that they are the biggest and meanest. Or perhaps Ivar summoned a demon from hell to do it. And if you want to know why Leger was murdered, it will be something to do with that damned sky-stone. Ivar has hidden it and refuses to say where. My spy has done his best to find out, because I would like to get it myself.’