When Joan and Olivier retired to their chamber, Geoffrey was not tired. He supposed it was not surprising, given that he had slept late that morning and then lain in a drunken slumber for most of the afternoon. He went to his room, but he could not settle. If there had been a tavern nearby, he would have gone, but the nearest was across the river.
He sat at the table, struggling to read a scroll he had brought from the Holy Land. But he was not in the mood for philosophy, and his mind kept returning to Henry’s murder. Perhaps Joan was right: he would never discover the killer’s identity. But he knew that he would remain uneasy if he didn’t at least try, and he resolved to press on as diplomatically as he could. He was about to make a list of suspects – which included all six suitors and their fathers – when a scratching sound caused him to jump up and draw his dagger. He moved quickly to the door and ripped it open, causing the man outside almost to tumble in. The fellow recovered himself quickly, and his face went from alarm to an impassive mask.
‘Torva,’ said Geoffrey, recognizing Goodrich’s steward. Torva was thin-lipped, with greasy hair that parted in the middle and dangled limply around his shoulders. Joan swore that he was honest, but Geoffrey did not like the way the man looked at him.
‘Sir Geoffrey,’ replied Torva flatly.
‘Well?’ asked Geoffrey, when Torva said no more. ‘What do you want?’
‘I saw a light under your door,’ said Torva expressionlessly. ‘We are always worried about fires, so I came to investigate.’
‘I was reading,’ explained Geoffrey, indicating the scroll on the table.
‘I see,’ said Torva, in a voice he might have used had Geoffrey confessed to chanting spells to summon the Devil. ‘Remember to blow out the candle before you sleep.’
‘Of course I will remember,’ said Geoffrey, wondering if the man thought him an idiot. He glanced down and saw that Torva carried a hefty dagger. Was it something he always wore, or just when he slunk around at night? Geoffrey could not recall seeing it before, but had not paid close attention. Then it occurred to him that Henry had bullied Torva, and the steward was yet another murder suspect. ‘What happened the night Henry died?’
‘I did not kill him,’ Torva said in alarm. He turned to leave, but Geoffrey caught his arm.
‘I did not say you had, but I would like an answer to my question.’
‘You already know what happened.’ Torva tried to free himself, but Geoffrey was strong and he soon abandoned the attempt. ‘Henry started to drink. He kicked Peter and Jervil, and he punched me.’ He pointed to the side of his jaw, and Geoffrey saw a small scar where Henry’s ring had cut it.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, releasing Torva when he realized that he was bullying the man, too. ‘My brother was too ready with his fists.’
‘Like you, he did not like being in the hall with us servants, so he went to the stables. Sir Olivier found him dead the next morning.’
‘Do you know who killed him?’ asked Geoffrey. He had actually left the hall for the servants’ benefit – so they could sleep without being disturbed – but doubted Torva would believe him.
‘I have a number of suspects,’ replied Torva. ‘FitzNorman, Isabel and Margaret; Baderon and Hilde; Wulfric and his children Ralph, Eleanor and Douce; and Corwenna and half of Wales. Henry was unkind to every servant, poor villein and free man from here to Monmouth; he maltreated peddlers; and he hanged three “poachers” he caught in our woods. Then there are Baderon’s knights – Seguin and Lambert. Would you like me to continue? It might be easier to list those who did not want to kill your brother.’
‘Then do so,’ said Geoffrey mildly, refusing to be drawn by the man’s hostility.
Torva thought for a long time. ‘Father Adrian,’ he said eventually. ‘Because he does not own a dagger with a double-edged blade.’
‘What happened to the weapon?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I know the killer left it in Henry.’
‘Well, he would. You do not keep a Black Knife after it has done its work, do you?’
‘A black knife?’ asked Geoffrey, confused.
‘A Black Knife is a weapon strengthened with curses by a witch,’ said Torva, adding as if it were obvious: ‘You do not keep one after it has killed. It is too dangerous.’
‘And whose dagger underwent this particular transformation?’ asked Geoffrey, thinking it nonsense.
‘No one knows. But it may strike another Mappestone, if it chooses.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ asked Geoffrey coolly. ‘Or Joan?’
‘No, sir,’ said Torva with a false smile. ‘Not Joan.’ And then he was gone.
The next day was wet and cold, but warhorses needed to be exercised daily, so Geoffrey rode towards the hills that overlooked the river, taking the opportunity to familiarize himself with territory that he might have to defend one day. He hoped relations with Goodrich’s neighbours would not degenerate to the point where he might have to put his local knowledge to the test, but there was no harm in being cautious.
The land was an odd combination of familiar and alien after his long absence. Trees had grown or been cut down, and there were more settlements and houses, from which people emerged to watch him ride past. Few spoke to him, and none smiled.
In the middle of a wood, not far from the path, he heard a sharp rustle. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. Then he saw a deer staggering among the dead leaves that comprised the forest floor. He dismounted and approached slowly, angry to see its hind leg caught in a trap. It was too badly injured to set free, so reluctantly – he disliked killing anything not in a position to defend itself – he drew his sword. The deer gazed at him in mute terror and tried to squirm away. Knowing he would only prolong its misery by hesitating, he chopped at its skull, forcing himself not to close his eyes in his distaste for the task, lest he missed and hurt it further.
It died instantly. He wiped his weapon in the grass, then smashed the trap to ensure it would never be used again. Determined that whoever had set it would not enjoy venison for dinner, and since the animal had died on his land, he slung the corpse behind his saddle. Blood dripped down his horse’s flanks, and belatedly he wondered what people would make of him returning besmeared with gore.
In the afternoon he turned towards the castle. The sun was behind him, which meant he was near the Welsh border, and he hoped that he had not inadvertently strayed into hostile territory. The thought had no sooner crossed his mind than there was a snap behind him, as someone trod on a stick. His dog started to bark, and he spun around, hoisting his shield with one hand and drawing his sword with the other.
‘There is no need for that,’ came a man’s voice, although Geoffrey could see no one. ‘I once said there would always be a place for you at my hearth, but although you have been home for almost two weeks now, you have not deigned to visit.’
‘Caerdig?’ asked Geoffrey, smiling as the Welshman stepped from the undergrowth. ‘I was not sure I would still be welcome, given what I have heard about Henry.’
‘Speak Welsh,’ ordered Caerdig. ‘Or have you forgotten how?’
Geoffrey answered in the same tongue, ashamed that his grasp of it was not what it had been; although talented with languages, he struggled if he did not practise. ‘I trust you are well?’
‘Well enough, now Henry is dead,’ replied Caerdig bluntly. ‘He killed my son-in-law, you know.’
‘Joan told me,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I am sorry.’
‘You are not your brother,’ replied the Welshman with a shrug. ‘My daughter may not agree, though, so do not be surprised if she is hostile when you see her. She still mourns Rhys.’ Caerdig’s attention quickly turned elsewhere. ‘I see you still have that fine dog. Will you sell him to me? I could do with a pack of savage beasts like him.’
‘You will have some anyway, if you leave your bitches unattended,’ laughed Geoffrey.
Caerdig laughed in turn. ‘We are not far from Llan Martin. Come and warm yourself at my fire.’
Geoffrey did not want to oblige, especially after hearing that the man’s daughter harboured ill feelings, but could think of no way to decline without causing offence. So he dismounted and fell in next to the Welshman.
‘Have you prospered?’ he asked conversationally.
Caerdig sighed. ‘No. We are all poorer than the meanest of your peasants. Joan sent us grain again last year – we would have starved without it. We repaid her, of course, with extra to express our gratitude.’ His expression was grim. ‘But we should not have put pride before practical considerations, because now we are short again.’
‘We can provide more,’ said Geoffrey, looking around as they entered Llan Martin. The houses looked as though they had barely survived the winter, and the faces of the people who came out to greet them were pinched and cold, although the welcome they gave was warm enough.
‘We might have to accept,’ said Caerdig resentfully. ‘Although it is not wise to rely on a neighbour’s charity every year. I suppose Joan has been after you to marry?’
Surprised, Geoffrey nodded.
‘You should listen to her. Goodrich is vulnerable when only you stand between it and the wolves that surround it. They may decide another murder is the best course of action.’
‘You think so?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily.
‘Listen to the advice of a man who means you well,’ said Caerdig. ‘Marry quickly – any heiress will do, because they are all of a muchness – make her with child and return to Jerusalem with all haste. Then come back at appropriate intervals to repeat the process. Only when you have at least three strong sons should you entertain living here.’
Geoffrey was amused at the notion of skulking in exile, returning only for lightning strikes on his hapless wife. ‘You think Goodrich is that dangerous?’
Caerdig did not smile back. ‘For you, yes.’
The Welshman pushed open the door to his home. It was dark inside and, even though the afternoon was cool and promised a frigid night, no fires were lit. The floor was of beaten earth, but scrupulously clean, and the few benches and stools were old and lovingly polished. There were bowls of spring flowers on the windowsills, adding touches of colour and a pleasant scent.
The room was large and surprisingly full. Geoffrey recognized Caerdig’s wife, and bowed to her. She inclined her head in return, and then asked how Goodrich’s grain stores were holding out. She seemed very interested in his answers, as did a number of folk who came to listen. There was an atmosphere of unease, and Geoffrey did not feel safe, although he resisted the urge to stand with his back to the wall, suspecting Caerdig would know what he was doing and be offended. He wished he had not dispensed with his armour.
‘Bring logs and tinder,’ ordered Caerdig, rubbing his hands as he strode towards the hearth. ‘No guest of Llan Martin sits before an empty fireplace.’
‘Then what are we?’ asked a man in Norman-French as Caerdig approached. He had been listening to a red-haired woman who muttered at his side, evidently translating what the others were saying. ‘I am a guest, but you did not order the fire lit for me.’
Geoffrey studied the man with interest. He had a dark complexion, and stood at least a head above the villagers. The cloak thrown carelessly across his shoulders was lined with fur, and his boots were of excellent quality. His bearing indicated that he was a man of some standing, used to having his orders obeyed. He had two companions, who also stood as Caerdig escorted Geoffrey to the hearth; both wore swords in their belts and mail tunics.
The man to the left was shorter, with long, wispy yellow hair and a sardonic smile. Geoffrey immediately saw they were kin. The man to the right was older. He had a thick, grey mane and a white beard that was carefully curled. His clothes were well cut, and his sword was a good one, with a sharp blade and a functional hilt. None were the kind of men Geoffrey would have expected to see in the home of poor Welshmen.
Caerdig forced a smile. ‘This is Sir Seguin de Rheims,’ he said to Geoffrey, speaking Norman-French with an accent that was almost impossible to decipher. Seguin apparently knew no Welsh.
‘I am his brother, Lambert,’ said the fair-headed knight. He indicated the older man. ‘And this is our friend.’
Geoffrey knew he was being misled: the last man was obviously the most important. He recalled Torva saying that two knights in Baderon’s service were called Seguin and Lambert. Unless Geoffrey was mistaken, the older man was a good deal more than their friend.
‘Lord Baderon,’ he said with a bow.
‘Baderon?’ asked Caerdig in alarm. He reverted to Welsh as he addressed Geoffrey. ‘Are you sure? The man himself has come to visit me?’
Baderon seemed amused that his ruse had been exposed. He smiled at Geoffrey. ‘How did you guess? We have not met before, because I would have remembered.’
‘Who are you?’ demanded Seguin.
‘He is Geoffrey Mappestone,’ supplied the red-haired woman, coming to inspect Geoffrey. ‘We played together as children, although he has grown since then. Do you remember me?’
Geoffrey was immediately on his guard, as he could see there was a good deal of animosity bubbling in Caerdig’s only daughter. The gangly child had grown into a beauty, with smooth skin and a poised elegance. However, what he remembered about playing with Corwenna was not what she had looked like, but the fact that she had devoted considerable effort in finding ways to ambush him in order to pull his hair.
‘I remember,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘You have grown, too.’
‘Are you calling me fat?’ she demanded, and he saw that he would have to be more careful with his words if he did not want an argument.
‘You are no longer a child,’ he replied gently. ‘That is all I meant.’
Before she could say anything else, Seguin stepped forward. ‘I am here to pay court to her,’ he declared. ‘So if you hope to secure her for Goodrich, you are wasting your time. She is promised to me.’
Geoffrey felt an instinctive dislike for the man. He saw Baderon wince at Seguin’s lack of manners, while Lambert stepped closer to his brother, as if expressing solidarity.
‘My marriage to Sir Seguin will improve Llan Martin’s fortunes – but, more importantly, it will weaken Goodrich,’ Corwenna explained nastily.
Geoffrey doubted it. Llan Martin was too poor to be a serious threat, although Caerdig’s word carried weight among other Welsh leaders. The previous night, Joan had mentioned Baderon’s penchant for marrying his knights to Welsh ladies, and he supposed that he was witnessing such a match.
‘Corwenna cannot remain a widow forever, so it is time we found her a profitable marriage,’ said Caerdig to Geoffrey, reverting to Welsh. ‘Sir Seguin is wealthy and, although not a Welshman, we are not in a position to be fussy.’
‘He is acceptable,’ said Corwenna in Norman-French, confident in the knowledge that Seguin would not know what she was talking about. She glowered at Geoffrey. ‘Of course, I would not be in this position, were it not for you.’
‘Me?’ asked Geoffrey, startled.
‘Take no notice,’ said Caerdig quickly. ‘She means no harm.’
‘Do I not?’ snarled Corwenna, turning on Geoffrey with such vehemence that he took an involuntary step back. He trod on his dog, which yelped and bit Lambert. Pandemonium erupted, although Corwenna seemed oblivious to the yells that ensued as Lambert tried to stab the dog and Caerdig tried to stop him. ‘You killed my Rhys.’
‘I did not,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I never met him.’
‘Henry was your brother,’ she hissed. ‘Our customs say the blame is now yours to bear.’
‘Well, the King’s law does not,’ replied Geoffrey tartly. ‘How could I control what Henry did when I was not here? Besides, he is dead.’
She glared at him, but he saw out of the corner of his eye that Lambert had the dog cornered and was raising his sword to strike. He turned and tore the weapon from the man’s hands. Lambert regarded him in astonishment.
‘That brute bit me with no provocation.’
‘I apologize,’ said Geoffrey, handing the sword back. ‘He dislikes strangers.’
Lambert fingered the weapon in a way that indicated he was ready to use it. ‘What will you do to compensate me? Silver? Or a sister to entertain me for a night when I happen to be passing?’
‘I doubt you will want to be entertained by Joan,’ said Seguin. ‘She is the dragon who keeps Goodrich from hostile invasions. If you interfere with her, it will be the last thing you will do!’
Geoffrey was not prepared to stand by and hear Joan abused by the likes of Seguin. ‘Do you want to fight me?’ he asked coldly. ‘Is that why you insult my sister?’
Lambert stood at Seguin’s side; weapon ready to join him in any skirmish. Geoffrey regarded them with disdain, thinking the brothers had little honour if they were prepared to pitch two men against one in a private quarrel. He drew his own sword and waited to see who would attack first.
‘Put up your weapons!’ ordered Caerdig, stepping between them. ‘There will be no fighting in my house.’
‘What did you expect, father?’ demanded Corwenna acidly. ‘You invited a Mappestone into our home, which meant it was only a matter of time before someone died.’
Baderon raised his hands to appeal for calm. ‘Seguin should not have insulted Joan, but Sir Geoffrey’s dog should not have bitten Lambert. So we are even. Let us put an end to this nonsense.’
Lambert complied willingly enough, but Seguin only sheathed his weapon when Lambert muttered something in his ear. Satisfied, Baderon went to the hearth. The feeble blaze did little to warm the house, however, nor did it do much for the atmosphere of frigid resentment that hung over Caerdig’s guests. Geoffrey saw that he was a fool to create enemies of Baderon’s knights, and knew he should make amends. He sat where Baderon indicated, and tried to be polite.
‘Lord Baderon wants to form alliances with his Welsh neighbours,’ said Lambert, addressing Geoffrey with equally forced amiability. ‘He has offered my brother a manor if he takes a Celtic bride. We both have lands in Normandy, but they are in an area ruled by Belleme, and he keeps attacking them. It is safer for us to be here.’
‘You leave your people to fend off Belleme alone?’ asked Geoffrey, startled. Belleme was a cruel and vicious tyrant, and the knights’ place should have been with their villagers.
Seguin bristled, but Lambert did not take offence. ‘He is less likely to raid if we are away – there is no one to seize and hold to ransom, you see.’
‘A marriage here will suit me nicely,’ said Seguin. ‘And Lord Baderon is prepared to be very generous if I take Corwenna.’
‘I am,’ agreed Baderon. ‘The King ordered me to pacify this region, and marriage between my knights and our Welsh neighbours is an excellent way to achieve a lasting truce.’
Geoffrey nodded, although it occurred to him that such marriages might unite the Welsh against the English. He wondered how quickly he could leave without offending anyone – he did not want to be near Baderon’s fiery knights, or Corwenna.
Caerdig beamed at his guests, relieved that they appeared to have put the spat behind them. ‘We must celebrate the upcoming match between Corwenna and Sir Seguin.’
A man afflicted by a serious squint approached Caerdig and whispered in his ear. Geoffrey recalled his name was Hywel, and that he was Caerdig’s steward. ‘Celebrate with what? We have no ale, and we can hardly offer them water.’
‘I have some French claret in my saddlebag,’ said Geoffrey to Baderon, hoping the man was not a good judge of such things – it was a miserable brew from the south of England that he kept for medicinal purposes. ‘Shall we share a cup?’
Hywel went to look for it, while Seguin talked about how the marriage would benefit him, although Geoffrey could not see what Caerdig would get out of the arrangement.
‘Seguin comes with a small herd of cows,’ replied Caerdig when Geoffrey asked him. He reverted automatically to Welsh. ‘Personally, I wanted a Mappestone to take her, but you are the only one left, and I suspect Joan has her eyes set on a bigger prize than Llan Martin.’
‘I would not wed him anyway,’ said Corwenna icily, also speaking Welsh. ‘I will not share my bed with a man who slaughtered his way to the Holy Land. I heard what those Crusaders did on their way to “liberate” Jerusalem.’
‘You played together as children,’ said Caerdig, trying to silence his daughter by gripping her knee in a painful pinch.
‘Stop babbling in that infernal tongue,’ ordered Seguin testily. ‘I will have no Welsh spoken in my home once we are married.’
‘Geoffrey speaks it badly anyway,’ said Corwenna venomously. ‘It hurts the ears when it comes from the mouth of a Norman. There should be a law against it.’
‘Corwenna!’ exclaimed Caerdig, aghast. ‘That is no way to speak to an honoured guest!’
‘He is not an honoured guest,’ retorted Corwenna hotly. ‘He is Henry’s brother – the man who slaughtered our cattle, burnt our granaries and murdered Rhys.’
Seguin roared with laughter, while his brother grinned. Both evidently considered Corwenna’s bold temper a fine thing. Geoffrey wondered how amusing Seguin would find Corwenna’s sour moods when they were directed against him, and suspected it would only be a matter of time before they fell out.
The tension eased when Hywel returned with the wine, and measured it into wooden cups. Maliciously, Geoffrey hoped it was acidic enough to make the Normans and Corwenna sick, although he bore Caerdig no ill will. When everyone held a goblet, Caerdig spoke.
‘To future liaisons,’ he said ambiguously, and everyone other than Geoffrey upended their cups, only to spit the contents out again.
‘God in Heaven!’ exclaimed Baderon, gagging. ‘Is this what you drink in the Holy Land?’
‘No,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘That is saddle oil. Hywel used the wrong flask.’
Corwenna rubbed her lips with a cloth. ‘Why did you wait until we had swallowed it? Are you trying to poison us?’
‘It was a mistake,’ said Caerdig, although he had noticed that Geoffrey had not touched his own cup.
Seguin spat into the fire and then stood. ‘It is time to go home. It will be dark soon, and not even knights are immune from outlaws in Wales.’
Caerdig followed his guests outside. ‘It will not be pleasant having such a man in the family,’ he whispered to Geoffrey, ‘but Corwenna likes him, and the cattle he brings will be useful.’
‘He is a bag of air,’ declared Geoffrey, also in Welsh. He refrained from adding that Seguin and Corwenna deserved each other.
‘He is, but everyone seems happy about the union. It is only I who has reservations. I wish she was marrying you instead.’
Geoffrey did not, much as he liked Caerdig. He did not care whether marriage brought him riches, and did not even mind if his wife was plain – he would settle for one capable of intelligent conversation. However, he certainly did not want one who hated him.
‘God’s blood!’ exclaimed Seguin, stalking towards Geoffrey’s horse. ‘That is a deer! And you killed it with a sword.’
‘It was caught in a trap,’ explained Geoffrey.
‘Where?’ demanded Baderon, suddenly angry. ‘Where precisely?’
‘In a clearing about three miles from here,’ said Geoffrey, wondering what was upsetting them. ‘It was on my land.’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Baderon hotly. ‘You have been away for two decades. How can you know your boundaries when they twist and turn so tortuously?’
Seguin took a step towards Geoffrey. ‘FitzNorman enforces forest law vigorously on the lands under his control, and we do the same for Lord Baderon. No one kills his venison. It is a hanging offence.’
‘It is as well the venison is mine, then,’ said Geoffrey mildly. ‘I found the trap on a hill just south of the river, and even someone who has been away for twenty years cannot be mistaken about which side of the river he is on. It was Goodrich land.’
‘Then I shall believe you,’ said Baderon. ‘But I will not suffer thieves on my land, no matter who they are.’
Geoffrey would have preferred to travel alone, but Baderon offered to accompany him part way, and he did not want to appear churlish by declining.
‘What do you think?” asked Caerdig in a whisper, holding the reins of Geoffrey’s horse while he mounted. ‘Will Baderon be a trustworthy ally?’
‘God knows,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘He is certainly determined to have you on his side, since he is prepared to give away a manor and cattle to make sure Seguin marries Corwenna.’
Caerdig was thoughtful. ‘I sense he is a better man than his two knights.’
‘He barely controls them – they act more as equals than vassals. Do you want this deer? It will compensate you for the embarrassment of having served saddle oil to your guests.’
Caerdig chuckled as he tugged the corpse from Geoffrey’s horse. ‘You can embarrass me any time, if you bribe me so handsomely. Stay here tonight and share it with us.’
‘Corwenna would have a knife in me,’ said Geoffrey. ‘The others are waiting, so I should go.’
He followed Baderon, Lambert and Seguin, knowing they would take the same road for about half a mile before their paths diverged. Daylight was fading, and his horse skittered as old leaves blew in the wind. At first, Seguin and Baderon talked about poachers, while Lambert told Geoffrey about his own marriage prospects, naming women from three villages Geoffrey had never heard of. Then the path narrowed, so they were obliged to ride in single file. Conversation waned.
Geoffrey allowed his mind to wander, wondering whether Corwenna had killed Henry. It took little strength to push a blade into a drunken man. His thoughts were interrupted when Baderon spoke.
‘Seguin’s union with Corwenna is an integral part of my plans for peace – to enhance the stability of the region,’ he said. ‘Caerdig is poor but respected, and the Welsh lords listen to him. Obviously, you appreciate that a good marriage is vital for good relations, because you are looking for a wife yourself. My daughter Hilde is-’
‘I do not want to marry,’ replied Geoffrey, with more heat than intended.
‘Marriage is a good thing: it saves you having to look for a whore,’ declared Seguin. ‘I am looking forward to having a ready wench in my bedchamber whenever I feel like her.’
Geoffrey thought Seguin was deluded if he imagined Corwenna would be there whenever he ‘felt like her’.
‘I offered Hilde to your brother,’ Baderon went on. ‘He refused her rather cruelly. Still, it did not matter, because Hilde said she would not have Henry if he was the last man on Earth, and I could never force her to do what she does not want. No man could.’
‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, filing the information away: Hilde was fierce and ungovernable, which would not make for a peaceful domestic environment.
‘There are other ways, though,’ said Baderon enigmatically. Geoffrey had no idea what he meant. ‘But this is where our pathways part. Goodnight, Sir Geoffrey. Beware of outlaws.’
Geoffrey nodded, then touched his heels to his horse’s flanks and rode away. He had not gone far before he spotted someone else. When the man saw him, he gave a yelp and turned to flee. It was Goodrich land, and the grim fate of the deer was still fresh in Geoffrey’s mind. With his dog barking furiously, he galloped after the shadow and quickly had the fellow by the scruff of the neck.
‘What do you want?’ the felon cried with rather more indignation than was warranted. ‘I have no money to give you.’
The voice was instantly familiar – high and irritable. It sounded exactly like his old squire, Durand, although Geoffrey did not see how that was possible: Durand was currently enjoying a successful career as a royal clerk, revelling in the luxuries of courtly life. Geoffrey peered down at him, and was astonished to see flowing golden locks. There was only one person he knew who sported such glorious tresses.
‘Durand?’ he asked in disbelief. ‘It is you!’
Relief broke over Durand’s face. ‘Sir Geoffrey? Thank God! I thought you were an outlaw!’
‘This is a Godforsaken part of the country,’ said Durand, while Geoffrey dismounted. His old squire had changed little, and was still small and slender, although regal dining had added a layer of lard around his middle. The beautiful yellow curls tumbled around his shoulders, and his clothes were exquisite, as befitted a man from the King’s court. They were grubby, however, and there were leaves in his hair.
‘It is my land,’ said Geoffrey, rather coolly. ‘What are you doing here?’
Durand did not care that he might have offended; he never had. He grinned. ‘I heard you lived near here, and intended to pay you a visit. However, I did not anticipate enjoying our reunion in the depths of a wilderness at dusk.’
Geoffrey was surprised that Durand should think to favour him with a visit. They had seldom seen eye to eye in the past: Durand had deplored Geoffrey’s military lifestyle and Geoffrey had despised Durand’s cowardice and brazen self-interest. But, for all their differences, Durand had a keen mind that Geoffrey missed, and he smiled at seeing the man again.
‘You have not answered my question. Why are you here – it is unlike you to be alone in a place that might be dangerous.’
‘Dangerous?’ squeaked Durand in alarm. ‘Abbot Serlo said all the outlaws around here had been driven off, and that it is safe. I would not have accompanied him otherwise.’
‘There are wild animals,’ said Geoffrey wickedly. ‘And this part of the woods is haunted.’
‘Then what are you doing here? No, do not tell me. It will be something to do with whores and strong drink. I remember what it was like to be in your service.’
It was an unfair accusation, given that Geoffrey was generally well behaved for a knight. He felt his pleasure at meeting an old acquaintance diminish somewhat. Durand had once wanted a career in the Church, and his monkish ways had remained with him long after his expulsion from a monastery for dallying with a butcher’s son.
‘My predicament is Abbot Serlo’s fault,’ Durand went on when Geoffrey did not reply. ‘I told him it was impossible to ride from Gloucester to Dene in one day, but he insisted it could be done. Then a horse went lame, we were delayed, and now here we are, lost in a dangerous forest with brutal Crusader knights riding us down from dark places.’
‘Abbot Serlo?’
‘The principal of the abbey at Gloucester,’ replied Durand impatiently. ‘I thought you would know that: you told me you were a novice there for six months.’
Geoffrey had forgotten the name of the man who had ruled Gloucester Abbey for the past thirty years, because his mercifully brief noviciate had been a long time before. ‘But why are you with him? Have you annoyed the King?’
‘That is an unpleasant thing to say,’ said Durand. ‘And if you had bothered to read my letters, you would know that I have become indispensable.’
‘I did read your letters, but . . .’ Geoffrey was about to say that Durand was not always honest, but did not want to offend him further. ‘. . . but nothing you wrote led me to expect to see you here.’
‘The King left me with Serlo for a while, since he is in the area, and-’
‘The King is nearby?’ interrupted Geoffrey uneasily. Geoffrey held His Majesty partly responsible for his dismissal by Tancred, and did not want to meet him, lest he was unable to stop himself from saying so.
‘He has business at Hereford – to do with consecrating its bishop. He brought me with him to investigate various taxation issues. Serlo offered to accompany me to Dene, but I would have been better off hiring soldiers. He insists on travelling like a peasant – on mules and with no guards.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Geoffrey. He knew Serlo was not in the woods, because his dog would have barked or growled. An uneasy thought occurred to him. ‘You have not strangled him, have you, like you did that monk near Westminster last year?’
Durand glared. ‘I did that to save our lives – yours as well as mine – as you know perfectly well. I am not in the habit of killing people. I leave that to the likes of you.’ He stared at the small arsenal Geoffrey carried, even in civilian clothes.
‘Serlo?’ prompted Geoffrey.
Durand waved a hand behind him, and Geoffrey saw the outline of a shepherd’s shelter. It was poor and dirty, but Geoffrey recalled that its roof was sound, its walls strong, and it had straw pallets to sleep on. It was not the most comfortable accommodation, but he had used far worse.
‘He is already asleep,’ said Durand resentfully. ‘He declared we would be safe, then lay down and started snoring as though he had not a care in the world. He did not even wait until I had finished my supper, and then I had to . . . you know.’
Geoffrey did not. ‘What?’
‘Slip outside to water the trees,’ whispered Durand primly, although there was no one to overhear. ‘He might have stayed awake to ensure I got back in once piece.’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘Serlo has nothing to fear in these woods.’
‘It is not Serlo I am worried about,’ said Durand fervently. ‘He wears a Benedictine habit. I am the one who will be slaughtered if we meet robbers.’
Geoffrey took pity on him. ‘Do you want to come to Goodrich tonight?’
‘There is nothing I would like more, but Serlo does not like being woken once he is sleeping. I would rather let the old bear rest than have him grumbling.’
‘Then visit me tomorrow,’ suggested Geoffrey. ‘But how did you escape the charge of theft levelled against you in Winchester? Your letters outlined your rise in fortunes, but they did not mention that.’
Durand gave one of his superior smiles. ‘I was accused of stealing equipment from a mint and trying to sell it. However, I proved myself innocent. The man who reported me identified me by my hair. So, I bundled it inside a cap and challenged him to pick me out of a crowd. He could not, and I was exonerated. Then I heard about a series of thefts from the royal kitchens, so I decided to look into them. I watched you enough to know how to go about it, and had the riddle solved in a week.’
‘I have never investigated thefts.’
‘You have looked into murders, and one crime is much like another. The King was delighted when I presented him with the culprits. He was so pleased that he agreed to employ me as an agent. He is trusting me with more and more important matters.’
‘Do you like the work?’
Durand grimaced. ‘It is good to own the favour of the King, but I am obliged to deal with some very unsavoury characters – mainly powerful nobles who try to cheat him. I am often in danger. At least when I was with you, I knew you would protect me. These days I have no one.’
‘You can always hire guards.’
Durand raised his eyebrows hopefully. ‘Will you oblige? I do not want any unmannerly lout at my heels when I interview these barons – I would sooner have one I know.’
Geoffrey laughed at the man’s audacity. ‘You expect me to work for you?’
Durand’s face was earnest. ‘I was thinking more of a partnership – I would do the thinking, while you manage the dangerous parts. Between us, we would be a formidable team.’
‘It is a tempting offer,’ said Geoffrey, still laughing. ‘But I must decline.’
‘Why?’ demanded Durand. ‘Because you do not want to be in the King’s service? You are deluding yourself if you think you will resist him forever. Tancred no longer wants you, and you will turn to King Henry sooner or later, simply out of desperation.’
Was that true? It was possible, given that Geoffrey was already restless. Like Durand, he had developed a talent for investigating crimes and, although the cases he explored had been perilous, there had been something exhilarating about them.
‘Well?’ demanded Durand. ‘Come work with me. We will make a fortune.’
Geoffrey mounted his horse. Neither withering away at Goodrich nor working for the King held any appeal, but combining forces with the devious Durand was an appalling prospect, and not one he would consider in a hundred years. ‘It is a generous offer, but I must refuse.’
‘You are leaving?’ asked Durand in horror.
‘What do you expect me to do?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Stand guard outside your hut while you sleep?’
‘That is an excellent idea,’ said Durand gratefully. ‘No one will dare attack when there is a ruffian like you lurking outside.’
‘Good night, Durand,’ said Geoffrey, laughing.
‘Please!’ cried Durand, agitated. ‘Will you abandon an old friend in the middle of a hostile forest? I am no longer a servant; I am an important man. I own several manors in Suffolk – the King gave them to me as a mark of his esteem.’
Geoffrey raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘The King gave you land?’
Durand nodded. ‘My estates are almost as large as Goodrich. I am your equal now.’
Geoffrey was impressed that his old squire had made his fortune so quickly, and saw that he should not have been sceptical of Durand’s letters. He had indeed risen rapidly, and, if he was trusted to explore issues pertaining to taxation, it meant the King liked him. It would not be long before Durand was a force to be reckoned with.
‘Then I wish you well of it,’ he said. ‘But Serlo is right: there are no outlaws in this part of the forest. You are perfectly safe.’
Durand did not look convinced, but Geoffrey had no intention of spending the night away from the fire and warm bed at Goodrich. He raised his hand in salute and rode away. When he glanced behind him, he saw Durand standing alone and unhappy, and suspected he would sleep poorly. But Durand would survive. He always did.