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voice his disappointment openly. He is in Gloucester at the moment, swearing fealty to the Crown in a formal ceremony.’
    â€˜Does Henry not trust him to stay loyal without such an oath?’
    â€˜Henry does not trust anyone. Richard will return to Kermerdyn to resume control of the Norman garrison. Obviously, Henry will want good men on hand if there is trouble brewing.’
    â€˜Prince Hywel does not object to Norman soldiers in his lands?’
    â€˜He understands that he holds them from Henry, and is said to be quite content with the arrangement. People are happy with his rule, and the garrison is never needed to quell trouble. Richard is thought to be bored with the inactivity, but everyone else is satisfied.’
    â€˜How do you know all this?’
    â€˜Partly from listening to the King, and partly from letters I have received from Wilfred, Bishop of St David’s. Kermerdyn is in his See.’
    â€˜I am supposed to take a letter to Bishop Wilfred.’
    Maurice smiled. ‘Then you must give him my blessings. He is involved in a dispute with Kermerdyn abbey at the moment. Apparently, its head constantly questions his authority.’
    â€˜I have never been that far inside Wales,’ said Geoffrey, trying to look on the bright side of the commission. ‘Perhaps it will be interesting.’
    â€˜I imagine it will,’ said Maurice. ‘But be careful. Any soldier can deliver letters, but Henry has chosen you. There will be a reason for that.’

Two
    The letters were still not ready by that evening, and Geoffrey saw he would have to spend another night in La Batailge. When dusk brought with it a drenching drizzle, he decided he would no longer bed down behind the stables. He found a corner in the kitchens and was a good deal warmer than those of Henry’s retainers who had been allocated quarters in the dorter and guest hall, the roofs of which leaked. It allowed him to secure a decent breakfast, too, by raiding the platters before they were carried to the refectory.
    However, he did not fare as well as Roger and the squires, who had passed the night in a nearby tavern. He found them there mid-morning, enjoying the company of three whores and a veritable mountain of food. There was plenty of ale, too, although it was cloudy and tasted vaguely rotten. Geoffrey drank it anyway. As a soldier, he had never had the luxury of being fussy about food, except fish soup or raisins; he would rather starve than ingest those.
    â€˜Well?’ asked Roger. ‘What did Henry want? You were certainly with him long enough. We grew tired of waiting for you and came here.’
    Roger was Geoffrey’s closest friend, albeit an unlikely one. He was a giant of a man, with thick black hair and matching beard, both worn fashionably long. His father was the notoriously treacherous Bishop of Durham, and it had always amazed Geoffrey that Roger was proud of his infamous forebear. Roger was happiest when fighting, looting or frolicking with any woman willing to tolerate his clumsy advances, and he had a deep-rooted distrust of anyone who was literate. This sometimes included Geoffrey, whose scholarly tendencies he deplored.
    â€˜He wants me to deliver a letter to Kermerdyn,’ explained Geoffrey. ‘Although there is something odd about the affair, and you should not mention it to anyone else.’
    â€˜Where is Kermerdyn?’ asked Roger, scratching his head. ‘And why would he order you to deliver a letter? Henry is a fool if he thinks you are a lackey. You have always been your own man, even when you were serving Tancred. It is what makes powerful men eager to claim your allegiance.’
    â€˜Henry does not care about my allegiance. He makes no attempt to earn it, and forces me to do his bidding by blackmail and coercion.’
    â€˜Because that is the only way you will do what he wants,’ said Roger, uncharacteristically astute. ‘I am sure he would rather you