Geoffrey shook his head, hoping Hywel would not be offended when he learned that Henry had not deigned to acknowledge him.
Delwyn sighed heavily. ‘You are a hard man, Sir Geoffrey. I can only pray that it will not count against you when your sins are weighed on Judgement Day. And that may come sooner than you think, given the way that you court danger.’
‘I do not court danger,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether he was being threatened.
Delwyn regarded him haughtily. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’
And, with that enigmatic remark, he sauntered away.
Hilde had obtained four separate chambers on the upper floor, with hay-filled stable lofts for the servants. Geoffrey was uncomfortable when Hilde confided that the one for them was the landlord’s own, but she assured him that Fychan had not minded going to sleep in the kitchen.
Privacy was rare while travelling, and it was not often they had the luxury of a separate room. Usually, Roger and Bale were with them, which Geoffrey did not mind – it was safer with three of them listening for signs of trouble as they slept – although Hilde was less sanguine about the arrangement and preferred nights when they could be alone.
‘I shall be glad when Roger leaves,’ she remarked, as she doused the candle and slid into the bed, in the now pitch-black room. ‘God save us, Geoffrey! You are still wearing boots and full armour! We will not make an heir with fifty pounds of steel and leather between us.’
‘You want me to take them off?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily. He rarely divested himself of his mail when travelling.
‘If you would not mind. Besides, I am cold, and snuggling up to metal is hardly pleasant.’
‘I would not know,’ muttered Geoffrey, prising himself out of the bed to oblige. It did not take long, although he felt cold and strangely naked without his mail, and shivered as he climbed back into the bed. Then he winced. ‘Are you still wearing a dagger?’
‘I like one readily available on a journey,’ she replied, placing an ice-cold hand on his stomach. He was hard-pressed not to fling it off, and strongly suspected the gesture was more to warm it up than for affection.
‘Why will you be glad when Roger leaves?’ he asked.
Hilde sighed. ‘I know you have been through many battles together and saved each other’s lives more often than you can count, but I cannot take to him. He is uncouth, greedy, dishonest and ruthless. Did you know that he regularly rifles through your saddlebags?’
‘Yes.’ It was a habit Roger had acquired in the Holy Land. Geoffrey did not care, because he rarely had anything that Roger coveted, but Hilde objected to her possessions being mauled. ‘However, he is not doing the searching now – it is Delwyn, although he denies it.’
‘Roger is always saying that your literacy is a skill learned from the Devil,’ Hilde went on, declining to be sidetracked. ‘And Bale said that, in Brechene, he even paid a witch for a spell to make you forget how to read. He thinks that if you are stupid, Henry will leave you alone.’
‘Then he will want his money back,’ said Geoffrey, laughing. ‘Because the spell did not work.’
‘Spells are dangerous,’ said Hilde angrily. ‘I shall never forgive him if you are turned into a drooling idiot.’
There was not much to be said to such a remark, so Geoffrey closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him. Hilde had other ideas.
‘Are you comfortable with him releasing you from your vow?’
‘What?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering whether he had dropped off and missed some vital part of the conversation. ‘Roger?’
‘Bishop Maurice,’ said Hilde impatiently. ‘From what I hear, he is rather worldly, and God may not accept his intervention. You may bring His wrath down on yourself. Or on Goodrich.’
Geoffrey rubbed his chin. ‘I know. I have never broken a vow before – it is why I keep wearing my Crusader’s surcoat, when common sense urges anonymity. I did not know sacred oaths could be retracted until Maurice told me it was possible.’
‘Well, you did swear it against your will. But you must be sure that Maurice does possess the authority to absolve you, because if you make a mistake, you might have to undertake another Crusade to make up for it. And I would miss you.’
He could tell from her voice that she was smiling, and wished he could see her face, because it was an expressive one. He found himself wanting to know whether she was smiling fondly, or whether she was teasing him and rather liked the idea of an absent husband. He moved towards her, then wished he had not when her dagger jabbed him a second time.
‘Perhaps I should make you promise not to leave me until we have an heir,’ she said. ‘That would keep you safely in England, especially as it seems a somewhat lengthy process.’
‘We could try again now,’ he suggested.
Immediately, there came the sound of laces being unfastened and brooches being unsnapped. While he waited, Geoffrey listened to the other sounds of the night – an owl in the distance, the wind in the eaves. Roger, Alberic and Sear were still in the room below; their voices were loud, and he could tell they were drunk. Out in the stables, a horse whinnied suddenly, and he supposed Bale and Pulchria were using the stable again.
He thought a floorboard creaked outside their door, but Hilde hurled some garment to the floor at the same time, and he could not be sure. He sat up abruptly, straining to hear, then flopped back again when his head cracked against Hilde’s in the darkness.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded angrily. ‘That really hurt.’
Geoffrey signalled for her to be quiet, but she did not see him and continued to berate him in a voice that made it difficult to hear anything else.
‘Hush!’ he snapped. ‘I thought I heard something.’
At that moment, there was a cheer from downstairs, followed by a lot of jeering. Roger had won something – no great surprise, given that he always cheated.
‘I really will be glad when he is no longer with us,’ Hilde muttered.
Geoffrey sat up a second time when the merest of draughts touched his cheek; he knew the door was open. Reacting instinctively, he grabbed Hilde and hauled her off the bed, snatching the dagger from her belt as he did so. At the same time, he heard something thud into the mattress. Most other women would have screeched indignantly about being hurled around in the dark, but Hilde was blessedly silent. There was an advantage to marrying a woman who was a warrior.
Geoffrey was also silent. Then he heard the creak of a floorboard, this time to his left. He stabbed with the dagger, thinking that if someone was coming to rob them, then any injuries were the culprit’s own fault.
He heard a grunt as the blade connected, although he could not tell whether it had done any harm. He stepped forward, to place himself between the invader and Hilde. There was another creak, and he lunged again. This time, the dagger met thin air, but something crashed into his shoulder, making him stagger. He went on the offensive, suspecting he might not survive if he confined himself to defensive manoeuvres. He struck out wildly, moving towards the door as he did so, aiming to haul it open and yell for Roger.
Then something cracked into his head, and he saw stars. He lunged again, but he was disoriented, and the blow lacked the vigour of the previous ones. He had his attackers on the run, though, because he could hear footsteps moving away. He tried to estimate how many sets of feet, but it was difficult to be sure.
He sensed rather than saw someone flail at him, and fought by instinct, predicting which way the blows would come and parrying them with his forearm as he jabbed with the dagger. There was a howl and a curse, and then more footsteps. He became aware of Hilde next to him. She grabbed his arm, and he felt his sword shoved into his hand.
Howling his Saracen battle cry, he charged forward and saw at least three shadows in the hallway. How many were there, given that several had already fled? He swiped wildly, but he was dizzy and blood dripped into his eyes. He brushed it away impatiently, then whipped around when he heard someone behind him. A blow across the shoulders drove him to his knees.