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conceal with his worthless household accounts.” He waved it in the air, and then secreted it in a pouch on his belt.
    Geoffrey, who had been unable to prevent himself from glancing over the King’s shoulder to read what was written, wondered why the King should consider a common recipe for horse liniment so vital to his country’s well-being.

    It was with some relief that Geoffrey was dismissed by the King. Caerdig followed him out of the hall and into the bailey, where he grabbed the knight’s arm and stopped him.
    â€œWell?” he demanded. “What did he say? Are we free to leave?”
    Geoffrey nodded, his thoughts still tumbling around in confusion.
    â€œAnd?” persisted Caerdig. “What else did he say? What was he telling you away in that chamber? Did it concern Lann Martin?”
    Geoffrey did not feel it was appropriate to tell Caerdig that the King had ordered him to prevent the powerful and rebellious Earl of Shrewsbury from laying hands on his father’s lands—nor that the King whole-heartedly believed the truth of the story that one of Geoffrey’s siblings was trying to murder their father.
    â€œLann Martin was not mentioned,” he said to placate the Welshman. “The King is merely concerned about some of the tales that have been circulating concerning Goodrich.”
    â€œLike the fact that your father is being poisoned by one of your brothers?” asked Caerdig.
    â€œThere is Helbye,” Geoffrey said, ignoring Caerdig’s question, and walking across the bailey to where his sergeant and the two soldiers stood.
    â€œShall I saddle up?” asked Ingram without enthusiasm, as Geoffrey approached. “Of course, the horses are tired and I have only just finished rubbing them down.”
    â€œThe light is already failing and there is no more than an hour’s travelling time left today,” said Geoffrey, glancing at the sky. “We will spend the night here, and leave at first light in the morning.”
    â€œWe have already secured ourselves some lodgings,” said Helbye, clearly pleased not to be riding farther that day. “It is not grand accommodation, but it is better than a tree root in the small of the back.”
    Geoffrey left the others to their preparations for an evening of dice with the soldiers in the King’s guard, while he went to see to his destrier. It was with some difficulty that he made the stable-boy understand that only Aumary’s war-horse—not Geoffrey’s—was to be transferred to the area reserved for the King’s personal mounts. Reasonably satisfied that his own horse would be there for him to reclaim in the morning, he found a place to sleep and then ate a large, rich meal with some knights in the King’s retinue, where he drank more than was wise.
    But later, as he tried to sleep, his head swam with questions, despite his serious attempt to induce a state of drunken forgetfulness. Why had someone killed Aumary? The documents that the knight had bragged about so much had not been stolen, and neither had the scrap of parchment with the recipe for horse liniment. Had Geoffrey disturbed the killer before he had been given a chance to complete a search of the body? But in that case, why had Geoffrey not been shot, too?
    Aumary was vainglorious and shallow, and Geoffrey had suspected from the start that he had deliberately lent his letters more importance than they deserved in order to enhance his standing with his fellow-travellers. It was true that the King had been pleased to learn that his castle of Domfront was turning a tidy profit, and might have rewarded Aumary well for bringing him such good news, but it was scarcely the crucial missive the knight had claimed to carry.
    So, had the recipe for horse liniment been some coded message that the King alone could decipher? Geoffrey had seen that particular scrap of parchment on several occasions—Aumary had used it to wrap