Geoffrey knew only too well what happened to a bearer of bad news. Nevertheless, he had bad news to bear.

The sergeant-at-arms spat sympathetically onto the mucky cobblestones before the castle gate. "So you're off to tell the archbishop the sheriff's arrested one of his men, eh?"

"Yes," Geoffrey replied.

"The archbishop thinks his men are above the law of the land, I'm thinking."

"Whatever I'm thinking I know enough to keep to myself." Geoffrey wrapped his cloak around his body as though it were armor and trudged down from the castle into the town.

The towers of the cathedral looked like blunted swords against the frost-gray November sky, dominating the rooftops of Canterbury as its archbishop dominated the political squabbles of England. Whether Thomas of London was defending the honor of God or his own pride Geoffrey didn't know and refused to guess. Posts as archiepiscopal clerks weren't that easy to come by, but Geoffrey's merchant father had found him one, just as Gilbert Becket had done for his Thomas some twenty-odd years before. With discretion, Geoffrey could rise high. Not that he had ambitions toward an archbishopric.

But then, Thomas had had no ambitions toward an archbishopric either. It was his friendship with King Henry which caused his swift if controversial rise in power, and his sudden transition--his sudden conversion--from secular to sacred.

Geoffrey made his way along Castle Street, skirting the foulest of the puddles. Merchants flocked toward the well-dressed young man. Beggars called piteously. A woman brushed against him, her loosely-draped cloak affording him a glimpse of her wares. Normally he'd have gaped at her, but not today. Waving them away like flies, he walked on past the gate of the bishop's palace, through the yard, beneath the portico, and into the great hall.

The air was warm and close, filled with the scents of meats, peas, beans, bread. Smoke eddied between the carved beams which braced the ceiling. There was Thomas, just rising from his dinner. He was surrounded by clerks and scholars as usual and yet, as usual, stood aloof, set apart as much by height and bearing as by rank. His profile was sharp as a hunting bird's and his golden-brown eyes as keen.

Geoffrey shoved his way through the gathered men. "My lord, I bring news from the castle."

"Yes?"