Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance
‘You had better come,’ he said to Geoffrey. ‘Someone has been stabbed in the priest’s house – and there is blood everywhere.’
Geoffrey followed his squire across the bailey, with Olivier at his side. In the street outside the castle people were spilling out of their homes, looking alarmed. Geoffrey left Olivier to allay their fears and headed for the house next to the church, where Father Adrian lived. The priest was in his garden, being sick on his winter cabbages, while Durand tried to comfort him.
‘Aim for the onions,’ Geoffrey recommended as he passed. ‘Joan says they are more resilient.’
‘Do not be flippant,’ snapped Durand. ‘It is not becoming under these circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Who is dead?’
Father Adrian emptied his stomach again and seemed incapable of speech, and Durand shrugged that he did not know, so Geoffrey entered the house. He had not been inside it for more than a year, but it was much as he remembered. A neat, clean place, with a fire flickering in the hearth, a pot of stew bubbling and an overfed cat sitting on a windowsill.
The room was full of people who had come running when Father Adrian raised the alarm. Agnes and Walter were there, regarding the victim with dispassionate interest, and Geoffrey realized that their horror over Hugh’s death had been an act, to convince Giffard that they were not killers. Ralph stood rather closer to Agnes than was necessary, while Giffard knelt by the dead man.
Nearby was fitzNorman, holding Isabel’s hand. Her head was tilted to one side, and Geoffrey suspected that she was listening for Ralph. He was glad she could not see him standing so close to Agnes. FitzNorman could, though, and his face was a mask of fury. Joan stood on Isabel’s other side; Geoffrey had the feeling that she was ready to step forward and intervene, should Ralph say or do anything unpleasant and fitzNorman react with anger.
Bale was right in that there was a good deal of blood, although it was no worse than many scenes Geoffrey had viewed. The body sat at Father Adrian’s table, resting its head on its arm as though it were asleep; the other hand lay in its lap. It looked as though its owner was sleeping – except for the gash in the middle of the back.
‘Seguin!’ exclaimed Geoffrey. ‘How did this happen? He was alive and well when I went riding with Olivier a short while ago.’
‘You were the last one to see him alive?’ pounced Ralph. Isabel’s face softened at the sound of his voice. ‘Can anyone verify that you did not kill him?’
‘Olivier was with me,’ said Geoffrey, before realizing that was untrue. Olivier had ridden ahead and had not been party to the discussion.
Father Adrian appeared at the door, white-faced and shaking. ‘I am sorry to be feeble,’ he said in a whisper. ‘I deplore violence.’
‘So do we all, Father,’ said fitzNorman insincerely. ‘Although some of us seem rather more used to it than others.’ He shot Geoffrey a nasty glance, then did the same to Agnes.
‘I do not know what happened,’ said Father Adrian. ‘Sir Seguin came to Goodrich because he thought Hugh’s body was here. I offered him ale before I set him on the right road, but found I did not have any. I went to beg a jug from Mistress Helbye, and when I came back, I found . . .’ He gazed at the slumped figure, and his hand went to his mouth again.
‘Do not look,’ advised Geoffrey, standing so that the priest could not see the corpse.
‘Do not worry about the blood, Father,’ said Bale eagerly. ‘I will scrape it up for you.’ He made a scooping gesture with his hand, and Father Adrian disappeared outside again.
‘Father Adrian came straight to the castle,’ said Joan. ‘But Seguin was beyond earthly help.’
‘Where were you all?’ Geoffrey asked, supposing he had better add Seguin’s murder to his investigation.
‘You accuse us of this?’ asked Ralph incredulously. ‘You are the one I suspect.’
‘No, Ralph,’ said Isabel. ‘Geoffrey would not resort to violence when words could do.’
Ralph burst into mocking laughter. ‘He is a Holy Land knight! Resorting to violence is what they do. He is the one here who likes slaughter.’
Geoffrey regarded Ralph with dislike, while thinking that Seguin had been stabbed in the back – exactly the kind of cowardly act he would expect from the loathsome heir of Bicanofre.
‘Answer my question,’ Geoffrey said coolly. ‘Where were you?’
‘We were walking in the woods,’ said Agnes, smiling at Ralph.
‘You were with Ralph?’ Isabel asked unsteadily. ‘In the forest?’
‘Walter was there,’ said Joan. ‘And he is always looking out for his mother’s virtue. They did nothing amiss, you can be sure of that.’
‘My father and I were in the church,’ said Isabel in a small voice. ‘I was praying for . . . for my happiness.’ The expression she shot in Ralph’s direction made even Agnes flinch.
Voices sounded on the road outside, and Geoffrey heard Olivier speaking. From the tread of spurred feet, Geoffrey knew it was Baderon and Lambert coming. He braced himself for trouble.
‘My brother!’ whispered Lambert, gazing at the body in horror.
Baderon stepped forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. ‘My son and my friend in one day.’ His voice choked with emotion. ‘How many more will die before we have peace?’
Lambert’s eyes were bleak. ‘I am going to Llan Martin. Corwenna must be told.’
‘No,’ said Hilde gently. ‘You cannot go to Corwenna yet – not until you know what happened here. If you do, she will claim Seguin was murdered to destroy my father’s alliances, and there will be trouble.’
‘Yes,’ said Lambert coldly. He made as if to pass her, but she blocked his way.
‘Listen to her, Lambert,’ said Baderon, although he sounded weary and defeated. ‘We do not want any more deaths.’
‘Your son was murdered!’ shouted Lambert. ‘And now my brother lies dead. Will you wait for me to die, too? And Hilde? Hugh and Seguin must be avenged, or there will be no end to the slaughter. I am going to Corwenna. At least she has the strength to face our enemies.’
He shoved past Hilde, almost knocking her over. Geoffrey darted after him, alarmed by the damage that might ensue if he did as he threatened. Corwenna would be implacable, and Geoffrey doubted Caerdig would be able to prevent her doing something rash.
‘Please!’ Hilde begged, also hurrying outside to grab Lambert’s arm. ‘Wait until we have a culprit to show Corwenna, or she will pick one of her own.’
‘She will choose Goodrich,’ snarled Lambert, glaring at Geoffrey. ‘Henry killed her first husband, and now her next one lies dead on Mappestone land. So does your brother.’
‘Hugh was not killed at Goodrich,’ said Hilde. ‘His death and Seguin’s are not connected, and you must not make them sound as though they are.’
‘You are quibbling over the width of a river!’ shouted Lambert. ‘Hugh may have been washed to the other side. Or his body was dragged over, so blame would fall on someone other than Geoffrey.’
‘There are many suspects,’ said Hilde with quiet reason, but Lambert was too distraught to listen. He mounted his horse and was gone with a vicious jab of his spurs.
‘If he reaches Corwenna, there will be trouble,’ said Father Adrian with concern. ‘This will provide her with the opportunity she has been waiting for. The Welsh will rally to her call, in the hope that the spoils of war will feed their families. You must stop him.’
Geoffrey leapt on to Baderon’s black bay and thundered after the fleeing knight. Lambert glanced behind him and spurred on his mount, ignoring Geoffrey’s yells to stop. He began to edge ahead, because Baderon’s horse was not as fleet as Lambert’s stallion.
Geoffrey’s throat became hoarse from shouting, and he saw that they had crossed the brook that marked the territory belonging to Llan Martin. He jabbed his heels hard into the horse’s flanks, determined to catch his quarry, then pulled up abruptly when several arrows hit the ground in front of him, like a barrier. He reached for his shield before realizing that he did not have it. Archers emerged from the undergrowth on either side of the track. His horse whinnied in terror as a second volley of arrows hissed around them, and he struggled to control it. A little way ahead, Lambert stopped.
‘Come back,’ pleaded Geoffrey. ‘We can resolve this peacefully.’
‘Easy for you to say!’ Lambert shouted. ‘But my brother is dead, and so is Baderon’s son.’
‘Hugh is dead?’ one of the archers asked. ‘Did Goodrich kill him?’
‘We do not know yet,’ said Geoffrey before Lambert could reply. He tried to ride forward, but arrows thudded at his horse’s feet, making it skitter in panic. ‘I must speak to Caerdig.’
‘You will come no farther,’ instructed an archer. ‘Corwenna told us to let no Goodrich villains on our land. Go home, or I will put an arrow in your heart.’
Geoffrey saw his options running out as Lambert started to ride towards Llan Martin. ‘Let me talk to Caerdig,’ he pleaded. ‘He said I was always welcome at-’
‘No,’ said the archer firmly. ‘Now go home, or we will send you there dead.’
Lambert had disappeared along the forest track, and Geoffrey saw that there was no more he could do. Defeated, he turned towards Goodrich.
‘Damn!’ Hilde muttered when Geoffrey dismounted outside the priest’s house and shook his head despondently. ‘Now there will be trouble. We must leave immediately.’
‘You cannot. The archers will shoot you – they are under orders from Corwenna.’
‘They will not harm us,’ said Hilde. ‘But we cannot travel quickly carrying Seguin, so we must leave him here. I trust you will treat him with respect.’
‘Of course,’ said Joan stiffly, offended she should ask. ‘But wait until he is laid out decently, so you can tell Lambert. Then he may change his mind.’
‘You really think there will be a war?’ asked Isabel in a low voice. ‘Over Seguin?’
‘Not over Seguin,’ replied Hilde. ‘Over our Welsh neighbours not having enough to eat, and the alliances my father has forged having brought them together to air their grievances. That and Corwenna’s poisonous tongue. We must prepare ourselves for the worst.’
Joan ushered everyone out until only she, Geoffrey, Father Adrian, Baderon and Hilde remained. Geoffrey took a blanket and laid it on the floor so that he could lift Seguin’s body into it but, as he bent, he saw something shiny. He reached under the table and picked it up. It was a long dagger with a ruby in its hilt. Baderon sank on to a bench when he saw it.
‘Is that what killed Seguin?’ he asked weakly. ‘The knife he gave me as a sign of his fealty?’
Geoffrey measured the size of the blade against the wound in Seguin’s back and nodded.
‘What can we do with it?’ asked Baderon. ‘It claimed the life of my son, and now my friend.’
‘We cannot throw it in the river,’ said Joan. ‘Olivier did that, and it came back.’
‘Take it to the blacksmith in Rosse and pay him to melt it,’ suggested Hilde. ‘Do it today.’
‘I cannot,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Not with a skirmish brewing.’
Baderon closed his eyes. ‘Do I stay here, and show my allegiance to England? Or do I ride to Llan Martin and stand with the Welsh, so they know I am in earnest when I offer the hand of friendship? Damn Lambert! He has done immeasurable damage.’
‘The security of an entire region is at stake,’ said Hilde practically. ‘So we have no choice but to side with the Welsh. It is only Goodrich that Corwenna wants to see in flames. When that is done, her fury will abate, and we will be able to prevent her inciting any further attacks.’ She glanced at Geoffrey and Joan. ‘I do not want to fight you, but I do not see what else we can do.’
‘Talk to Caerdig,’ urged Geoffrey. ‘He will see reason.’
‘His hands are tied, too,’ said Hilde grimly. ‘The other lords are desperate for food and will rally to Corwenna’s battle cry – especially if she claims Seguin was murdered by you. Caerdig will not be heard. Besides, he is no longer a power. Corwenna’s fiery speeches are more popular than his pleas for peace, and she has a greater following.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Joan. ‘I do not want our people to die because Corwenna hated Henry – and that is really what all this is about. You must stop this, Baderon. You are in charge of this region, so take control.’
Baderon’s face was ashen, and Geoffrey did not think he had ever seen a more broken specimen. No proud Welsh prince would listen to such a man – they would look to Lambert’s strong sword and Corwenna’s flashing eyes and promises of grain. As Baderon walked towards his horse, Geoffrey could almost see the power draining from him. The Lord of Monmouth climbed slowly into his saddle and rode away without another word.
‘You cannot let them leave!’ cried Father Adrian, aghast as Baderon and Hilde cantered away. ‘They will lead the Welsh against us! You heard Hilde – she plans to sacrifice Goodrich to save the rest of the region.’
‘What do you want us to do?’ demanded Joan. ‘Lock them in our dungeons? That would incite an attack for certain!’
‘I told Seguin that Hugh’s body was at Walecford, but he did not believe me,’ said Geoffrey, watching Hilde and Baderon disappear from sight. ‘If he had, none of this would have happened.’
‘He did not believe me, either,’ said Father Adrian tiredly. ‘I had to show him the empty church before he did. Then he said someone had intentionally misled him.’
Geoffrey stared at him. ‘It sounds as though he were deliberately lured here. Why?’
Father Adrian had no answer. ‘Take it with you,’ he ordered, pointing to the knife.
Geoffrey did not want it, either, but wrapped it in a piece of cloth, sprinkled generously with holy water, and set off towards the castle, to see what kind of troops he had at his command. He doubted they would be much, and only hoped they would not run away at the first sight of an enemy.
First he went to Helbye. The old soldier was appalled that his peaceful retirement was being shattered, and his wife gave Geoffrey a piece of her mind, as her man collected his weapons and went to muster those who would fight.
On his way to the castle Geoffrey met Durand, and handed him the cloth containing the dagger. ‘You know about holy matters. Will you dispose of this for me?’
‘What is it?’ asked Durand, unwrapping it. When he saw the stained weapon, he gave a shriek and dropped it. ‘It is covered in blood!’
‘It was used to kill Seguin,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Everyone else thinks it is cursed, but I know you are above such superstition. Will you take it to a blacksmith and have it destroyed?’
