Priscilla Royal - Tyrant of the Mind

Sir Geoffrey, coughing in pain, turned to stare at his daughter. “You could not know who did these deeds, my daughter. Be careful whom you accuse in your ignorance.” His voice was weak, his words hesitant.

“I speak from knowledge, my lord,” she replied. There was a calm confidence in her voice and countenance.

Time seemed to slow as Eleanor found herself thinking that the woman she was watching had the serenity of a saint and could not be the mortal Juliana she had known years ago. “Who did it?” she asked at last, her own voice rough with tension.

“It was I.”

“No!” Geoffrey shouted. “You lie, daughter. You did not kill anyone. You did not stab me. You did not push the priest. You are innocent!”

Juliana smiled with serenity at her father. “Surely you know that it was not your wife who attacked you.”

Geoffrey struggled to sit up in his bed. “Nor did you!”

“How can you be so sure? You claim you did not see who did the deed.” Juliana sat carefully on her father’s bed and took his hand. “You know the Lady Isabelle is a weak woman, but you know me better, father.”

Geoffrey turned his head. “You did not do any of this.”

“I was the one who ascended trees to the very top as a child. Isabelle stood on the ground and cheered my efforts, but she could never make it to the first branch. She has always been far more womanly than I.”

“Don’t do this, child,” Geoffrey whispered, squeezing her hand.

“In our youth, when Henry turned rude, it was I who leapt upon him and wrestled him to the ground, pulling hair from his head and clouting his ears. Did he not come to you and complain of me?” Juliana laughed softly. “Do you not remember how often you had to separate my brother and me when we quarreled?”

“They were squabbles. Things that children do. They were not serious. Do not try to make them so, Juliana.”

“Henry never forgave me for shaming him.”

“You did not humiliate him in front of other boys.”

“It was all in front of Isabelle, father. He never forgot that and took revenge. As he grew into manhood and began to lose his fear of my hard blows, he told vile stories about me to all that would listen. It is hard for any woman to defend her honor when her own brother stains it. Did you not see what was happening between us?”

Tears were beginning to flow down Sir Geoffrey’s cheeks. “You had always been quicker of wit than he. I assumed you would always best him. Indeed, he had complained to me…”

“But he had stopped, had he not?”

“He and I were estranged. You knew that well, but you are exaggerating the seriousness of your quarrels.”

“Am I? The rumors Henry spread would have made any man hesitate before taking me to wife. Any convent would have been reluctant to welcome me amongst a company of nuns no matter how rich the dower. For the sake of my honor, I had reason to kill Henry. And you have just said how quick of wit I am. Then surely I would have known when you were most vulnerable to attack.” She took a deep breath. “Isabelle is innocent, is she not?”

Sir Geoffrey muttered something unintelligible.

“Speak up, Geoffrey,” Adam said. He stepped up to his friend’s side. “Was it your wife who did this to you?”

“No. Juliana is right. She did not. Even had she reason, she would not have had the strength.” He looked at his wife with great sadness.

Adam looked over at Juliana. “Then what say you to your daughter’s confession, Geoffrey. She is the only one left with motive to kill Henry and the cleverness to…”

Geoffrey swung his handless arm at his old friend. “I will not lose yet another child to this accursed trouble.”

“If it was not your wife, and we have found no other person who could have done the deeds, then your daughter’s confession must be accepted.” Adam turned to Thomas. “Call two of my guards, brother. We will escort the Lady Juliana…”

“Nay! It was not she. It was not my wife and it was not Robert!” Geoffrey shouted.

“Then who was it, my good friend?” Adam asked sadly.

The wail from the old warrior cut like a scythe across their hearts. “May God have mercy on my black soul, Adam! I murdered my first born. I tried to kill your priest, and I attempted to send my soul to Hell for both deeds by trying to take my own life.”

***

The two men looked at each other for a long time. Tears hovered at the rims of their eyes, then each blinked them back. Geoffrey turned his head away first.

“I would never have let Robert die for what I did, Adam. You must believe me. When I found he had stumbled on Henry’s body and you had imprisoned him as the accused, I did everything I could to prove he did not do the deed. I tried to find a way to show his innocence.”

Adam nodded. “Why did you do it, Geoffrey? Why kill your own son?”

“I was convinced that my son and my wife were making a cuckold of me.” Geoffrey stopped and looked at his wife’s tear-lined face. “Your complaints about his attentions were too quick, my love, too contrived after all the years you had known each other. I thought you were trying to deflect my suspicions away from the one man you were bedding, out of the many with whom you flirted openly.”

“Yet they were not putting the cuckold’s horns on your head.” Adam’s voice was gentle.

“Indeed I know that now, yet my reason had fled for some time, along with my manhood. When you claimed your courses had come, wife, I wondered whether they might have come earlier than usual…”

“In that you were right, my lord,” Isabelle replied, her voice barely audible.

Her husband smiled weakly. “I assumed you wanted me out of our bed so you could invite my son into it. I waited outside your room, in the shadows just down the corridor that leads to the tower, where I could hear but not be seen. Finally, I did see a man come to your, our, chambers and knock. You opened the door and I rushed forward to find you in Henry’s arms, his back to me…” Geoffrey hesitated as he looked at his wife and back at Adam. “…and I was blinded with rage at the thought he had come to share her bed. I stabbed him.”

Isabelle looked at them all, then put her face into her hands. “Please hear me on this, good people. Henry did not come at my invitation. I swear it!” She raised her face, tears streaming down her cheeks as she turned to her husband. “I only opened my door because he claimed, in a voice much like yours, that he was you. You must believe me!”

“Silence, woman. This is my tale to tell.” Geoffrey looked up at Adam. “My wife tells the truth. We have talked, she and I, since that horrible night. She has explained that my son was besotted with her and did much threaten her when he knew I was not there to protect her. She did not tell me the full tale of his actions out of love for him as my son. Aye, the demons of jealousy have ceased to possess my heart and soul, but too late.”

“And Father Anselm?” Eleanor asked after a long silence.

“I pushed him. I did not see Richard but did hear the priest cry out at my chamber door that he had seen my deeds and wanted to hear more of them. I assumed that he had seen me kill my son. I waited until he had turned away from me, then I came from behind, grabbed his habit and tossed him against the stone wall of the stairs, head first.” He looked down at his scared stump and shook his head. “My strength is not what it was when I had the use of both hands so I saw I had not killed him. When I bent over him, he was motionless but I could hear him breathing, so I tossed him from the window. If not the fall, I knew that surely the cold would do the final deed.”