Simon Beaufort - The Bloodstained Throne

‘What a merry dance she has led us all!’ muttered Roger, half disapproving and half admiring. He addressed Geoffrey. ‘So, is that it? Philippa killed Edith? Did she dispatch Vitalis, too?’

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘She had far too much to lose. Edith did not kill him, either, because Philippa would have stopped her.’

‘So what happens now?’ asked Roger. ‘Will she hang? It is a pity — she is a pretty wench.’

‘Not on the evidence we have,’ said Geoffrey. He lowered his voice. ‘However, I would recommend you keep Ulfrith away from her. She is bitter and vengeful, and I would not like to think of her striking at us through him.’

‘I shall never understand monks,’ said Roger as he packed up his salvaged possessions later that day. Ulfrith sat in the window looking miserable, while Bale sharpened his knives, humming under his breath. Geoffrey sat on the edge of the bed and took sips from Ulfrith’s water flask. Nearby, Aelfwig was folding blankets. ‘They let themselves be deceived by a pretty face.’

So, too, had Roger, by allowing Philippa to use him as her alibi, but Geoffrey said nothing.

‘Monastics are a strange breed,’ agreed Bale. ‘These notions of not bearing arms and living in peace are not normal. And Lucian is a monk, because he did not slaughter anyone after all — Philippa strangled Edith, and the shepherd’s death was an accident.’

It was peculiar logic, but Geoffrey did not feel inclined to take issue with him.

‘So Juhel must have murdered Paisnel and probably Vitalis, too,’ mused Roger. ‘Which means that all the murders are solved, but not one culprit will pay the price. Juhel will slip away and may well kill again, and Philippa will find herself a rich husband.’

‘You are wrong,’ said Ulfrith from the window, although his voice lacked conviction. ‘She is too beautiful to be a murderess.’

Aelfwig clicked his tongue admonishingly. ‘You had a lucky escape, my boy. If I had known the love potion you charged me to make was to be used on her, I would never have sold it to you.’

‘What love potion?’ asked Roger.

‘I needed help,’ said Ulfrith, unrepentant. ‘Nothing else was working, but now I see why. She was intent on having Lucian because she thought he was rich. And I am not.’

Geoffrey was about to take another gulp of water but paused with the flask in mid-air. ‘Is that what I have been drinking these past few days? Well, I suppose it explains your odd questions after you rescued me from Fingar — whether I felt the urge to lie with Philippa. You were afraid you had invested in a charm and I had reaped the benefits.’

‘It did not work for either of us,’ said Ulfrith mournfully.

Geoffrey rubbed his chin. ‘But there was an odd taste to the water before we met Aelfwig — after the fight at Werlinges, when you urged me to drink it. Magnus also wanted some, but you were reluctant to let him have it. Shortly afterwards, we were both plagued with odd visions. What was in it? A potion of your own that would make me repellent to her?’

Ulfrith’s guilty expression indicated Geoffrey was guessing along the right lines. ‘You were not supposed to keep drinking it, but I could not stop you.’

Roger looked more dangerous than Geoffrey had ever seen him. He advanced on Ulfrith with a gleam in his eye that was distinctly unnerving.

‘ You poisoned Geoffrey? You fed him something you knew would make him ill? And then, when he was laid low, you gave him more?’

‘No!’ cried Ulfrith, leaping to his feet and backing away. ‘It was not like that! My grandmother used to swallow the stuff when she wanted to see into the future. It used to make her jabber nonsense, but she was never ill. All I wanted was for Sir Geoffrey to be unappealing to Lady Philippa, so she might spare a glance for me.’

Roger regarded him furiously. ‘But your grandmother probably drank it all her life, and you fed it to Geoff without knowing what might happen. She was a woman, and he is a man. They are different!’

Geoffrey was unable to prevent a smile. ‘But no harm was done.’

Roger rounded on him. ‘No harm? You would not say that if you could have seen yourself. Aelfwig told me you would not live the night, and I spent a lot of gold making you well again — buying prayers, paying for Breme’s charm, making donations to the abbey. He almost killed you!’

‘I did not !’ squeaked Ulfrith, cowering as Roger spun around again. ‘I tried to stop him from taking more, but you ordered me not to be mean. There was nothing I could do. .’

‘He tried to make amends,’ said Geoffrey to Roger. ‘It was Ulfrith who gave me water instead of medicine. Breme told me it was his idea, but it was probably Ulfrith’s.’

‘Yes!’ insisted Ulfrith. ‘The idea came to me after I saw the jug next to his bed. He must have fetched it himself when I left him to watch. .’

He trailed off, regarding Roger in horror, but the squire’s inadvertent confession clarified more issues in Geoffrey’s mind. If Ulfrith had left him unattended, it meant Fingar had visited, and he had not imagined the conversation. And since Geoffrey had been far too weak to fetch the water himself, it must have been Fingar who had given it to him, thus probably saving his life.

‘You left him?’ demanded Roger with icy fury. ‘After I gave you strict instructions to stay?’

‘I saw Philippa walking alone,’ the squire said miserably. ‘I had to make sure she was safe.’

‘What was in your water, Ulfrith?’ asked Aelfwig gravely, cutting across Roger’s spluttering rage. ‘My potion contained henbane, which does not mix well with other medicines. I asked whether you were giving him remedies after you arrived, but you all said no.’

‘I was not giving it to him,’ quibbled Ulfrith. ‘He just took it. And it was a black fungus that grows on wild grasses. My grandmother called it ergot.’

‘Well, there you are,’ said Aelfwig. ‘The combination of ergot and henbane will certainly drive a man from his wits. And if Geoffrey had continued to take both, we would not be talking now.’

‘Lord!’ muttered Geoffrey. ‘I accused Juhel of doing it. I shall have to apologize.’

‘I did not hurt you deliberately,’ mumbled Ulfrith. ‘I was confused. Philippa was so cold-’

At the name of the woman, Roger’s temper snapped. He advanced on his squire with a murderous expression in his eyes. Terrified, Ulfrith darted behind a table, but Roger flung it away as though it were made of feathers.

‘No,’ said Geoffrey, moving to stop the dreadful advance. He had seen that expression before and knew Roger would be sorry once his squire lay dead. ‘That is enough.’

‘It is enough when I say so,’ snarled Roger. ‘He almost killed you.’

‘I promise I will never do it again!’ squealed Ulfrith.

‘Damn right, lad,’ growled Roger, moving forward, dagger in his hand. ‘You will not.’

Geoffrey dived at the big knight’s knees, bringing him crashing to the floor just as the knife flashed towards Ulfrith’s throat. For a moment, he thought Roger meant to continue the fight and braced himself, but the fall had brought Roger to his senses. He shoved Geoffrey away.

‘Damn you, Geoff,’ he growled. ‘You have just ripped my best shirt.’

Because he did not feel like being in the same room as Ulfrith, Geoffrey wandered across the battlefield, wishing he did not have to wait until the following day to leave La Batailge. He walked to the tree trunk on the ridge, thinking about his father and the warriors of Hastinges. Pondering the scene of such slaughter made him maudlin, so he went to the church, where he spent a long time staring at the high altar. Several monks knelt around it, their whispered prayers hissing softly.