Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

‘Isabel?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Or do you mean Margaret?’

‘Neither,’ said Durand dismissively. ‘I was referring to Eleanor . She has a way with poisons, and there is a suggestion that the Duchess died by foul means. What do you conclude from that?’

‘That you should ask yourself why Eleanor would want to murder Sibylla before spreading nasty stories about her,’ said Geoffrey tartly. ‘She has no reason to-’

‘She is friends with Walter Giffard,’ interrupted Durand. ‘And Walter’s mother was the Duke’s mistress. Of course, Eleanor helped him with a potion or two.’

He gave a smirk and minced away, leaving Geoffrey staring. Had Eleanor supplied poison to Walter, who had encouraged his mother to use it? Or was it Agnes who had asked Walter to procure the poison?

‘You were in the right place earlier,’ came an unpleasant voice at his side. Geoffrey jumped; so deep in his thoughts, he had not heard Corwenna approach. Seguin and Lambert were behind her. ‘Were you attracted to kindred spirits?’

‘Pigs,’ said Seguin, in case Geoffrey had not understood. ‘You were looking at the pigs.’

‘Enjoy them while you can,’ said Corwenna. The tone of her voice implied it was a threat.

It was not one Geoffrey understood. ‘Why? Are you planning to steal them when you go home?’

She glowered at him, and answered in Welsh. ‘Because your days are numbered. Soon my people will pit themselves against England.’

Geoffrey answered in the same tongue. ‘Baderon is trying to promote peace. That is what the King wants – and what his knights should want, too.’

She shrugged. ‘What the King wants is unimportant. We are interested in our own welfare. You will soon be crushed by a great enemy – we have not forgotten last summer.’

‘ Last summer ?’ asked Geoffrey, bewildered. ‘You mean when my brother was killed?’

‘Your brother is nothing,’ spat Corwenna. ‘Last summer we were ready to fight for Belleme, but Prince Iorwerth changed sides and we went home empty-handed. Since then, the English have chipped away at our lands, taking a manor here, a church there. Well, we have had enough, and will rise against you. You grain and cattle will be ours, and your lands will burn.’

Geoffrey was appalled at the prospect of a war along the Marches, and hoped Corwenna was exaggerating. But he had the feeling she was not. ‘Fighting will damage all our peoples, and-’

‘What is he saying?’ demanded Seguin, struggling to understand.

‘She is telling me that Baderon’s alliances will not work in the way he hopes,’ said Geoffrey. He knew Corwenna had spoken Welsh because she did not want her future husband to know she was plotting insurrection. ‘She claims his new “friends” will unite to attack England.’

‘I did not,’ said Corwenna sharply in Norman-French, and Geoffrey could see that they believed her. ‘I said he should leave the region before someone runs him through.’

‘Like someone did his brother,’ said Lambert.

‘Geoffrey did that himself,’ sneered Seguin. ‘To get his hands on Goodrich. I hear the stable where Henry died is full of dead birds, put there by his servants to make sure he does not murder them, too.’

‘When will this invasion take place?’ Geoffrey asked Corwenna. ‘And what will Baderon get out of it? I am sure he does not want to raid Goodrich for grain and cattle.’

‘We will never join Wales to attack England,’ said Seguin, laughing at the notion. ‘Baderon may be foolish, but he is not entirely stupid.’

They walked away, although not before Geoffrey saw the frown that crossed Lambert’s face. The discussion had sparked something in his mind, and he was not ready to laugh it off like his brother. Geoffrey watched them go uneasily. Would the Welsh princes use the alliances Baderon had forged for their own ends? Until now, everyone had assumed the alliance would work in England’s favour, but there was nothing to say that the Welsh would not capitalize on the situation.

The next morning Geoffrey woke early following a restless night. He attended matins in the church of Dene, but found it difficult to concentrate. He was not the only one whose mind was elsewhere.

‘You are not listening to me,’ Giffard hissed, uncharacteristically speaking during the sacred office. ‘I asked whether you have thought any more about Agnes and Sibylla.’

‘I cannot help you.’ Geoffrey saw hope fade from the Bishop’s eyes. ‘Not because I do not want to, but because I do not see how it can be done. If we were in Normandy, it might be different, but we are talking about something that happened far away. For all you know, the Duchess might have had many enemies – perhaps even the Duke himself.’

‘No,’ said Giffard firmly. ‘He loved Sibylla. The only person who wanted her gone was Agnes. I accept her guilt. All I want to know is whether Walter helped.’

‘Ask him,’ suggested Geoffrey. ‘You are his uncle.’

Giffard grimaced. ‘I tried, but he told me to . . . well, let us say he was not polite. I need someone with your skills to find the truth.’

The Bishop continued his appeal at breakfast in the hall. The King was there, and all was fuss and flurry as he and his courtiers prepared for a day of hunting. He wanted Giffard and Geoffrey to come, but the Bishop was alarmed by the prospect of slaughter, so Henry asked him to look at some documents from the Archbishop of Canterbury instead.

As a knight, Geoffrey could hardly plead an aversion to killing, and had no choice but to accompany the royal party. He was about to mount up when he heard screams from a nearby storeroom. It was Hugh. When Geoffrey arrived, he found several others already there, including Seguin and Lambert.

‘It is nothing,’ said one of the King’s retinue as he pushed his way out. ‘Baderon’s half-wit son has himself in a bother over a rat.’

Geoffrey entered the room to see Hugh on a table, while an equally terrified rodent quivered in a corner. The rat could not escape without passing Hugh, and Hugh was going nowhere as long as the rat was there. Cruelly, Seguin feinted towards the animal, which scurried in alarm and caused Hugh to begin another bout of anguished shrieks. Several onlookers laughed uproariously. Pleased by their response, Seguin made as if to do it again, but Geoffrey grabbed his arm.

‘Stop,’ he said quietly. ‘This is not kind.’

‘To the imbecile or the rat?’ quipped Seguin, shaking him off and making Lambert guffaw.

Seguin took another step towards the rat, which bared its teeth, and Geoffrey saw tears of terror on Hugh’s face. Geoffrey shoved Seguin roughly towards the door.

‘Enough,’ he said sharply.

Seguin gaped in astonishment and his hand went to his sword. ‘Do you dare tell me-’

‘Don’t,’ said Lambert, stepping between them. ‘Brawling will incur the displeasure of the King.’

‘You will certainly incur his displeasure if you follow Corwenna,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He will not be pleased if Baderon and his Welsh allies invade England.’

‘We will not invade England ,’ said Lambert. ‘But we may attack Goodrich. We will tell His Majesty it was full of traitors. As long as the “invasion” goes no further, he will not risk a war just because your estates have been sacked.’

He dragged his brother away, leaving Geoffrey with Hugh and the rat.

‘Take my hand, Hugh,’ Geoffrey said. ‘We are going outside.’

‘No!’ wept Hugh, putting his fingers over his eyes. ‘It will bite.’

‘It will not,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Look, I have my sword. Take my hand, and then we will find your sister.’