Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

There was more laughter, and people stepped forward to reclaim what they had lost. He was particularly pleased when the feathered charm was one of the first things to be retrieved.

‘Henry would have kept the lot,’ confided Ynys. ‘He did not play by our rules.’

‘It is the game that is important,’ explained Peter, when Geoffrey looked blank. ‘We never keep our winnings, because that would be gambling, which Father Adrian tells us is a sin.’

Geoffrey supposed he had had a lucky escape with his ‘generosity’.

‘Here are your raisins,’ said Ynys, pressing them into Geoffrey’s hand. ‘They are all there.’

Geoffrey pushed them in his purse, thinking he would throw them in the river the following day. They had been through numerous grubby hands, and he did not imagine that Joan would eat them now. Peter exchanged a glance with Torva, then indicated that Geoffrey was to sit with them near the embers of the fire, while the rest of the servants, still chattering and laughing, went about the business of hauling straw mattresses from the pile in the corner and distributing blankets.

‘You trust us,’ stated Peter.

Geoffrey was a little startled, because he did not.

Torva nodded. ‘You did not count the raisins, like Henry would have done. You believed us when we said they were all there.’

‘My mother always told me never to speak ill of the dead,’ began Peter in the kind of voice that suggested he was about to do just that. ‘But your brother was a nasty man.’

Geoffrey nodded, but said nothing, hoping his silence would encourage them to say more.

‘No one here killed him,’ added Torva. ‘I know you think otherwise, but you are wrong. This is a small manor, and we would have known by now.’

‘Olivier believes Henry committed suicide,’ Geoffrey said, to encourage speculation.

Torva shook his head. ‘The wound could have been self-inflicted, but it is unlikely. It was driven in with considerable force, by someone strong.’

‘Or someone angry.’ Geoffrey knew from experience that it did not take powerful arms to stab a man in the stomach.

‘Lots of people were angry with Henry,’ said Torva.

‘I am sorry Jervil is dead,’ said Geoffrey. He was tired of beating around the bush, so spoke bluntly. ‘But he went to Dene to sell Baderon a dagger with a ruby in its hilt. It was the weapon that killed my brother, the one Olivier threw in the river.’

They gazed at him. ‘How do you know that?’ asked Peter uneasily.

‘It does not matter,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Why did Baderon want this weapon?’

Torva and Peter exchanged another glance and then Torva gave a heavy sigh. ‘The ruby knife was Baderon’s. He wanted it back.’

Geoffrey finally felt he was getting somewhere. ‘But why now? It is months since Henry died.’

‘Because of you,’ said Peter, as if the answer were obvious. ‘Henry’s death was all but forgotten, but then you started asking questions. Baderon knew it was only a matter of time before you learnt Henry was killed with a ruby dagger, and that he had owned such a thing. By buying the weapon, he could deny it.’

Geoffrey had so many questions, he barely knew where to begin. ‘How did Jervil get the knife when Olivier had thrown it in the river?’

‘Because the Black Knife did not stay in the water,’ explained Torva. ‘We do not know how – perhaps Olivier did not hurl it as far as he thought – but it came back again, like the cursed thing it was. It appeared one day in the stables – where it had killed its victim.’

Geoffrey was sceptical. ‘It does not have legs to walk or wings to fly. So, how-’

‘It was a Black Knife,’ insisted Torva forcefully. ‘They always return. It brought itself back to the stables, where Jervil found it. It is what these things do, unless they are properly de-cursed.’

‘How do you “de-curse” one?’ asked Geoffrey.

Torva pursed his lips, as if Geoffrey were remiss for not knowing. ‘The man who commissions a Black Knife must destroy it – as soon as his victim is dead. If he fails to do so, it increases in power and starts to look for other victims.’

Peter nodded. ‘It is six months since Henry’s death, so the Black Knife is very strong – Baderon will not want it to do more damage. Since it was not with Jervil’s body, we must assume Baderon has it and will have to de-curse it. Of course, it is much easier to lay a curse than to break one.’

‘How did Jervil become involved?’

‘He told Baderon the dagger had reappeared and offered to sell it to him,’ explained Torva. ‘Baderon agreed, but insisted the exchange be in secret. But then you decided to ride for Dene, and Jervil was afraid you had guessed his plan. You almost overheard him telling me about it.’

‘Baderon said it was imperative that no one from Goodrich should witness the exchange,’ added Peter, ‘on the grounds that it would look bad.’

‘He was right,’ said Geoffrey grimly. ‘It does. And they did not manage the transaction very discreetly. The King saw them.’

‘Jervil may have been careless,’ acknowledged Peter. ‘He wanted the Black Knife passed to Baderon and the silver in his purse as quickly as possible.’

‘So it was Baderon who killed Henry,’ concluded Geoffrey, sorry Baderon had stooped so low as to stab a man deep in his cups.

‘No,’ said Peter, with certainty. ‘He did not, although I cannot speak for his knights.’

Torva agreed. ‘I do not trust Seguin and Lambert. It is only a matter of time before Corwenna encourages them to do us serious harm. But Baderon did not hurt Henry.’

‘You sound very sure,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Why?’

‘Baderon had too much to lose if Henry died,’ replied Torva. ‘They had an arrangement.’

‘What kind of arrangement? Henry marrying Hilde?’

‘Hilde would never have taken Henry,’ said Peter. ‘All I can tell you is that Baderon and Henry signed a document to their mutual advantage. I saw them doing it, and made my mark as a witness.’

‘What did this document say?’ asked Geoffrey. Father Adrian had also mentioned an agreement, while Baderon himself had said that there were ‘other ways’ to secure truces, and that he and Henry had ‘irons in the fire’.

‘I could not read it,’ said Peter. ‘I am a cook, not a scribe. They were both very pleased, though, and made many toasts to each other and the futures of both estates.’

Geoffrey wracked his brain for a solution, but none came. ‘When was this?’

‘Early September,’ replied Peter. ‘Three weeks before Henry’s death. I know you are sceptical – so are we, because we do not know the whole story, either. But Baderon was the last man who would kill Henry, because he needed him alive.’

The following morning Geoffrey woke early and considered what he knew. He had been informed that Baderon could not be Henry’s murderer, because of some secret arrangement. It was not a marriage, because Henry had hoped for Isabel. Or was that the problem – Henry had offered himself to Hilde, but had reneged for Isabel? Of course, the servants did not think so, and try as he might, Geoffrey could not imagine what Henry and Baderon might have devised. The Lord of Monmouth was still at Bicanofre, but would be back soon; Geoffrey resolved to ask him.

However, just because Baderon wanted peace did not mean Seguin and Lambert – fuelled by ambition and Corwenna’s hatred of Goodrich – felt the same. Geoffrey believed Torva and Peter were right when they said it was only a matter of time before they harmed the whole region.

He shifted into a more comfortable position, aware that people were moving in the hall below, and that he was likely to earn a reputation as a lie-abed if he lingered there much longer. But there were still many questions in need of answers – the most pressing, who had killed Jervil, and why was Baderon so determined to retrieve the dagger if he was not Henry’s killer?