Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

‘Did Henry refuse Hilde politely when she was offered?’ asked Geoffrey uncomfortably.

Joan looked furtive. ‘Comments were made by both parties, which ended with her leaving in a rage. It was unfortunate, and I later berated him for not being more tactful.’

Geoffrey sighed. ‘So Baderon – and Hilde – had a reason to kill Henry, too? Because he refused her in an unpleasant manner?’

‘Possibly,’ hedged Joan.

‘Then I do not want her, either. I cannot marry a woman who may have murdered my brother. It would be rash, to say the least.’

Joan was becoming exasperated. ‘Then what about Wulfric de Bicanofre’s daughter – Douce?’

‘Did Henry refuse her, too?’

‘He pointed out that he could do better.’

‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Geoffrey. ‘Is there any woman whom Henry has not offended?’

‘Well, there is Wulfric’s older daughter,’ said Joan. ‘Eleanor. But you will not want her.’

‘Why not?’

‘Just trust me,’ replied Joan. ‘There is also Caerdig’s daughter Corwenna, but an alliance with him would be of little benefit.’

Geoffrey was surprised. ‘I thought good relations with the Welsh were important.’

‘They are, but Caerdig is too poor to risk open warfare. He would be delighted were you to accept Corwenna, but you can do better. Besides, she has no love for our family.’

‘Why?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘Because Henry killed her husband, Rhys,’ said Olivier. ‘Henry fired some cottages, and Rhys was trapped inside.’

‘Christ’s blood!’ muttered Geoffrey.

‘Caerdig knows grudges are detrimental to his people’s welfare, but his daughter is young,’ said Joan. ‘You could be the most charming man in Christendom, and she would not have you.’

‘So, she might have slipped a dagger into Henry, too?’ asked Geoffrey.

Joan nodded. ‘It would have been easy for her to enter our stables after dark.’

‘I will make you my heir,’ said Geoffrey, suddenly inspired. ‘Special dispensation can be granted for women to inherit. I have read about such cases. Then I can remain single, and the problem of an heir will be yours.’

‘Baderon would never permit it,’ said Joan. ‘You would need his permission, and he will not give it when he stands to lose. You have no choice: you must marry, and you must do it soon, so these issues can be resolved.’

‘But I do not like the sound of any of these women,’ protested Geoffrey. ‘Perhaps Roger will know a suitable lady from Durham-’

‘That will do no good,’ said Joan firmly. ‘You must choose someone from here. And you will not be safe until you do.’

When Joan and Olivier retired to their chamber, Geoffrey was not tired. He supposed it was not surprising, given that he had slept late that morning and then lain in a drunken slumber for most of the afternoon. He went to his room, but he could not settle. If there had been a tavern nearby, he would have gone, but the nearest was across the river.

He sat at the table, struggling to read a scroll he had brought from the Holy Land. But he was not in the mood for philosophy, and his mind kept returning to Henry’s murder. Perhaps Joan was right: he would never discover the killer’s identity. But he knew that he would remain uneasy if he didn’t at least try, and he resolved to press on as diplomatically as he could. He was about to make a list of suspects – which included all six suitors and their fathers – when a scratching sound caused him to jump up and draw his dagger. He moved quickly to the door and ripped it open, causing the man outside almost to tumble in. The fellow recovered himself quickly, and his face went from alarm to an impassive mask.

‘Torva,’ said Geoffrey, recognizing Goodrich’s steward. Torva was thin-lipped, with greasy hair that parted in the middle and dangled limply around his shoulders. Joan swore that he was honest, but Geoffrey did not like the way the man looked at him.

‘Sir Geoffrey,’ replied Torva flatly.

‘Well?’ asked Geoffrey, when Torva said no more. ‘What do you want?’

‘I saw a light under your door,’ said Torva expressionlessly. ‘We are always worried about fires, so I came to investigate.’

‘I was reading,’ explained Geoffrey, indicating the scroll on the table.

‘I see,’ said Torva, in a voice he might have used had Geoffrey confessed to chanting spells to summon the Devil. ‘Remember to blow out the candle before you sleep.’

‘Of course I will remember,’ said Geoffrey, wondering if the man thought him an idiot. He glanced down and saw that Torva carried a hefty dagger. Was it something he always wore, or just when he slunk around at night? Geoffrey could not recall seeing it before, but had not paid close attention. Then it occurred to him that Henry had bullied Torva, and the steward was yet another murder suspect. ‘What happened the night Henry died?’

‘I did not kill him,’ Torva said in alarm. He turned to leave, but Geoffrey caught his arm.

‘I did not say you had, but I would like an answer to my question.’

‘You already know what happened.’ Torva tried to free himself, but Geoffrey was strong and he soon abandoned the attempt. ‘Henry started to drink. He kicked Peter and Jervil, and he punched me.’ He pointed to the side of his jaw, and Geoffrey saw a small scar where Henry’s ring had cut it.

‘I am sorry,’ he said, releasing Torva when he realized that he was bullying the man, too. ‘My brother was too ready with his fists.’

‘Like you, he did not like being in the hall with us servants, so he went to the stables. Sir Olivier found him dead the next morning.’

‘Do you know who killed him?’ asked Geoffrey. He had actually left the hall for the servants’ benefit – so they could sleep without being disturbed – but doubted Torva would believe him.

‘I have a number of suspects,’ replied Torva. ‘FitzNorman, Isabel and Margaret; Baderon and Hilde; Wulfric and his children Ralph, Eleanor and Douce; and Corwenna and half of Wales. Henry was unkind to every servant, poor villein and free man from here to Monmouth; he maltreated peddlers; and he hanged three “poachers” he caught in our woods. Then there are Baderon’s knights – Seguin and Lambert. Would you like me to continue? It might be easier to list those who did not want to kill your brother.’

‘Then do so,’ said Geoffrey mildly, refusing to be drawn by the man’s hostility.

Torva thought for a long time. ‘Father Adrian,’ he said eventually. ‘Because he does not own a dagger with a double-edged blade.’

‘What happened to the weapon?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I know the killer left it in Henry.’

‘Well, he would. You do not keep a Black Knife after it has done its work, do you?’

‘A black knife ?’ asked Geoffrey, confused.

‘A Black Knife is a weapon strengthened with curses by a witch,’ said Torva, adding as if it were obvious: ‘You do not keep one after it has killed. It is too dangerous.’

‘And whose dagger underwent this particular transformation?’ asked Geoffrey, thinking it nonsense.

‘No one knows. But it may strike another Mappestone, if it chooses.’

‘Are you threatening me?’ asked Geoffrey coolly. ‘Or Joan?’

‘No, sir,’ said Torva with a false smile. ‘Not Joan.’ And then he was gone.

The next day was wet and cold, but warhorses needed to be exercised daily, so Geoffrey rode towards the hills that overlooked the river, taking the opportunity to familiarize himself with territory that he might have to defend one day. He hoped relations with Goodrich’s neighbours would not degenerate to the point where he might have to put his local knowledge to the test, but there was no harm in being cautious.