Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

‘Do not listen,’ hissed Corwenna. ‘He will wait until you have disbanded, then destroy you one by one. And you will see none of his corn. I know what the word of a Mappestone means.’

‘Goodrich helped Llan Martin through lean times last year,’ said one of the captains. ‘And I trust Caerdig: if he will not fight, we should reconsider.’

Another leader agreed, pointing out the futility of fighting if there was no booty to take home. They began to argue, while Corwenna watched, aghast.

‘They are going to back down,’ she breathed.

‘What were you telling them?’ demanded Lambert of Geoffrey.

‘He said he would pay each captain ten pieces of silver if they abandon you now,’ said Corwenna before Geoffrey could answer. ‘And another ten if they bring him your head and Baderon’s on pikes.’

Lambert steamed across to the conferring Welsh and began to rail at them, while Corwenna ‘translated’. Geoffrey tried to interrupt, but swords were drawn and he was ordered back. He closed his eyes in despair when Corwenna informed her countrymen that Goodrich intended to trick them: that Roger’s recent arrival with mercenaries was evidence that they intended to attack Wales. Baderon watched for a moment, then ducked back inside the tent, his shoulders bowed.

‘Did you offer them silver to back down, Geoffrey?’ asked Hilde uneasily.

‘Of course not,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Do you think me a fool?’

‘I do not,’ Hilde said softly. She was silent for a moment, then spoke in a rush. ‘I have been thinking about the deaths of Hugh and Seguin, and I do not believe you are responsible.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Geoffrey drily. ‘It is a pity Lambert does not think the same.’

‘You had no reason to want them dead,’ Hilde continued. ‘If you had been willing to marry me, I might have assumed you wanted Hugh out of the way, but you do not. And you never let Seguin’s ill manners bother you much, either. You are not their killer.’

‘Well, despite all the evidence that points to his guilt, I do not believe your father killed my brother, either. He does not behave like a murderer, and the servants at Goodrich think there was a secret pact – a marriage contract, perhaps – between him and Henry, which makes it highly unlikely that your father is the culprit.’

Hilde sighed. ‘They are right, in part. We did have an arrangement that only Henry and my family knew about, but it was nothing to do with him marrying me. I would never have agreed to that. It is a pity he was not you – I would not have minded you.’

‘You are not so bad yourself,’ said Geoffrey, feeling some sort of reciprocal compliment was in order. ‘Better than the others.’

Unexpectedly, Hilde laughed. ‘You have a silver tongue, Geoffrey Mappestone, there is no doubt about that!’

Geoffrey smiled. ‘What was this arrangement with Henry, if it did not involve an alliance by marriage?’

‘I did not say it was not an alliance by marriage. It was just not between him and me.’

Geoffrey looked confused. ‘Who then?’

‘Joan. To Hugh.’

Geoffrey regarded her askance. ‘But Joan has Olivier.’

‘Olivier had an accident last summer,’ said Hilde. ‘He broke his arm, but Henry led us to believe it was more serious, and offered Joan for Hugh.’

Geoffrey stared at her. ‘I do not think Joan would have appreciated that.’

‘Neither would Hugh, whose heart was set on Eleanor. But it would have served its purpose: Henry could have had Isabel and secured an alliance with us. It would have united three Houses.’

‘But Joan has not produced heirs for Olivier, so her marriage with Hugh would have been equally barren. How would it have benefited Goodrich?’

‘Joan had children. Did you not know? Like Henry’s, they were taken by fevers, and then Olivier had an illness that means he cannot . . . well, she could provide heirs for a different husband.’

Geoffrey had not known about such children and realized, yet again, that there was a good deal about his sister and her life that was a closed book to him.

‘Henry misled us over Olivier’s broken arm,’ Hilde went on. ‘And we have since learnt he attacked the poor man, clearly intending to kill him to provide a wife for Hugh. But I would be obliged if you keep this to yourself – if Joan were to find out that we were even remotely associated with a plot that almost saw Olivier murdered, we would never have peace.’

‘So that is why our servants think your father would not have killed Henry.’ Geoffrey rubbed his head; then an unpleasant thought occurred to him. ‘Are you sure Joan did not know about this?’

‘Positive,’ said Hilde firmly. ‘If she had learnt that Henry had attempted to kill Olivier, do you think she would have murdered him by stealth? Of course not! She would have hanged him from the castle walls.’

Geoffrey glanced at Corwenna and Lambert, who were still trying to persuade the wary Welshmen against leaving. He started to move towards them, but swords blocked him a second time, and Hilde pulled him back with a surprisingly strong arm.

‘Even if you do convince the Welsh that they are making a mistake, Lambert and Corwena will still have their Normans and mercenaries,’ she said. ‘Goodrich remains outnumbered by a considerable margin. If I thought you would listen, I would urge you to turn around and aim for the Holy Land, because there is nothing but death left for you here.’

‘And leave my sister?’ asked Geoffrey archly.

There was no more to be said, so Geoffrey went to his horse and mounted. Then there was a sudden blur of movement as Corwenna snatched a crossbow from a guard, and fired.

Geoffrey reacted instinctively, throwing himself to one side. Dun reared up in confusion and the bolt hit his chest. With a piercing whinny, the horse crashed to the ground. Hands dragged Geoffrey to safety, but he twisted away from them and knelt next to Dun, trying to stem the gush of blood with his fingers. It seemed a long time before the horse’s desperate, agonized battle for life was over.

Geoffrey looked at the blood staining his hands and climbed slowly to his feet. The Welsh captains stood in a shocked, mute circle around him, while Hilde looked as angry as Geoffrey felt. He liked horses, and for his to have been killed by Corwenna was more than his temper could bear. He stalked towards her.

‘Easy, man,’ said Lambert uncomfortably. ‘She did not mean to hurt the horse. She was aiming for you.’

Geoffrey was not sure why this was expected to make him feel better. Corwenna did not flinch when he reached her. Instead, she smiled, her eyes carrying an expression of intense satisfaction; she was delighted to see the death of the horse had touched him.

‘You have a long walk ahead of you,’ she said smugly. ‘You had better start, if you do not want to be alone in the forest after dark. It is dangerous for those who are not welcome.’

Geoffrey had never before experienced such a strong urge to put his hands around someone’s throat and choke the life out of them. But an enemy camp, where he was surrounded by hostile forces, was not the place for it. He allowed Hilde to tug him away.

‘Take my horse,’ she said. ‘You can give him back when all this is over.’

Geoffrey did not trust himself to speak. He shot Corwenna a glare filled with loathing, then turned away, half-expecting her to launch another attack while his back was turned. He followed Hilde to where Lambert was already saddling up a sturdy pony, snatched the reins and rode out of the camp. He did not look back.

Bitterly, he saw that Roger, Joan and Olivier had been right: he had risked his life for nothing – and lost a good horse in the bargain. He had learnt of Henry’s plans for Joan, but they seemed unimportant now. How many men would die because Henry had been a brute and Corwenna hated him for it? And could Goodrich hold out against such a huge horde, even if the Welsh captains did see sense and go home?