Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

‘They will surrender now!’ she howled. ‘Put up your weapon!’

‘Not until Joan is dead,’ hissed Corwenna.

‘Our fight is not with her!’ shouted Hilde, trying to pull Corwenna away.

Corwenna spun round and turned on Hilde, swinging the axe towards her unprotected head. Hilde ducked, and Joan struck Corwenna hard with the shield, but the blow had little impact. She raised her axe again, and Geoffrey saw her smile as Hilde backed up against a wall with no way to defend herself.

Hilde met Corwenna’s eyes without fear. The axe started to fall. Geoffrey snatched a shield from a corpse and hurled himself between them, feeling the force of the blow send agonizing tremors through his arm.

‘You!’ screamed Corwenna in fury, turning on him. Geoffrey lifted his sword, but before he could close with her, Joan stepped forward and brought down her shield on Corwenna’s head with all the force she could muster. Corwenna dropped to the floor and jerked convulsively before going limp.

‘Is she dead?’ asked Giffard uneasily. ‘God knows I am not a man to wish death on another human being, but the world will be a safer place without Corwenna in it.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Hilde, looking at the distorted shape of Corwenna’s skull. ‘She is dead.’

‘I think enough of us have died for one day,’ said Baderon loudly, dropping his sword and raising his hand to indicate Torva and Peter should desist their attack. ‘This fight is over.’

Those inside lowered their weapons, and Baderon and a trembling Olivier went together to end the skirmishes outside. Word spread quickly, and the sound of fighting petered out until only the groans of the wounded could be heard. Inside, Geoffrey looked at his broken home. He removed his helmet and scrubbed hard at his face. His arms were so sore from wielding his sword that he felt he might never raise them again. The faces of the others showed they felt the same.

‘Who won?’ asked Torva. ‘Them, because they managed to get into the hall? Or us, because we fended them off?’

‘I do not think there are any winners here,’ said Giffard soberly.

The silence that followed was broken by an urgent call.

‘Geoff!’ shouted Roger from the door. ‘Come quickly!’

Afraid there was a pocket where the fighting continued, Geoffrey forced his weary legs into a run. He caught up with Roger – beckoning urgently – near the stables. When they rounded a corner, there was Durand, sitting against a wall and clutching his bag to his chest.

‘Our traitor,’ Geoffrey said coldly. ‘What did you call me for? I want nothing to do with him.’

‘He was asking for you,’ said Roger. ‘He is dying.’

Geoffrey crouched to examine the clerk and was startled to see blood pooling in his lap. Durand’s face was ghastly white, although Geoffrey could see no injury. He tried to move the sack, but Durand clutched it tighter against him.

‘No,’ he whispered. ‘You cannot have it while I am still alive.’

‘I am looking for your wound, to stem the bleeding,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I do not want your silver.’

‘You can have it after I have gone,’ croaked Durand. ‘I bequeath it to you, but only on condition that you buy masses for my immortal soul.’

Geoffrey thought Durand’s sins were far too great to be tempered by prayers. ‘Let go of the bag,’ he ordered. ‘I may be able to save you.’

‘No,’ said Durand, fiercely clutching the sack. ‘You will steal it and leave me to die alone. I want you to hear what I have to say first.’

Feeling that he was betraying himself even being in Durand’s presence, Geoffrey sighed. ‘What? There are wounded men all over my bailey who need tending. I do not have time to chat.’

‘Everything you said is true. I killed Jervil, I killed Hugh and I killed Seguin. And I twice tried to kill you. I did it because it is not fair that you have fine lands and a loving family, and I do not.’

‘You have your demesne in Suffolk,’ Geoffrey said. ‘And it is better than mine – or so you have boasted on several occasions.’

‘ Suffolk! ’ sneered Durand. ‘The King insulted me when he gave me that estate. It is nothing!’

‘I do not understand,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Are you saying you committed your crimes because you are jealous of Goodrich?’

‘I wanted you to give up living here and work with me. We could have had a glittering future – earned a great fortune. Besides, the King promised me a better manor if I could entice you back into his service. I tried asking politely, but you refused. You left me with no alternative but to deprive you of home and family to make you change your mind.’

Geoffrey was appalled. ‘But it is not just me you damaged here. Baderon-’

‘ Baderon! The bastard who refused me appropriate respect. Your sister is no better. She did not even offer me the welcoming cup when we arrived. Everyone else was given wine, but not me.’

Geoffrey glanced at Roger, and saw that he was just as bewildered by the stream of invective. ‘If all this was because you wanted me to work with you, why did you try to kill me?’

‘I am not stupid.’ Durand’s voice was growing softer. ‘I knew you would never seriously consider my offer – even after I helped you by lending you my gloves and giving you that phial Walter dropped. You have always despised me.’

‘That is not true,’ said Geoffrey, not entirely truthfully. ‘I admire your intelligence and turned to you several times because I thought you were the best person to ask for advice.’

Durand’s sullen expression lifted for a moment, but then collapsed again in obvious disbelief. ‘So, being unable to bring you to my side, I decided to take away your happiness. I do not see why you – a brutal, cold ruffian – should grow old peacefully while I struggle.’

Geoffrey was baffled. ‘Let me see your wound, Durand,’ he said finally. ‘We can talk about this later.’

‘It is too late,’ whispered Durand. ‘I am dying. I should not have tried to destroy you, and I need your forgiveness before I meet my Maker, or I will never escape purgatory, and that would not be fair. You have to forgive me. I order it.’

Geoffrey recalled Durand’s earlier monastic aspirations and that, despite his crimes, he believed what the Church said happened to sinners. ‘You cannot order forgiveness. It must be freely given.’

‘Then give if freely,’ wheedled Durand. ‘If you do, I will tell you another secret – the last one I have that affects you.’

‘Forgiveness is not mine to grant,’ said Geoffrey, thinking about the grief Durand’s actions had brought to so many others.

‘It was you I wronged,’ said Durand weakly. ‘So it is you who must forgive me. I am begging you, Geoffrey. And then I will tell you something important.’

Geoffrey hesitated for the briefest of moments, but when he looked back, the clerk was dead. He removed the bag from Durand’s limp hands and saw that the blade of a knife protruded from it.

Roger stepped forward. ‘Baderon was dashing here and there to end the fighting, and Durand thought he was being chased. He ran away, and fell over in his haste to escape. He landed on his bag, and the knife he carried in it must have pierced his chest. But Baderon was not chasing Durand – he had no reason to, because he does not yet know that it was Durand who killed his son.’

Geoffrey inspected Durand’s wound, then sat back on his heels. ‘If he had let me see this, instead of assuming I wanted to steal his fortune, I would have been able to save him. The cut is not in his chest, but nicked a vessel in his groin. He bled to death from an injury that did not need to be fatal.’