Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

“Rash,” said the King, pursing his lips in disapproval. “You do not know what my wishes are in this matter, and I am your King.”

Geoffrey did not imagine that the King could possibly be remotely interested in who was lord of the manor at Goodrich, but knew better than to say so. The King stroked his thick beard thoughtfully for a moment, and then gave what Geoffrey could only describe as a predatory smile.

“I am glad to have made your acquaintance, as it happens, Sir Geoffrey,” he said. “There is something I would like you to do for me.”

Reluctantly, Geoffrey followed the King into an antechamber just off the hall. An energetic fire blazed in the hearth, enjoyed by a selection of sleek and smelly dogs. The King nudged a few out of the way with the toe of his boot, and turned to face Geoffrey, drawing him nearer to the fire so that they would not be overheard.

At the calculating gleam in the King’s grey eyes, Geoffrey’s stomach lurched, and he almost hauled his arm away. Not again! he thought, with sudden despair. He had left the Holy Land and its squabbling rulers at least in part because he did not want to be dragged into their intrigues and plots, and here he was, not even home, and he was being recruited by no less than the King of England for some task that he was certain he would not wish to undertake.

“I see you do not appreciate the honour that is being bestowed upon you,” said the King dryly, sensing Geoffrey’s unease. “Do you not want to be of use to your King?”

Geoffrey did not, but there was no way he could say so and still be free to leave-at least, not with all of him still present and functional. He thought fast.

“I am in the service of Tancred de Hauteville, my lord,” he said. “But I trained under your brother, the Duke of Normandy.”

The King regarded Geoffrey keenly, and then smiled humourlessly. “I know what you are thinking. You know that relations between my brother and myself are not entirely amiable, and you think that by confessing your loyalty to him, I will release you from working for me. Am I correct?”

He was, but again, Geoffrey could hardly say so. “I only seek to warn you, my lord, lest you reveal something that you would rather a vassal of the Duke of Normandy did not know.”

The King laughed. “You are wasted as a knight, Geoffrey Mappestone! You should have been a courtier. But what I am going to ask you to do for me will not compromise your allegiance to my brother. I am more concerned with a matter of security here, in England, than affairs of state in Normandy.”

“Yes?” asked Geoffrey cautiously, when the King fell silent.

“Before I tell you what I want, let us talk awhile,” said the King, poking at a pile of logs with his foot. “My constable tells me that you have been away from your home for some years, and so you will not be aware of some of the things that have been happening here.”

Geoffrey felt that he was very well informed of occurrences in Goodrich and in England, because his sister Enide had taken care to keep him up to date with such events. Enide and Geoffrey had been close before he had left to begin his knightly training, and their relationship had remained affectionate because Enide, like Geoffrey, was literate, and they had written to each other often and at length throughout the years. Their correspondence had ended abruptly when Geoffrey had received the terse note from his father’s scribe informing him that she had died. He said nothing, and the King continued.

“Your father owns a goodly tract of land when all his estates are added together. He was a loyal subject of my father, the Conqueror-indeed, it was through my father’s generosity that Godric Mappestone came into possession of his lands in the first place. After my father’s death, Godric transferred his allegiance to my eldest brother, the Duke of Normandy. He never fully accepted my second brother, William Rufus, as King of England.”

Geoffrey swallowed hard. Godric had been playing a dangerous game if he had been supporting the Duke of Normandy over Rufus, who had been King of England before his sudden death the previous summer.

The King saw his concern and patted his arm. “Do not look so alarmed, Geoffrey. Rufus was not a popular king, and your father was right to object to his evil, unjust rule. But after Rufus had his unfortunate accident in the New Forest, many men who had favoured the Duke of Normandy above Rufus decided that I was the best ruler England could have. So, they abandoned their allegiance to the Duke of Normandy, and swore oaths of loyalty to me instead.”

Geoffrey’s unease increased. He hoped that the King was not going to order him to coax his father to abandon his allegiance to the Duke of Normandy and accept King Henry instead. Godric Mappestone was notoriously stubborn and opinionated, and it would be no more possible to persuade him to change his mind than it would be to alter the course of the sun.

“Do not fiddle with that thing!” snapped the King suddenly, as Geoffrey’s hands moved nervously on the arrow. “Throw it into the fire.”

Geoffrey complied, and they both watched flames lick up it, until the light wood was stained brown and then black. The King took a deep breath, and spoke again.

“I am fairly sure that your father is loyal to me.” Geoffrey tried not to appear relieved. “I have also had occasion to meet your third brother-another Henry, like me-and he has assured me of his allegiance also. Your eldest brother Walter, and your sister Joan, on the other hand, have been quite outspoken against me. They claim I am a usurper, and that the throne of England really belongs to the Duke of Normandy.”

Geoffrey’s short-lived relief evaporated like a drop of rain in the desert, and he began to anticipate what the King was about to charge him to do with a feeling of dread. He opened his mouth to protest, but the King silenced him with a wave of his hand.

“Your second brother Stephen has kept quiet on the matter, and so I do not know where he stands. Each one of your siblings is determined to have Goodrich for him-or her-self. Now, I would not usually be concerned about the outcome of such a contest-even if the hostile Walter were to inherit, I would be able to subdue him by threatening to confiscate his land. But there is one other factor in the picture that gives me cause for concern.”

Geoffrey waited, watching the yellow flames consume the arrow, and wishing that he had abandoned Sir Aumary’s corpse in the forest, or better still, that he had never followed his ridiculous whim to return home in the first place.

“One of your siblings-and whether it is Walter, Joan, Stephen, or Henry, I cannot say-is poisoning your father.”

“So I have been told,” said Geoffrey, cleanly taking the wind out of the King’s sails. “But relations between Goodrich and its neighbours have never been very congenial. The tale of my father’s poisoning is probably a rumour intended to aggravate ill-feelings among my brothers and sister, which can then be used against them.”

“I do not base my statements on rumour,” said the King. “I base them on a letter your father sent me himself around Christmas. In it, he claimed not only that was he being poisoned but that a similar attempt had been made on your sister, too.”

“Joan?” asked Geoffrey. “Then I suppose that discounts her as a patricidal maniac.”

“Not Joan,” said the King. “Godric’s youngest child. I forget her name.”

“Enide?” asked Geoffrey, a cold, sick feeling gripping at the pit of his stomach.

“That is the one! Unfortunately-or fortunately, depending on the way you look at it-this Enide died of other causes before the slow-acting poison could take her,” said the King, watching Geoffrey’s reaction carefully. “But the point is that someone tried.”