Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

“Pretext?” supplied Geoffrey helpfully.

Henry glared at him. “King Henry is like me in more than name. And he supports my claim to the manor entirely.”

“He does not!” cried Bertrada, outraged. “You have never spoken to the King!”

“Oh, but I have, Bertrada,” said Henry smugly, “and he sees a similarity between his claim to the English throne, and mine to the manor of Goodrich. He says he will back me in any court of law.”

“How could you have met the King?” said Walter derisively. “You would never have been permitted into his presence.”

“Wrong, brother. I met the King at Chepstow around Christmastime, when I took him that letter from our father.”

“Rubbish!” snapped Walter. “The letter might have reached the King-although I sincerely doubt it-but you certainly would not have done.”

“What letter was this?” asked Stephen, looking up from where he was still rubbing the dog’s stomach. “I know of no letter our father sent to the King.”

“Some legal document or other about Lann Martin,” said Walter dismissively. “Nothing of any importance.”

Geoffrey suspected that the letter had contained something rather more than petty legal niceties regarding Lann Martin. The King had received a letter from Godric around Christmas, containing details of his alleged poisoning, and it seemed as though Henry, quite unwittingly, had delivered it for him.

“Sir Olivier arranged for me to be introduced,” said Henry, turning to the black-haired knight.

“Olivier?” queried Stephen, abandoning the dog and turning on the small knight. “Why should Olivier do such a thing?”

“Well, it was not me, exactly,” said Olivier quickly, shooting Henry a withering glance for his lack of tact. “It was more Joan’s idea.”

Geoffrey wondered what the chances were of slipping unnoticed from the hall, saddling up his horse, and riding as far as possible from Goodrich and its quarrelling inhabitants. He saw exactly what was happening: Walter, Joan, Stephen, and Henry had been arguing about how Godric’s estates should be divided for years, and unfortunately for Geoffrey, he had arrived at a time when these long-standing battles were intensified because of their father’s impending death.

Walter was the eldest, and by rights should inherit the bulk of the manor-and since Godric Mappestone had been adding to it ever since he had been granted his initial, quite sizeable tract of land by the Conqueror, it was an inheritance worth owning. Not only did it include Goodrich Castle but it boasted several profitable bridges and fords over the River Wye, as well as the little castle at Walecford.

Joan seemed to have secured herself a decent dowry-Geoffrey’s manor-in addition to a well-connected husband, but it seemed that Olivier was seeking further to improve his fortunes by adding Goodrich to it.

Geoffrey glanced at Stephen, who seemed uninterested in the conversation, although that was not to say that he was uninterested in Godric’s will. As the second son, Stephen was to inherit a manor and several villages in the Forest of Dene. But there were rigid laws that applied to settlements in forests, and it was not an especially appealing inheritance. It would certainly interfere with the breeding of hounds-apparently Stephen’s passion-because all dogs in the woods were required by law to have three claws removed to ensure they did not chase the King’s deer. Stephen would almost certainly prefer to inherit Goodrich, but his chances of doing so while Walter lived were non-existent.

And Henry-regardless of the trumped-up reasons he might have invented for him to inherit Goodrich-would never do so as long as Walter and Stephen were alive.

“You probably do not fully understand the validity of my Henry’s claim,” said Hedwise sweetly, forcing Geoffrey to pay attention to her. “You have been away for so long that you cannot know what has been happening in our country. Well, you see, King William Rufus was killed in a hunting accident in the New Forest last August, and our new King is Henry, his younger brother.”

“I have been in the Holy Land, not on the moon,” said Geoffrey, smiling at her notion that he could be so uninformed. “I am not so out of touch that I do not know who is the King of England.”

He could have mentioned that he had spoken with the King just two days previously, but the less she and the rest of his family knew about what the King had charged him to do, the better.

“But you do not know the basis on which King Henry holds the throne, rather than giving it to his oldest brother, the Duke of Normandy,” said Henry, with his customary acidity. He kicked at a stool until it was in a position he considered satisfactory, and slumped down on it, scowling into the fire. “You have no idea of what King Henry’s arguments are!”

Geoffrey most certainly did, for it had been a popular topic of conversation across most of Europe, and he had grown bored with being regaled with people’s opinions on the matter. A fourth son seizing a kingdom from under the nose of a first son was not a matter that had passed unnoticed in neighbouring countries.

“William the Conqueror had four sons,” began Hedwise. Geoffrey wondered if she thought he was simple, for who in Christendom did not know of the Conqueror’s rebellious sons? “The eldest was Robert, who was bequeathed the Dukedom of Normandy.”

“I know all this,” said Geoffrey in an attempt to suppress her somewhat patronising history lesson. “I was in the Duke’s service, if you recall.”

“The second son was killed when he fell from his horse in the New Forest many years ago,” she continued, as though he had not spoken. “The third was Rufus, to whom the Conqueror bequeathed the Kingdom of England, and the fourth was Henry, who was left no land, but plenty of silver.”

“Which he increased considerably by his shady business dealings,” added Walter hotly. “The man is a grasping thief as well as a usurper.”

“That is treason!” yelled Henry, stabbing an accusatory finger at his brother. “Henry is our rightful King! He was born in the purple-born when his father was King. Of course he is our rightful monarch!”

“You would think that!” drawled Stephen laconically, “since it fits your own claims so cosily.”

“If Henry was the rightful heir, then why did he make such an undignified dash to Westminster to have himself crowned?” demanded Walter. “Why did he not wait, and secure his older brother’s blessing?” He appealed to Geoffrey. “Henry was crowned King three days after Rufus’s death! Three days! You call such speed the act of a man with a clear conscience? Henry knew the throne rightfully belonged to the Duke of Normandy! Tell him, Geoffrey!”

Geoffrey did not want to be drawn into a debate fraught with such dangers. As a former squire of the Duke of Normandy, he felt a certain allegiance to him, strengthened by the fact that Rufus and the Duke had signed documents, each naming the other heir. The Duke’s claim to the English throne was legal and even moral. But Henry was the man who had been crowned King in the Abbey at Westminster, and he was the man who held the most power in England. Henry also had reliable ways of discovering who was loyal and who was not, apparently, since he already knew about Walter’s lack of allegiance to him. Geoffrey had no intention of taking sides in an issue that could be construed as treasonable.

“The Duke has enough to occupy him without attempting to rule England too,” he said carefully. “Normandy is not peaceful, and there are many rebellions and uprisings that need to be brought under control. It is better that King Henry holds England, and the Duke holds Normandy.”