Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

“Three weeks ago, when Stephen told me that Godfrey was returning, I made a new will,” Godric said, just loud enough for the others to hear.

His eyes glittered as he spoke, and Geoffrey’s spirits sank. He sensed he was about to hear something he would rather not know.

There was a stunned silence in the bedchamber as the old man made his announcement. Seeing he had his family’s complete attention, Godric leaned back in Geoffrey’s arms with a weak grin of satisfaction.

“I have made a new will,” he said again.

“But the old one will stand,” said Walter loudly. “No court in the land will countenance another made while you are far from sound in mind and body.”

“The Earl of Shrewsbury himself witnessed it,” said Godric, his grin widening as he witnessed his eldest son’s consternation. “Will you tell him that he is an inadequate judge, or shall I? Godfrey, come closer. The new will is hidden in the chest at the end of the bed, under my shirts. Find it, and bring it to me.”

Gently easing Godric’s head onto the pillow, Geoffrey did as he was bidden, watched intently by his kinsmen. At first he thought Godric was mistaken, because he could find nothing, but when Henry grabbed a handful of shirts and shook them impatiently, a scroll of parchment dropped to the floor. There was an undignified scramble for it, which Geoffrey watched dispassionately. Since none of them could read, possession of it would do them little good.

Not surprisingly, Henry emerged triumphant from the skirmish, and broke the seal with his thick fingers. The others clustered round, Stephen fingering a split lip, and Bertrada pushing her tousled hair back under her wimple.

“What does it say?” enquired Geoffrey provocatively, as Henry turned it this way and that in frustration.

Henry flashed him a vicious look. “Where is that lazy clerk? Norbert!” he yelled down the stairwell. “Norbert, where are you?”

Norbert the scribe appeared almost immediately, suggesting to Geoffrey that his brothers and sisters-in-law were not the only ones party to what had been happening in his father’s bedchamber. He wondered how many more of the household were gathered on the stairs to listen to the unsavoury twists and turns of his family’s affairs.

“Read this,” ordered Henry, shoving the scroll into Norbert’s hands. From the bed, Godric gave a low cackle of amusement.

“Norbert knows full well what is in it: he was present when it was drawn up-although it was actually written by that fat priest who acts as the Earl’s scribe, because Norbert’s writing is not all it should be. And do not think that destroying it will do you any good, because the Earl has a copy. I am not so foolish as to believe that any of you will honour my last wishes when there is wealth at stake.”

“What mischief have you done?” protested Walter in horror. “You know I am your rightful heir. You have always said so.”

“But I have not always been dying from poison,” said Godric, his lips still parted in the smile that reminded Geoffrey of a wall-painting he had once seen of the Devil. “And anyway, you, Walter, were born out of wedlock, so you have no claim at all. Ask my brother Sigurd if you doubt my word.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Henry with spiteful satisfaction.

“But Sigurd has never liked me!” cried Walter. “Of course he will support such a claim. He has always favoured Stephen.”

Henry gave an unpleasant laugh that brought Walter towards him with a murderous expression on his face. Stephen interposed himself between them.

“Then the manor is mine?” he asked, prising his brothers apart. “I am legitimate, and you always said I looked like our mother. I am no bastard.”

“But you are also no son of mine,” said Godric, with a malice that unnerved Geoffrey. “You, Stephen, are the spawn of your mother’s lover.”

“Father!” intervened Geoffrey, shocked. “Consider what you say. You slander our mother’s good name.”

“What good name?” queried Godric, shifting his gaze from Stephen to Geoffrey. “She cuckolded me every bit as much as I was unfaithful to her. She chose my brother with whom to couple, and Stephen is the result. Why do you think Sigurd has taken such an interest in him all his life? No one could believe it is because of his appealing personality. And where do you think that red hair comes from? It is not from me-but Sigurd has red hair.”

“What a pity,” mused Walter to Stephen. “If I could have chosen which brother to rid myself of, it would have been Henry, not you.”

“So, my claim will stand,” crowed Henry triumphantly. He snatched the will from Norbert and made for the door. “I am away to see the King and to ensure that no one pre-empts me. I am legitimate, the son of Godric, and I was born on English soil. What more need be said?”

“No,” said Godric, his soft voice stopping Henry dead in his tracks. “You have always claimed you were born on English soil, but you never bothered to verify it with the people who really know-your mother and myself. In fact, Henry, you were born in France, after the Conqueror’s fleet had left. The Conqueror was King of England days before your mewling presence was known on English soil.

“You are right,” said Henry to Bertrada, after a moment of reflection. He regarded the gloating face on the bed with a look of pure loathing. “Godric rambles; he does not know what he is saying.”

“But Joan’s claim would come before Henry’s, regardless of where he was born,” began Olivier timidly from the other side of the room.

“Remove that whining coward from my presence!” ordered Godric hotly, pointing a thin finger at Olivier. “He parades around pretending to be a warrior, and he is not fit to breathe the same air as me.”

Geoffrey began to suspect that this was not the first time such a scene had been played out at his father’s supposed death-bed. Godric, weak and dying though he might be, was not too frail to manipulate his children and to take sadistic pleasure from their quarrelling.

“If Walter is illegitimate and Stephen is not your son, then I am next in line,” said Henry, pulling himself up to his full height. “Whether I was born in England, France, or on the Channel, matters not one bit!”

“Godfrey is the only one of my sons who cannot have poisoned me,” said Godric, enjoying Henry’s anger. “The new will names him as my successor.”

“But I do not want it!” cried Geoffrey in horror, rising so abruptly that the sick man had to grab Walter to prevent himself from being tipped off the bed. “Please! I have no wish to be fettered here.”

And he certainly had no wish to be the sole target for his displaced brothers” ire for the remainder of what would doubtless prove to be a very short life.

“That is quite a brilliant bit of acting, Geoffrey,” said Walter bitterly as he pushed Godric back on the bed. “So now we know why your arrival home is so timely-you must have been planning this for months.”

“I do not want Goodrich,” said Geoffrey forcefully. “I am not interested in such things. If I were, I could have had an estate ten times the size of Goodrich in the Holy Land.”

“But you have already shown yourself to be less than efficient at looting,” said Bertrada. “I was in the village this morning, and I learned that even that feeble lout Mark Ingram came home with more booty than you did. I think you failed to secure your fortune there, and so have come to steal away what is rightfully ours.”

“You knew all along what Godric was planning, and you contrived to hasten his end,” continued Henry in the same vein. “None of us is poisoning Godric. You are!”

“Oh, Henry!” said Geoffrey, exasperated by the lack of logic. “How can that be possible? I have been thousands of miles away!”