Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

Geoffrey imagined she was probably right, but did not feel it appropriate to comment. Hedwise sidled a little closer to him, rubbing up against his side. When he edged away, she moved with him.

“I would have been better off with you,” she continued.

Geoffrey inched away a second time. “I would have made you a poor husband,” he said. “Unless you happen to like reading.”

“You could have taught me,” she said.

To his alarm, he felt an arm slip around his waist. Was this a genuine attempt at seduction, he thought, or was she simply trying to have him found in some dreadfully compromising position by the fiery Henry? He removed her arm firmly and turned to face her, but she was not so easily disengaged. He found one hand snaking around the back of his neck to pull him towards her, while the other one grabbed a handful of his shirt. Startled, he slithered out of her grip, and began to move towards the door.

“Come now, Geoffrey,” she said, pouting at him in mock censure. “We are alone here. What harm is there in us establishing a more intimate relationship?”

“A great deal of harm if Henry were to find out,” said Geoffrey. “I am in bad enough favour as it is, and I do not want to compound matters by seducing his wife.”

“Will you seduce me, then?” she asked with a smile that verged on being a leer.

“I will not,” said Geoffrey firmly. He had succeeded in edging round her so that he was closest to the door. “And it is cold up here. You should come inside, or you will take a chill. Women in your condition should not be fooling around on battlements in the depths of the night.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, leaning back against the wall and folding her arms. “I told you that I am carrying another of Henry’s brats, did I? Well, let us hope it is more pleasant than the last little monster he sired. I am hoping that dog of yours will dispatch that one for me. Things looked promising yesterday, but Stephen intervened.”

“Those do not seem to be especially maternal sentiments,” he said, appalled that his dog might be encouraged to harm a child. “Surely your baby cannot have earned your dislike already?”

“Spoken like a true bachelor,” said Hedwise in some disgust. “Believe me, Geoffrey, that brat is every inch his father. He even bears his father’s name. But I did not come here to discuss Henry. I came to learn more of you.”

“It is late,” said Geoffrey quickly. “And I am tired. If you will excuse me, I would like to retire.”

“Are you running away from me?” asked Hedwise, following him towards the door. “Such timidity does not become you, Geoffrey. No wonder you returned lootless from the Holy Land, if you are driven away so easily.”

At that moment, Geoffrey would sooner have faced an army of Saracens than his brother’s lecherous wife, but he said nothing. He opened the door, ignoring her restraining hands on his shirt, and clattered down the spiral stairway to the hall. Breathing heavily, he looked around. Henry was banking the fire in the great hearth, and Geoffrey heaved a sigh of relief. At least Henry had not seen him and Hedwise emerging together from the battlements and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

He walked across to the fire and knelt next to it. Henry said nothing, and Geoffrey felt a sudden sympathy for his bad-tempered brother. Henry was trapped in a loveless marriage, and was probably deeply unhappy. A fleeting notion crossed his mind that Henry might be a more pleasant person away from Goodrich, and he wondered whether he should offer to take him to Jerusalem when he left. But Geoffrey dismissed that thought instantly: Palestine would provide Henry with unlimited opportunities for his aggression and greed, and whereas Henry would doubtless thoroughly enjoy the Holy Land, the Holy Land certainly did not need yet another man like Henry.

Hedwise glided across the floor towards them, her face slightly flushed. “Godric is calling for you,” she said to Geoffrey. “He said he will not sleep unless you are in the room with him.”

“How did he manage before?” asked Geoffrey, making no move to stand. “Did someone else stay with him?”

“No,” said Hedwise. “But he often wakes and calls out for us. We take it in turns-Bertrada, Joan, and I. He claims the poison makes his stomach crave food in the night, and so we usually have a pot of broth warming for him on the hearth. Of course, he almost always brings it back up again as soon as he has finished it.”

“Really, Hedwise,” said Henry in disgust. “I am sure Geoffrey does not want to hear those kind of details, and I certainly do not.”

“That is because you do not have to deal with it, night after night,” said Hedwise, not without bitterness. “You simply turn over and go back to sleep.” She turned to Geoffrey. “Godric claims the poison is making him sick, but we are sure it is the wasting sickness he has.”

From the stairwell came a tremulous cry, simultaneously pitiful and demanding. Geoffrey snapped his fingers to his dog, and stood. He sensed that if he did not go to Godric, no one would get any sleep that night.

“Thank you, Geoffrey,” said Hedwise, smiling seductively. “We all appreciate your kindness.”

Geoffrey gave her an ambiguous nod and made for the stairs, aware that Henry was watching him with some suspicion. Was Hedwise determined to have Henry believe that she and Geoffrey were embarking on a relationship that was more than fraternal? And if so, why? Was it to make Henry divorce her on grounds of infidelity? On reflection, Geoffrey decided that ridding herself of Henry and Goodrich was probably was a perfectly adequate reason for Hedwise to initiate an affair with her brother-in-law. He pushed open the door to Godric’s room and went to the bed.

“There you are,” grumbled Godric. “Where have you been? Flirting with your brother’s wife out on the battlements?”

Geoffrey stared at him. Was the old man really bed-ridden, or was he fooling them all, and secretly was as hale and hearty as the next man? But a covert glance at the gaunt skeletal figure told him that even Godric would not be able to mimic such symptoms of serious illness. A shadow glided out the room and closed the door behind him. Norbert. Was he a spy as well as a scribe? Geoffrey rubbed his eyes, and went to pour Godric some of the strong red wine he liked.

“You want to watch that Hedwise, son,” said Godric, as he sipped the wine. “She has her eye on you. And believe me, to have Hedwise’s eye on you is not something that will lead to pleasant consequences-for anyone, but least of all for you.”

Geoffrey did not need to be told.

The following morning was grey and dull. At first, Geoffrey thought he had overslept, and that the dimness resulted from the sun already beginning to set. But after a few moments, the door of Godric’s bedchamber was flung open, and Hedwise entered with the old man’s breakfast. Geoffrey climbed stiffly to his feet, and went to scrub his face with the cold water that stood in a jug in the garderobe passage. He stretched, feeling his muscles aching and sore. He felt sick too, a sensation that was heightened by the nauseating smell of Godric’s fish broth.

While Godric ate his soup and regaled the sceptical Hedwise with tales of his sexual prowess during his youth, Geoffrey rolled up the blanket on which he had been sleeping and stuffed it under the bed. Then he pulled on tough, boiled-leather leggings and his light chain-mail hauberk.

“Are you going out?” asked Hedwise, watching him. “Or do you always dress for the battlefield?”

“He is staying here with me,” said Godric confidently. “He is merely being cautious by wearing all that armour because he is in a house of poisoners.”