Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

“It was harsh of you to upset Julian like that,” he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

Olivier looked at him in astonishment. “You are alive! Did you kill that great monster, then?”

“I did not,” said Geoffrey shortly. “But you should have checked your facts before telling the boy that I was dead.”

Olivier regarded him blankly. “What boy?”

“Julian,” said Geoffrey impatiently. “And, incidentally, you really should let him deal with your destrier. He is much better than your grooms.”

“He is also a woman,” said Olivier. He put his hands over his mouth in horror. “Dash it all! I promised Joan I would not tell.”

“A woman?” asked Geoffrey in confusion. “What are you talking about? Have you been drinking?”

“No. I should not have spoken. Ignore me.”

“What do you mean, a woman?” demanded Geoffrey, taking a hold on the small knight’s arm. Olivier stiffened with fright.

“I cannot tell you,” he said, his voice a pleading whisper. “Joan would skin me alive.”

“I will skin you alive if you do not,” threatened Geoffrey.

Olivier licked his lips nervously and eyed Geoffrey up and down, assessing whether the knight or his sister presented a more serious threat. He swallowed hard and seemed to come to the conclusion that while Joan might be more dangerous, Geoffrey was a more immediate problem. He began to speak quickly, keeping his voice low so that the servants would not overhear.

“Julian is really named Julianna. She is a pretty little thing under all that dirt, and Joan feared for her … her …”

“Virginity?” asked Geoffrey bluntly.

“Well, if you put it like that, yes,” said Olivier prudishly. “Godric was a bit of a devil for the women before his illness, and Joan did not want Julianna to go the same way as Rohese-whore today, gone tomorrow.”

He chuckled at his nasty joke, but sobered when he saw Geoffrey did not share it. He hastened to explain further.

“Joan did not want Julianna to fall into to the same situation, and so she is training her to be a pastry chef. Julianna dresses like a boy so that she will be safe from unwanted male advances.”

So that explained why he had always thought there was something a little odd about Julian, Geoffrey realised. Her gait was not quite right for a boy, and she was sharper and more cynical than was usual for stable-boys.

“But Godric is hardly in a position to seduce Julian,” he said. “The man is confined to his bed.”

“But Walter, Henry, and Stephen are not,” said Olivier. “And they are every bit as dangerous. Poor Julianna would be with child before she was halfway across the bailey with them around. As soon as Godric is dead, we will leave Goodrich-assuming of course that we do not inherit-and we will take Julianna and Rohese with us. Then they can live safely with us.”

“This does not sound like Joan,” said Geoffrey, unconvinced. “Has she softened, then, as the years have passed?”

“I doubt it,” said Olivier proudly. “She is as stalwart and bold as she ever was. But you do her an injustice, Geoffrey. Under her harshness, she is a deeply caring woman. Who else would strive to keep a pretty maid from seduction by her brothers?”

“Enide?” asked Geoffrey.

Olivier gazed at him in disbelief. “Hardly! But because Julianna is a woman, you can see why I am reluctant to allow her near my war-horse.”

“Not really,” said Geoffrey. “My horse cares neither one way nor another about the sex of its grooms. Julian is very good. I prefer him to the others.”

“Her,” corrected Olivier. “Well, each to his own. But I believe very strongly that women should not be allowed near horses. Horses are for men.”

“I dare you to say that to Joan,” said Geoffrey, amused.

Olivier paled and scurried away, leaving Geoffrey laughing. He went up the stairs to the main hall, and opened the door. Inside, his family were gathered around the hearth together. When they saw Geoffrey, their faces took on expressions of astonishment and acute disappointment.

“Olivier said you were dead,” said Walter accusingly, as though Geoffrey had no right to prove the small knight wrong. “We were going to fetch back your corpse.”

“He told us that you were killed by a boar,” agreed Stephen, raising his eyebrows questioningly at Olivier, who had nervously followed Geoffrey into the keep.

“We should have known better to have listened to that snivelling coward,” said Henry, slamming a pewter goblet down on the table in an undisguised display of bitter frustration as he glowered at Olivier. “I thought it was too good to be true!”

“Well, I am pleased to see you alive and well,” said Hedwise, casting a defiant glance at her husband. “Come and sit by the fire and dry your wet clothes.”

Avoiding her outstretched hand, Geoffrey sat on a stool near the hearth, where Bertrada sullenly handed him a beaker of scalding ale, her resentful looks a far cry from her attempts to ingratiate herself with him a few nights earlier, when she had believed that he had been loaded down with loot. Making no attempts to disguise their blighted hopes at his unexpected return from the grave, his relatives ignored him and he sat alone, sipping the bitter brew and listening to Olivier tell Stephen about the massive boar they had encountered, which had escaped Olivier’s sword by the merest fraction. The tale was so far removed from events as Geoffrey recalled them that he began to wonder if they had even shared the same experience.

Geoffrey’s brief moment of ease did not last long, because Godric began clamouring for him, claiming that someone had tried to suffocate him while he slept. It took a long time to calm him, and the sick man only agreed to rest when Geoffrey promised not to leave.

Later that evening, Geoffrey was awoken from where he dozed restlessly next to the fire by the sound of his father’s voice.

“They killed Enide, you know.”

Godric was wide awake and regarding him with bright eyes. Geoffrey must have been more deeply asleep than he had thought, for his mind was sluggish. He gazed uncomprehendingly at Godric, wondering whether he had misheard him.

“They killed Enide as well as poisoning me,” said Godric. “And they killed Torva. All for this-for Goodrich! I wish that I had never set eyes on the place! Old Sergeant Helbye’s sons do not cluster round him like vultures waiting for his corpse-because he has nothing to give them. It was after Enide was murdered that they began to poison me in earnest. She knew how to keep the family in order, and when she died, they turned on me more viciously than ever.”

“It is late,” said Geoffrey, refusing to be drawn into that kind of discussion. “You should not be saying such things, or you will give yourself bad dreams. Go to sleep.” He stood stiffly, and stretched.

“You will never make a good knight,” said Godric critically, changing the subject as he did when conversations were not proceeding as he intended. “Look at the state of you! Your chain-mail will rust if you do not look after it and keep it dry.”

“How can I keep it dry in England?” asked Geoffrey. “It rains all the time.”

“I wish I could see your destrier, Godfrey,” said Godric, suddenly wistful. “The cowardly Olivier informs me that it is a handsome beast.”

“He is handsome enough,” said Geoffrey, pulling off his surcoat and hanging it on the hooks in the garderobe passage to dry. “But perhaps a little too independent-minded.”

“He should suit you very well, then,” said Godric. “But you are trying to distract me. I was telling you about Enide. I thought you said you were fond of her.”

Geoffrey paused as he unbuckled his chain-mail, but did not reply.