Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

“Why they should kill her is beyond me,” mused Godric. “You have some loose links there, Godfrey: you should mend them before you next go out. The castle was a much more pleasant place when Enide was in it.”

“There are vile rumours about her death,” said Geoffrey. “Ingram told me that Caerdig had killed her.” He stopped, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, disgusted that he had allowed himself to embark on speculations about Enide’s death with his father after he had determined that he would not do so. Such a conversation would scarcely lead to a peaceful night’s slumber for Godric, and would only serve to make the old man more paranoid than ever.

“Perhaps Caerdig did kill her,” said Godric. “Someone did-she did not cleave her own head from her shoulders.”

Geoffrey sighed. “But Henry assures me he hanged the culprits.”

“So he claims,” said Godric bitterly. He made a sound of exasperation. “Stop fiddling, Godfrey, and come and stand where I can see you. Now, I know you do not believe that I am being poisoned, and I accept that. I am beyond caring for myself, but Enide I loved dearly. Find who killed her for me, Godfrey, and I promise that I will never ask anything of you again.”

“If you will make another will and leave me out of it, I will do what I can,” said Geoffrey. “Meanwhile, I am wet. Can I borrow a shirt? I have lost all mine.”

“Then you can buy some new ones,” snapped Godric, his wheedling tone instantly superseded by his customary evil temper. “Just because you think I am about to die does not mean that you can have the clothes from my person. You are just like the others-all clamouring for the dagger that the Conqueror gave me. Well, they shall not have it. None of you shall. I have hidden it away, and no one-not a single living soul-knows where I have put it. And you shall not have the clothes from my poor body until I am gone.”

“I do not intend to walk around the castle in your nightshift,” retorted Geoffrey, eyeing the garment that Godric’s “poor body” wore. “I want to borrow a shirt. I only have one, and it is wet and probably needs to be washed.”

“Yes, it does,” said Godric, eyeing him distastefully. “What do you mean by coming into your poor father’s death chamber wearing a dirty shirt?”

“Can I borrow this one?” asked Geoffrey, holding one of the ones stored in the chest at the end of the bed.

“I suppose so,” said Godric reluctantly. “And take some clean hose, too. Yours are really quite disgusting. Hedwise will wash them for you. But in return, will you do what I ask? Enide did not deserve to die, and her death must not go unavenged. She was being poisoned too, but the villain responsible decided he could not wait, and struck off her head as she came out of the church. I envy her in a way, for I would rather die from a sword blow than by slow poisoning.”

“Even if you are right,” said Geoffrey, “what can I do now? I have asked questions, and discovered nothing.”

He dropped his sodden shirt onto the floor, and pulled the dry one over his head.

“I will provide you with a list of suspects that you can interrogate. First, there is Henry, who hated her as he hates you-because you are more clever than he is. Then there are Walter and Bertrada. It was Enide who discovered Walter was illegitimate. I would have kept it from him, just for a peaceful life, and-”

“How could Enide discover such a thing?” asked Geoffrey, startled. “And anyway, I do not believe that Walter was born out of wedlock. Someone would have mentioned it long before now, if it were true-especially you.”

“I have a chest where I store old documents,” explained Godric. “I cannot read, so I had no idea what was in it. Enide was sorting it out for me one day, and she found the evidence.”

“What evidence?” asked Geoffrey tightly, sensing that Godric was about to make him very angry.

“A writ giving Walter’s birthdate, and a certificate with details of my marriage to your mother. The dates do not tally. And there are also documents that prove I was away at the time of Stephen’s conception, so that I could not possibly have sired him without supernatural help. Enide came to tell me what she had learned. While I was explaining-perhaps more loudly than I should have done-my other villainous whelps overheard.”

“And so poor Enide had information thrust upon her that made her a danger to Walter and Stephen?” said Geoffrey coldly. “No wonder you think she has been done away with! How could you have kept such documents? Why did you not burn them?”

“Easy for you to say!” snapped Godric. “You can read-you would know which ones were which. There are important writs in that chest. How could I be certain that I was not destroying one of those?”

“You could have asked Norbert,” said Geoffrey, unappeased. “Your clerk. That is why you employ him, surely? To read and write for you?”

“I could not trust him with such delicate information!” said Godric, appalled. “He would have used it to his own advantage.”

“Unlike you,” pointed out Geoffrey bitterly. “What a mess all this is. Where are these documents now?”

“Enide destroyed them,” said Godric.

“But by then everyone knew of the existence of these writs and their contents anyway, so technically, Enide should not have been a greater risk than anyone else,” said Geoffrey, trying to reason it all out. “So that still does not explain why someone chose to kill her.”

“You will have to work that out for yourself,” said Godric. “I cannot tell you everything. And do not leave Joan and Sir Fearful out of your reckonings, either. Poor Enide’s head was severed with a sword, so perhaps that snivelling coward performed the foul deed.”

Geoffrey’s thoughts whirled with confusion. Was there even the most remote grain of truth in what Godric had just told him? Or was it simply a ploy to make Geoffrey remain at Goodrich and take on the manor? He rubbed his head where his helmet had chafed it, and went to the heavy pitcher that stood on the floor for some wine. He slopped some into a cup, and took a gulp. He resisted the urge to spit it out again: seldom in his life had he tasted anything so bitter and vile that was not medicine.

He looked dispassionately at Godric, who lay in his bed staring up at the ceiling. He raised the cup to his lips again, but even the smell of the powerful brew was too much. He slammed it down on the windowsill, and fought the desire to snatch up his sword, and race down to the hall to dispatch the whole lot of them.

Geoffrey awoke with a start to see Hedwise towering over him. His momentary consternation that she had come for him was relieved when he realised she was only bringing breakfast to Godric.

“That is fine. Now go,” Godric said forcefully as Hedwise set a tray on the chest at the foot of his bed. Hedwise glowered at him and then gave a soulful look to Geoffrey before pulling the door shut behind her.

“You will have to beware of that vixen today, lad,” Godric said with a leer. “Henry has gone off hunting with Olivier and his friends, so she will be on the prowl and you just might be the prey.”

Geoffrey felt groggy and sluggish and was concerned that Hedwise had been able to enter the room without waking him. In the Holy Land, any knight who slept so deeply would risk never waking at all, and Geoffrey prided himself on his ability to snap awake, to be alert and ready for a possible attack. The fact that it was Hedwise who had managed to slip past his defences made it just that much more potentially problematic.

He did not relish the prospect of spending an entire day indoors with his father, but given the alternatives-Hedwise unrestrained or his family still inflamed by Godric’s changed will-he decided to continue his cleaning of the paintings, while hoping to glean some information from Godric that might help solve the mystery of Enide’s murder.