Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

Meanwhile, the Earl turned the Arabian daggers over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship and balance. Stephen darted towards Geoffrey while the Earl’s attention was taken.

“For God’s sake, Geoffrey! Do you want to be slain here and now in front of us all?” he hissed. “Do you know nothing about the Earl of Shrewsbury? He will kill you as you stand-just as I have seen him kill others, and for less serious crimes than insulting him! And think of us. I, for one, do not wish to join you in a heap of mangled limbs on the floor of my own hall.”

Geoffrey had heard enough of the Earl to know that the scene Stephen envisaged was not as far-fetched as it sounded. He sighed. He had returned to England to escape some of the bloodshed that was a part of daily life in Jerusalem, and he had no wish to be the cause of his family’s massacre at the hands of the tyrannical Earl of Shrewsbury. If anyone were to dispatch them all, Geoffrey would rather it were himself-for the murder of Enide, or the poisoning of his father, or even for the death of Aumary, shot in the forest by the mysterious archer.

“Do the Saracens really use such barbaric weapons?” asked the Earl, still examining the weapons with intense interest.

Geoffrey fought back the urge to ask why the dagger should be considered barbaric, while the small mace that dangled from the Earl’s waist was not.

“The Saracens sometimes use long, curved swords, too,” he answered, aware of Stephen’s relief that Geoffrey had decided to be civil.

The Earl jerked his thumb back quickly and looked at the blood that oozed from a cut there.

“How sharp they are! This makes two wounds I have suffered at your hands, Geoffrey Mappestone.”

“Daggers are of little use if they are blunt,” said Geoffrey, heartily wishing the Earl had done himself a more serious injury. “I had intended them as gifts for my brothers, but I have come to the conclusion that they will be safer from each other without them.”

While the Earl roared with unexpected laughter, Walter, Henry, and Stephen craned forward to see the weapons that might have been theirs. Walter’s face was a mask of disappointment when he saw the jewelled hilts and finely engraved scabbards, although Henry gave the impression he would not have taken his anyway.

“And what of your sister?” demanded Joan. “Or do your fraternal instincts not stretch to the females in the family?”

“You have my manor at Rwirdin,” retorted Geoffrey. “Is that not enough?”

The Earl laughed again and clapped his hands in delight. “What an extraordinary family! Your quarrels never cease to amuse me, and now it seems that they will be livelier still with Sir Geoffrey’s ready wit. Tell me, how is it that this manor of Rwirdin seems to have become the matter for such dispute? It is a small place, I understand, and not rich.”

Walter looked uncomfortable, and Joan defiant. Stephen intervened

“It belonged to our mother, along with the village of Lann Martin,” he said. “When she died, she willed Lann Martin to Henry, and Rwirdin to Geoffrey.”

“Why?” asked the Earl. “Surely her property should have reverted to her husband after her death?”

“Our father, foolishly, agreed with our mother that Lann Martin and Rwirdin would keep his two youngest sons” greedy eyes from the rest of his property,” said Stephen. “He applauded the fact that she had thought to provide for those of his children never likely to inherit Goodrich.”

Henry stepped forward angrily, but the Earl was no longer interested. “I like these daggers,” he announced, waving one around experimentally. “They are unusual. And I like the unusual. Which one will you give me, Sir Geoffrey?”

“Take them all,” said Geoffrey carelessly. He had not planned to keep them anyway, and was not concerned whether they found a home with his brothers or the Earl. It was also clear that the Earl would glean far more pleasure from taking them without Geoffrey’s blessing than with it, and Geoffrey did not want to give him any such satisfaction.

“You should not be incautious with your wealth, my brave knight,” said the Earl in mock admonition. “I will take two of these fine weapons, and leave you the third. Who knows? You might need it to buy me off another time.”

He handed the smallest one back to Geoffrey, who wondered idly what the chances were of plunging it into the Earl’s black heart and still leaving the hall alive. He suspected that if he could achieve the former, the latter would be little problem, for the Earl did not seem to rule his retinue on the basis of his integrity and godliness, and Geoffrey decided that most of them would probably be thoroughly glad to see the back of him. Drogo would almost certainly object, but Geoffrey was confident he could overpower the slower, older knight easily enough, given a sharp broadsword. Malger, meanwhile, was more pragmatic, and would almost certainly opt for whichever direction appeared to be the most profitable-he was therefore unlikely to fight Geoffrey over the Earl’s death.

“I hear you have made the acquaintance of the King,” said the Earl conversationally, still admiring his new acquisitions. “Chepstow is a splendid castle, is it not?”

“What?” said Walter, narrowing his eyes. “Geoffrey has never met the King.”

Geoffrey’s heart sank.

“Visiting the King was his first stop, I am told,” said the Earl, feigning surprise. “Really, Sir Geoffrey! Did you not mention to your brothers and sisters as important an occasion as an audience with King Henry?”

“It did not seem relevant,” said Geoffrey tersely.

“You took him the body of that poor knight who was killed,” pressed the Earl. “Sir Aumary? Was that his name?”

“Yes,” said Geoffrey. He had little choice now but to be open, or his brothers would begin to suspect him of even more skullduggery. “Aumary was killed in an ambush in the Forest of Dene. Since he was bearing dispatches for the King, I thought I should take them to Chepstow as quickly as possible-Aumary told me they were important.”

“And were they?” asked the Earl.

“I have no idea,” said Geoffrey. “I did not read them. They were sealed.”

“Were you not in the least bit curious?” pressed the Earl, clearly not believing a word of it. “Did you really not have the remotest idea about what was in them?”

“It was none of my business,” said Geoffrey. “I try to stay away from the affairs of kings and rulers wherever possible. It is safer.”

“But I am told you can read,” the Earl insisted. “Did you not glance over the King’s shoulder to see what was the nature of these vital messages that had put you to so much inconvenience?”

So that was it, thought Geoffrey. Aumary’s messages to the King was why the Earl was so keen to meet him-the Earl had heard that the King had received dispatches from France, and he wanted to know what was in them. Since Geoffrey had no intention of telling the Earl or anyone else about the King’s recipe for horse liniment, continuing to feign ignorance was by far the most prudent course of action.

“I did not read the messages,” he said firmly, “and the King most certainly did not give them to me to peruse. Perhaps the constable might know-he was present when they were opened.”

“I have already asked him, and he told me to ask you,” said the Earl smoothly. “But never mind. They cannot have been that important, or the King would have provided Aumary with an escort-and he travelled alone, I understand. But here comes my priest. Is the end near for Sir Godric, Father?”

The priest gave his head a jowl-cascading shake. “Not for a while yet, my lord, although I have given him last rites lest his end should come upon him unexpectedly. He is sleeping, and I am certain he will wake again tomorrow.”