Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

She nodded tearfully, and ducked out of sight.

Godric sighed, and turned a face that was grey with fatigue to Geoffrey. “By the Devil, I am tired. Fetch me a cup of that wine, Godfrey.”

The massive jug had been refilled, and was so heavy that it was easier for Geoffrey simply to dip the goblet in it and draw some out, than it was to pour. He helped Godric take several small sips, and settled him down for the night, pushing him to the left side of the bed for Rohese’s comfort. When Godric slept, Geoffrey hunted around for a spare blanket, wrapped himself up in it, and lay on the floor near the fire, placing the Arabian dagger near his hand. Within the last hour, he had made himself new enemies, and it always paid to be cautious. The dog settled next to him, its head resting on its paws.

Geoffrey had scarcely begun to doze when the door opened yet again, and Hedwise slipped in with Stephen behind her. Wearily, Geoffrey pulled himself back from the brink of sleep and sat up. Would they never leave him alone? Hedwise held out a bowl to him, which Geoffrey accepted with some caution.

“In all the confusion of the Earl arriving, we never offered you anything to eat,” she said, softly so as not to waken Godric. “But here is some fish broth to last you until morning.”

“And here is some wine,” said Stephen, holding out a bottle. He began to hand the bottle to Geoffrey, but then took it back to break the seal for him. “There. This is excellent wine, but the seals are sometimes difficult to remove. I would not like to think of you here with a bottle of wine that you could not open.”

“I am sure I would have managed,” said Geoffrey, for whom awkward seals were never a problem. “But thank you.”

Stephen gave a sudden laugh. “Forgive me-I do not mean to be patronising. I am sure a man who forced the walls of the Holy City would have no problems undoing a bottle of wine. Perhaps tomorrow we can open one together. I would like to hear more about the Crusade.”

Geoffrey nodded, and examined the bottle. Marks in the glass suggested that it had come from France, and was a far cry from the bitter local brew that was usually consumed at Goodrich. He smiled at Stephen to show his appreciation.

“Did you see your dog?” Geoffrey asked, politely interested in what was clearly Stephen’s main love in life.

“I am just going there now,” said Stephen. “I had not reached the barbican before it started to rain, so I came back for a cloak. Then I remembered you, stuck here with Godric, and I thought you might need something to help you sleep.”

“Thank you,” said Geoffrey again.

Stephen prepared to leave. “Enjoy the wine, Geoffrey,” he said. “But do not touch that foul brew father likes. It will poison you.”

Geoffrey glanced at him sharply, but Stephen’s attention was caught by the way the lamplight shone through Hedwise’s nightshift, and he could not tell whether his brother’s words had a deeper meaning or not.

“You should not have let everyone know that you came home lootless,” said Hedwise, laughing down at Geoffrey. “Then you would not have been so neglected in favour of the Earl.”

That, Geoffrey thought, was probably true. He returned her smile, and sipped the broth. Not surprisingly, it smelled strongly of fish, and Geoffrey had to force himself not to show his distaste. It had been kind of her to think of him, and Geoffrey had no wish to alienate yet another member of his family by declining a gift brought out of consideration for him. He took a mouthful of the wine to mask the flavour, but either the wine also had the taint of fish about it, or the broth had done irreparable damage to his sense of taste.

Stephen gave him an odd salute and left, flinging his cloak around his shoulders as he went. Hedwise closed the door behind him and came to sit next to Geoffrey.

“Finish the broth, Geoffrey,” she said. “Or you will be wasting away.” She smiled at him, her eyes dark in the candle-light, and edged a little closer. Pretending to reach for the wine, Geoffrey moved away, but it was not long before her leg was rubbing against his.

“Hedwise …” he began.

“Hush,” she said, putting a finger on his lips to prevent him from speaking. “Let us enjoy these few moments together without words. Drink the broth.”

Geoffrey took a second tentative sip, fighting not to gag at the unpleasant, almost bitter taste, and washed it down with a swallow of wine. Hedwise moved closer yet, squashing Geoffrey against the wall. He wondered whether her attraction to him was a case of simple lust, or whether she was working to put him in some dreadfully compromising position in which Henry would certainly attempt to kill him for adultery.

He was in the process of extricating himself from her encircling legs, when the door opened yet again, and Walter lurched in, supported by Stephen. Hedwise sprang away guiltily, and Walter eyed them blearily for a moment, while Stephen gave a knowing smile and said nothing.

“I am dispossessed,” slurred Walter gloomily. “First, my manor is about to go to another man on the basis of some trumped-up claim of illegitimacy, and second, I have even been ousted from my own bedchamber.”

He dropped a blanket on the floor next to Geoffrey, and slumped on it, wafting wine fumes all over the chamber.

“Move over, little brother. There is enough room near this fire for two. Or should I say three?” He leered at Hedwise. “But I am not sleeping while that thing is in the room,” he added, indicating Geoffrey’s dog with a sideways toss of his head that almost toppled him over.

The dog, sensing it was the focus of attention, rose, and walked towards Walter, wagging its tail hopefully. Walter made a sudden movement with his hand to repel it, and it jerked backwards, knocking into Geoffrey. Fishy soup and wine alike spilled onto Geoffrey’s shirt sleeve.

“I will take him,” said Stephen, flicking his fingers at the dog as he had seen Geoffrey do. “And this time, I really am going to visit my pupping hound, Your dog can come with me.”

“He will not go out in the rain,” said Geoffrey, shaking his arm to remove the worst of the spillage from his sleeve. “He-”

Without so much as a backwards glance, the dog followed Stephen from the room, wagging its tail and snuffling around him in a friendly manner never bestowed upon Geoffrey. Geoffrey could only suppose that Stephen must have something edible secreted on his person.

“Good,” said Walter, as Hedwise went too, closing the door behind her and leaving them with the light from the flickering fire. “I am exhausted. Finish that broth or Hedwise will be mortally offended. She is quite justifiably proud of that fish soup.”

He watched Geoffrey take another sip, screwing up his face against the strong, fishy flavour. Hedwise’s mortal offence was just too bad, Geoffrey decided. He made a pretence at draining the bowl to satisfy Walter, and then tipped the remainder down the garderobe shaft as soon as Walter’s eyelids began to droop. As soon as Walter was asleep, he began some impressive snoring that had their father tossing and turning restlessly.

Geoffrey placed the empty bowl on the hearth and tucked the blanket around his oldest brother, although he could see that Walter was a far beyond caring about any such tender ministrations. Geoffrey took a sip of wine to rid his mouth of the taste of fish, but, if anything, Stephen’s brew was worse. Since the bottle suggested it was wine of some quality, Geoffrey could only assume that it must have gone sour on its long journey from France. He set it virtually untouched back on the hearth by the bowl, and sat next to Walter, watching the flames flickering in the fire. He felt sick and his stomach hurt, and the mere thought of fish broth almost brought it all back up again.