Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

But Geoffrey had other things that he needed to do, and was thus able to postpone the unpleasant task of investigating dank and poky tunnels until later. He knew he should read the documents he had found in Enide’s hiding place, and he wanted to ask the physician to test the bed for poison before the killer removed all traces of it-just as he had with the fish-soup bowl that had been wiped clean, and the bottle of wine that had replaced the one that Geoffrey had sipped from. And Geoffrey knew that he should send a message to the King, informing him that he had failed in his duty, and that the Earl of Shrewsbury now had Goodrich manor to add to his domains.

With Enide’s documents still tucked inside his shirt, he clattered down the stairs intending to visit the physician first, and then to look in the woods near the river to see if he could find Rohese-if she had escaped the Earl by running away down the tunnel, the woods at the other end seemed as good a place as any to start a search. He deliberately did not allow himself to admit that the tunnel itself was probably a better point to begin looking.

He reached the hall, and collided with a servant who was scurrying to carry a basket of bread to the trestle tables that were being set up for the mid-day meal. Geoffrey’s dog made an appearance as the bread scattered, and by the time the agitated scullion had retrieved the food from the filthy rushes, the basket was considerably emptier than it had been.

“Geoffrey!” called Bertrada from the far end of the hall. “We are about to dine. I am sure you would like to join us.”

Geoffrey was sure he would not, and gave an apologetic wave of his hand before striding towards the door. He was intercepted by Stephen, coming in from outside and bringing a brace of pheasants with him.

“My hunting hounds got these,” he said proudly, slinging them onto a bench. As quick as lightning, Geoffrey snatched them up again, and his dog’s expectant jaws snapped into thin air.

“I will take him with me next time I go,” said Stephen admiringly, leaning down to ruffle the dog’s thick fur. “He is quick and he learns fast. He would make an excellent hunter.”

“But you would never benefit from it,” said Geoffrey, handing the pheasants back to Stephen. “You would never see anything he caught, and it would be more than your life is worth to try to wrest it from him.”

“Give him to me for a week,” said Stephen, smiling a challenge. “I will prove you wrong.”

Geoffrey had serious misgivings. He did not want the animal to acquire any further skills that would render it more difficult to control, and he was certain that Stephen would be unable to quench the hard spark of self-preservation and greed that guided the dog in all things. Stephen draped his arm around Geoffrey’s shoulders in a friendly fashion, and gestured to the table at the far end of the hall.

“Please, eat with us,” she said. “If the Earl was serious in his command for us to pack up and leave Goodrich in a few days, then this might be one of the last meals we have here together.”

“No, thank you,” said Geoffrey. “I have a great deal I need to do.”

“Such as what?” asked Stephen. He eyed Geoffrey’s chain-mail and surcoat. “Does this mean that you are thinking of leaving us?”

“I plan to leave as soon as I can,” said Geoffrey.

“Then you should spare a few moments to dine with your family,” said Bertrada, walking down the hall to take his arm. “You have scarcely seen us at our best since you returned, and we do not want you harbouring an unfavourable impression until you visit us again after another twenty years.”

It was a little late for such concerns, but Geoffrey had questions he very much wanted to ask certain members of his family-such as whether Walter had heard anything during the night of Godric’s murder and, if he could manage to do it discreetly, who were the people who might have access to ergot and poppy powder. Geoffrey yielded to the insistent tugging of Bertrada’s hands on his arm, and followed her back down the hall.

The Mappestone family dined at the table near the hearth, at the end of the hall farthest from the door. As Godric’s youngest son, Geoffrey’s place had usually been far distant from the centre of power in the middle. This had suited Geoffrey well, for he had not wanted to be overly close to the irascible and unpredictable Godric, and being set apart from his siblings had meant that he and Enide had been left pretty much to their own devices and conversations.

But Bertrada had decided differently, and Geoffrey found himself placed between her and Walter in the seat of honour. He glanced at Henry, wondering how he would take such an affront to his dignity, but Henry merely met his eyes and then looked away. Geoffrey was immediately on his guard. They wanted something from him.

Walter passed him a tray containing lumps of undercooked meat, first spearing a piece for himself with his hunting knife. Geoffrey took a smaller portion, supposing that, unless the entire tray were poisoned, it would be safe to eat. The same was true of the bread, although Geoffrey was mildly concerned about the tumble it had taken in the lice-infested rushes that lay scattered on the floor.

While Walter fell upon his meat as though it were the last he would ever devour, Bertrada entertained Geoffrey. She told him about the successful harvest the previous year, and a little about the uneasy relations with the landlords whose estates bordered their own.

“It is all the doing of the Earl of Shrewsbury,” said Henry, from where he sat farther down the table. “Before he came to power, relations were strained, but not so vicious.”

“I do not think so,” said Walter, gesticulating with his meat and splattering grease across the table. “He is trying to ensure that all the landowners in these parts unite with a common purpose, and so he wants them to be friends with each other, not enemies.”

“And what might that purpose be?” asked Geoffrey. Defence against the Welsh, he wondered, or consolidating the border lands ready to fight for the Duke of Normandy against King Henry?

“It is not yet forty years since the Conqueror took England,” said Stephen. “But despite all the castles he built and the fact that virtually all positions of power in the country are held by Normans, the kingdom remains uneasy. And it will do for a generation yet.”

“But the problems of a kingdom are not concerns of ours,” said Bertrada, bored. “What is our problem, of course, is the fact that we have lost Goodrich.”

There was a silence, broken only by the sound of Walter’s teeth cracking the bones on his piece of meat, followed by some furious slurping as he sucked the grease from his fingers.

“We need to consider what we should do about it,” said Stephen. “I, for one, do not believe that the battle is completely lost yet.”

He reached inside a pouch at his belt, and drew out a crumpled piece of parchment. It was the will that the Earl of Shrewsbury had presented to the startled Mappestones, claiming that he, and none of them, was Godric’s heir. Stephen smoothed out the parchment, and then handed it to Geoffrey. Everyone-Walter, Bertrada, Stephen, Henry, Hedwise, Joan, and Olivier-watched intently.

Geoffrey took the parchment and read what was written there. It stated that Godric, as lord of various manors, was of sound mind and named the Earl of Shrewsbury as the sole successor to his estates, because his sons were the offspring of an annulled marriage. At the bottom of the writ was Godric’s unmistakable sign-a Latin cross, representing a sword, surrounded by a circle-and the seals of the witnesses, who were the Earl himself and his knight Sir Malger of Caen.

Geoffrey finished reading and looked up.