Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

Geoffrey thumped the rocky wall in frustration. He had a witness who had been awake and in the same chamber the night his father had been murdered, and yet she was able to tell him virtually nothing-even whether the voice of the killer was male or female.

“Did anyone else use the tunnel after you did?” he asked, certain that they had not because Rohese was still alive, but wanting to be thorough.

Rohese shook her head. “No one at all. I have been here all alone. Except for her.”

“Her?” queried Geoffrey. He turned to where Rohese pointed, and promptly dropped the torch in shock, plunging all into darkness once again.

Geoffrey’s hands fumbled and shook, and he found himself unable to relight the torch. Rohese eased him out of the way.

“Let me do it,” she said. “I am not afraid.”

“I am not afraid, either,” snapped Geoffrey. “Just shocked, that is all.”

“I was afraid at first,” said Rohese, as if he had not spoken. “But not any more. She cannot harm anyone, the poor creature.”

Once again, the cave sprang into light. Geoffrey snatched the torch from Rohese, and went to inspect the thing in the alcove.

It was, without doubt, the severed head of a woman. Geoffrey fought to keep the torch steady, but he found he could not. He swallowed hard, and looked at the leathery skin that stretched across the skull like a mask and the gauzy hair that cascaded around it, and searched for some sign that he was gazing into the face of Enide.

He raised a shaking hand to his mouth, and promptly turned away. Adrian had told him that Enide’s head had never been recovered: Geoffrey now knew that the reason was because someone had hidden it in Godric’s tunnel. Had Godric known it was here? Or had it been put in its niche after Godric had been confined to his bedchamber because poison was eating away at his innards?

He rubbed harder at his eye. Joan’s role in Goodrich’s sordid affairs was beginning to look very suspicious: she knew about the tunnel-and therefore also about Enide’s head-and Rohese had not been able to tell whether a man or a woman had argued with Godric before killing him. Also, severing a head from the shoulders with a sword was something a knight might do-a man such as her husband, Sir Olivier. And finally, it was Malger and Drogo, friends of Olivier, whom Geoffrey had fought in the tunnel. How else could the Earl’s henchmen have found out about the tunnel, other than through Joan?

Geoffrey looked around the chamber properly for the first time. It was roughly rectangular, with a door at each end, both of which stood open. One was the door through which Geoffrey had entered the cavern, while beyond the second was another tunnel, leading, Geoffrey assumed, to the woods, since Drogo and Malger had fled down it. A heap of rags on a low ledge in a corner had apparently been serving as Rohese’s bed, and there was a shelf along one wall. In the middle, displayed with some pride, was Geoffrey’s heavy silver chalice-the one that had been stolen from his saddlebags as he had rescued Barlow from the river.

Bewildered, he picked it up. It was without question the one Tancred had given him-there was a dent in the rim where Tancred had used it to brain the man from whom he had stolen it. Geoffrey stood on tiptoe to see if the shelf held anything else, and reached up to retrieve his Hebrew and Arabic scrolls that had been stolen at the same time. Someone had ripped them in half, perhaps in anger at not being able to decipher them. Saddened, he placed them carefully inside his surcoat, grabbed the cup carelessly by its stem, and turned to Rohese.

“You must be hungry,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“There was bread and water here,” said Rohese, pointing. “And cheese and some wine.”

“Really?” asked Geoffrey. He bent to inspect Rohese’s bed. He had been wrong when he had assumed it comprised rags: it was actually several warm blankets. Next to them stood a jug and the remains of a loaf of bread. Someone else, apparently, had intended to stay a while in the underground chamber.

“These were here when you arrived?” he asked. “You did not bring them here yourself?”

“Of course not,” said Rohese. “I did not know the tunnel existed until the other night. These things were just here.”

“And have you seen anyone else at all since you arrived?”

“I already told you, no,” she said.

“Did you not consider it curious that someone thought to provide bread and water, when no one knew you were coming to stay?”

“I do not imagine they were put here for me,” said Rohese, looking at him as though he were stupid. “But I have been wondering when someone else might come. I have been ready either to flee up the tunnel to Godric’s chamber or down to the river as soon as I heard someone coming.”

“But you were not fleeing when Malger and Drogo were here,” Geoffrey pointed out. “They had caught you.”

Rohese shuddered. “I ran out of water and had to start drinking the wine instead. It must have made me sleep heavier than I intended. And I was tired. I have not really relaxed much down here.”

Geoffrey could imagine why. Personally, he would rather have taken his chances sleeping in the woods than being locked in the oppressive chamber with only a severed head for company. Rohese, however, seemed quite sanguine over her ordeal. She continued.

“The bread was quite fresh when I arrived, so someone must have put it here very recently.”

“Was it Drogo and Malger who brought the supplies, do you think?” asked Geoffrey, more to himself than to her. “Do you think they might have stayed here from time to time?”

“No,” said Rohese, frowning in thought. “They did not know where they were going when they came in-it was as if they were exploring the tunnel for the first time. By the time I heard them it was too late to run, so I hid under the blankets hoping that they would miss me, and I might escape while they investigated the stairs. But they started prodding at me with their swords. Then you came.”

“But how did they know it was here?” asked Geoffrey. “It is supposed to be a secret.”

Rohese shrugged. “I do not know. And I would not rub your eye like that if I were you. It is already quite red.”

Geoffrey looked around the chamber once more, hunting for a piece of cloth. Finally, he settled for a strip from one of the bed covers, which he hacked off with his sword. Gritting his teeth against a curious gamut of emotions, which included disgust, sorrow, and tenderness, he took the head from its alcove and wrapped it carefully in the blanket.

“Come on, Rohese,” he said. “I have had enough of this place.”

She hesitated.

“You cannot stay here forever,” he said gently. “And Julian is fretting. She thinks the Earl of Shrewsbury has done away with you.”

Reluctantly, Rohese glanced around her sanctuary before following him to the door.

“Which is the quickest way out?” he asked. “Up the stairs or towards the river?”

“To the river,” she replied. “But we cannot go that way. The Earl’s knights might be waiting.”

“I hope they are,” muttered Geoffrey. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than another encounter with those two. I have some questions I would like to ask them.”

“You would fight them again?” asked Rohese fearfully. “But they might kill you this time!”

“And I might kill them,” said Geoffrey. “Will you take these?”

He handed Rohese the ominous bundle he carried under his arm and the chalice. He would need both hands free if he were to fight Malger and Drogo a second time. He drew his dagger, picked up his sword, and was ready. Clutching the bundle and cup, Rohese followed warily.