Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

To Geoffrey’s profound relief, the tunnel leading to the woods was only a short distance, and then they were out in the fresh air. He motioned for Rohese to remain where she was, while he crept around in the darkness, looking for signs that Malger and Drogo were lying in ambush. He imagined that they would not be expecting him to leave the underground cavern via the woods, but that he would return to the bedchamber so he would not be outside the safety of the castle walls. Therefore he did not really anticipate that they would be waiting, but only a fool would not be cautious.

When he was certain that the Earl’s henchmen were not lurking nearby, he turned his attention to the hole that marked the tunnel’s entrance. Mabel had been right when she said that no one would find it unless they knew where to look. It was buried deep in a hawthorn thicket, and emerged near the riverside path. Taking Rohese by the hand, partly to ensure that she did not lag behind, and partly because she was frightened and it seemed to calm her, Geoffrey strode towards the village. Rohese was soon out of breath from trying to match his rapid pace, but valiantly trotted along beside him.

“What will you do now?” she gasped. “Will you look for the Earl’s men and kill them? Or will you look for the man who murdered your father?”

“How do you know it was a man who murdered him?” asked Geoffrey. “You said you could not tell whether the voice belonged to a man or a woman.”

“I suppose I did,” said Rohese. “But Godric said the person who killed him was one of you. That is all he kept saying. I cannot imagine Joan knifing a man in the stomach, so it must have been Walter, Stephen, or Henry. They are all mean and vicious. Poor Julianna has had to pretend to be a boy to escape their foul attentions, and none of them will pay for the houses to be mended in the village and they are falling about our ears.”

“Can you remember Godric’s exact words?” asked Geoffrey, trying to force himself to be patient with her rambling. He glanced down to ensure that she still held the grisly bundle. “What precisely did he say when he lay dying?”

“I have already told you,” she said. “And he certainly did not say who had rammed the dagger into his bowels-or I would not have assumed it was you, would I?”

“Right,” said Geoffrey, forcing himself not to snap. “But tell me again exactly what he said. There may be something of importance that you might have overlooked.”

She shook her head firmly. “You will be angry if I tell you his precise words.”

“I will not be angry,” said Geoffrey, thinking that he very well might be if she continued to prove so irritating with her tantalising fragments of information.

“Sir Godric said that his whelps had killed him at last,” she said, glancing at him nervously. “He kept calling his children things like his ‘brood,’ and his ‘litter.’ He really was not very polite.”

“I would not be either, if one of them had killed me. Did he mention anyone by name?”

“Yes,” said Rohese, after some serious thought. “He mentioned Walter, Stephen, Henry, Hedwise, Bertrada, Joan, Olivier, and Enide. Oh, and you, of course, but he called you Godfrey. He cursed each one of you in turn.”

“But he did not indicate which one might have killed him?” asked Geoffrey, exasperated.

“I have already told you, no,” said Rohese, with a long-suffering sigh. “He just said his brood had killed him-as though you had all come and done it together. Then he cursed you all, and Norbert the scribe, too. He was just starting on Francis the physician when he died.”

That, Geoffrey realised with disappointment, told him nothing more than that Godric was railing against virtually everyone who had come into contact with him over the past few months. And one thing was clear: his family was unlikely to co-operate over his killing. Their hatreds ran deep enough that it would be only a matter of time before one of them betrayed another in a fit of pique, or because it might give him an advantage over the others. Even though they were united in battling with the Earl of Shrewsbury over Godric’s will, Geoffrey was certain it would not be long before the uneasy truce would be broken.

“But what will you do now?” he asked Rohese, dragging his thoughts away from his kinsmen. “Do you want to return to the castle? Or shall I escort you somewhere else?”

“Will you be at the castle?”

“No,” said Geoffrey. “Not for a while, at least. I want to talk to Helbye.”

“I do not want to be there if you are not,” said Rohese, fearful again. She jumped as an animal rustled among the leaves at the side of the path and Geoffrey raised his sword.

“Then you can stay with Sergeant Helbye tonight,” said Geoffrey. “He will not let anything happen to you.”

“Can I not stay with you?” she said. “I would feel safer. You have rescued me twice now-once from the Earl and once from Malger and Drogo.” She hesitated. “Now that Sir Godric has gone, I could come to you. …”

“Thank you, but I will not be here long,” said Geoffrey quickly.

He was certain he was old enough to be her father, and wondered what Enide could have been thinking of, to thrust a child into the clutches of a man like Godric. But at least Joan had shown some sense over Julian, or Geoffrey realised that he might have been leading two whores to safety, not one.

“But what shall I do?” whispered Rohese. “Sir Godric is dead. Enide is dead. Joan will not have me back after I defied her over the Earl. And I have no trade, other than as a chambermaid. I will not serve that stingy Walter, nor that crafty Stephen.”

“We will see tomorrow. Perhaps there is something you could do at Rwirdin,” said Geoffrey wearily. They had reached the village, and the church was a dark mass at the side of the road. “Do you mind waiting for me for a moment? There is something I need to do.”

She glanced around nervously. “Will you be long?”

“I hope not,” said Geoffrey. “I want Father Adrian to take … I need him to bury it properly, where it belongs.”

Wordlessly, she handed him the bundle containing the head and the chalice, and followed him through the churchyard to Father Adrian’s house. A candle burned within, and Geoffrey thought he could hear voices. It was late, but Geoffrey supposed priests might be called upon at any time of the day or night for spiritual guidance or various other parish emergencies. He knocked softly, hearing the voices suddenly stilled.

“Yes?” called Adrian after a moment. “Who is there?”

“Geoffrey Mappestone from the castle. Will you come out? I need to see you about something.”

There was a short pause, and Adrian opened the door. He looked strained and tired, but stood aside for Geoffrey to enter his house. Rohese closed the door behind them and watched.

Geoffrey put his bundle on the table and stood back. “I have found it,” he said, gesturing for Adrian to unwrap the blanket.

Curiously, Adrian peeled back the covers to reveal the sad object within. He caught his breath in a strangled cry and backed away.

“I am sorry,” said Geoffrey softly. “I did not know how else to tell you. Will you bury it with her body?”

“With whose body?” asked Adrian shakily.

“With Enide’s body, of course,” said Geoffrey, regarding him askance.

“Hardly!” said Adrian, raising a shaking hand to rub his chin. “Unless you do not care with whom she shares a grave. That is not Enide’s head.”

“What?” exclaimed Geoffrey, startled. “But this must be her!”

“It is not Enide!” said Rohese, as startled as was the priest. “You never told me you thought that, Sir Geoffrey, or I would have told you that you were wrong.”