Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

“Leave him be,” she said. “Make yourself useful and go to fetch Father Adrian.”

“No,” said Francis, as Geoffrey prepared to leave. “Stay with me for a while longer. I can see you have questions to ask, and I am of a mind to answer and make a clean breast of matters before I die.”

“You should do that with Father Adrian,” said Helbye’s wife critically. “Confessing to these two will not save you from the fires of Hell.”

“Neither will Father Adrian,” said Francis. “For my sins are great indeed, and I have something I need to ask of Sir Geoffrey.”

“You do?” asked Geoffrey uneasily.

“Only you are left now, young Geoffrey: Godric is murdered, Enide is murdered, Pernel is murdered. All have gone.”

“Who is Pernel?” asked Geoffrey. “The other woman who lost her head-the one I found in the tunnel?”

Francis looked blankly at him. “I do not understand what you are talking about. But Pernel was your brother Stephen’s wife. You never met her, but I know Norbert wrote to you in the Holy Land to tell you that she had died last year. She was with us.”

“With you?” asked Geoffrey, bewildered. “What do you mean?” He glanced up as Helbye’s wife made a circular motion near her temple with her hand to suggest that the old man might be delirious.

“Pernel was a part of our plan to save England from the vile clutches of that unnatural man,” said the priest. “As were Godric, Enide, and I.”

“Oh, no!” said Geoffrey in horror, as he realised what the old man was saying. “Do not tell me that Father Adrian was right, and that you were all a part of the plot to shoot King William Rufus in the New Forest last year-that you committed regicide!”

Francis gave a red-toothed smile. “We were certainly part of a plot. But that evil beast was slain by the hand of God long before we could put our plan into action.”

“The courtier called Tirel shot Rufus,” said Helbye, looking from Francis to Geoffrey in confusion. “And it was an accident. What are you two talking about?”

“I can only assume that there were others who felt like us,” said Francis, ignoring the sergeant. “And that they decided Rufus could not continue with his acts of debauchery and vice. Tirel killed him before we could take the action that we had planned.”

“Which was what?” asked Geoffrey coldly. He was not sure that there was a great difference between actually committing the crime, and planning a murder that failed only because someone else got there first.

“Rufus was due to spend time hunting in the New Forest later this year, and we intended to kill him there. But Tirel-damn him to Hell-killed him first and far too soon.”

“Too soon for what?” asked Geoffrey. “Too soon for Rufus certainly.”

“Before everything was in place,” said the physician. “People were not ready, and by the time we found out what had happened, it was too late for us to act.”

“But Enide did go to the New Forest,” said Geoffrey slowly. “According to one of the notes you wrote-and assuming that Adrian’s memory regarding the dates is accurate-it seems that she was somewhere nearby when Tirel shot Rufus.”

“She arrived after he died,” said the physician. “The roads were bad and her horse went lame. She did not reach Brockenhurst until three days after Rufus died, and by then Henry was King.”

Geoffrey was uncertain. “It seems odd that she should just happen to decide to make a visit to the New Forest, and that around the same time Tirel should just happen accidentally to shoot Rufus.”

“She went to assess Brockenhurst,” said the physician. “She went to learn the lay of the land, and to observe how that foul beast who called himself King managed his hunting days, so that we could adapt our plan accordingly. But as I said, she arrived too late. Rufus was already dead.”

“But how could you even consider such a dangerous venture?” cried Geoffrey, aghast. “It might have plunged the country into civil war, not to mention what might have happened had you been caught. Who would stand to gain from the cold-blooded murder of Rufus?”

“The whole country stood to gain,” mumbled Francis. “England needed to be rid of his oppressive laws and his evil suppression of the holy Church. And then, when Rufus was dead, we intended that the Duke of Normandy should come to take the throne. The Duke has been on God’s Crusade, so how could He fail to smile upon England’s fortunes with such a man wearing the crown?”

“Crusaders are no angels,” said Geoffrey. “And the will of God was the last thing on their minds as they looted, pillaged, and murdered their way to Jerusalem. But this is all beside the point. What were you thinking of? England was stable under Rufus. His laws might not have suited some people, but they were adequate.”

“He was a pervert!” snapped Francis. “He engaged in unnatural acts with his courtiers. Why do you think he never married? Why do you think he never presented England with an heir or acknowledged illegitimate children?”

“I imagine because he thought he would have time for such things later,” said Geoffrey. “He was only around forty. There was time enough to marry and provide an heir.”

“And we knew he would not have relinquished his hold on Normandy when the Duke returned from the Crusade,” said Francis, as if Geoffrey had not spoken. “Rufus would have kept from the Duke what was rightfully his-just as this present usurper is doing.”

Geoffrey started back in alarm. “Do not tell me that you are planning to kill King Henry, too?”

The physician said nothing. Geoffrey and Helbye exchanged a look of dismay.

“King Henry is due to go to Monmouth soon,” said Helbye in a soft voice. “The constable told me so when we were at Chepstow. Perhaps these plotters mean to strike then, when King Henry goes hunting in the Forest of Dene. King Henry loves to hunt every bit as much as Rufus did.”

Geoffrey took a deep breath and addressed Francis, who was becoming drowsy from the poppy powder. “But you will not kill a second king. You have just said all the plotters are dead. Godric, Enide, Pernel, and you.”

The physician smiled again. “I am dying, and I know that to kill is a terrible sin. But I am willing to risk the fires of eternal damnation by asking you to carry on our work.”

Geoffrey gazed at him in astonishment. “I do hope you are not asking me to kill King Henry for you!” he said, feeling that the request was so outrageous that it was almost laughable.

“He is rambling,” said Helbye in a whisper. “See how his eyes are unfocused? He does not know what he is saying.”

“I am not rambling,” said Francis irritably. “I love my country, and I would serve it any way I can, even as I die. I was glad when Rufus was killed, but I would die happier knowing that the rightful King-the Duke of Normandy-will wear the crown. He is a good and virtuous man, not like this grasping Henry. Please, join us.”

“I will not,” said Geoffrey firmly. “And I will do all in my power to prevent another death.”

Francis sighed. “No matter, then. I am sure the others will manage without you.”

“Others?” asked Geoffrey in horror. “What others? You said they were all dead.”

“I did not,” said Francis in a breathless whisper. “I said that Enide, Godric, Pernel, and I were dead. But there are others who think that the usurper King Henry should be ousted to allow the Duke to accede.”

“But this is a dreadful idea!” cried Geoffrey. “It must be stopped! The Earl of Shrewsbury waits in the wings like a vulture at a kill. If Henry is murdered and the Duke seizes the crown of England, the Earl will gain control of the country for certain. The last person you want ruling your precious England is the Earl of Shrewsbury.”