Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

“So, both Walter and Stephen are Godric’s legal heirs?” asked Geoffrey.

“Yes, but Norbert’s forged documents will ‘prove’ them otherwise. And the next in line to inherit Goodrich is Joan. Now, Joan is wed to Olivier, and Olivier is a relative of the Earl of Shrewsbury, who does not want Olivier to have Goodrich because he is a weakling. That leaves Henry, who is so hated by his neighbours that no one would have done more than heave a sigh of relief when he was found with a knife in his back. After all, it was Henry who murdered the popular Ynys of Lann Martin.”

“So that was you, was it?” asked Geoffrey heavily. “You killed poor Ynys, and made certain that the suspicion fell on Henry.”

“Quite. But, of course, nothing could ever be proven against Henry,” said Enide, “because Henry did not really do it. He did, however, have a very convenient argument with Ynys in front of the entire village-over sheep, would you believe? Words were exchanged, and that night Drogo ensured that Henry’s threats were carried out. Ynys was wandering alone in the forest, no doubt pondering how to heal the ever-widening rift between Lann Martin and Goodrich, and Drogo dispatched him.”

“Ynys did not deserve to be used to further your vile plot,” said Geoffrey, sickened. Ynys had been a kind and gentle man whom Geoffrey had respected. “And neither does Henry.”

“Henry’s innocence or guilt is irrelevant,” said Enide. “The point is that his neighbours have become more wary of him than ever, a feeling that is intensified, of course, by his own charming personality. His hot denials of Ynys’s murder, and his refusal to answer any questions about it because he was so affronted by the charge, meant that he dug his own grave in that respect.”

“Goodrich is almost ours,” said Malger, looking at Enide with a leer that suggested their allegiance was more than a business relationship.

“Ours?” asked Geoffrey.

“Malger has been my lover for many years,” explained Enide to Geoffrey. “We will make Goodrich more powerful than ever, and then unite it with the Earl’s lands to the north.”

“What about Father Adrian?” said Geoffrey, wondering just how many lovers his sister had stashed away. Was one of them the great Earl himself?

“Adrian was always on hand,” said Enide, oblivious or uncaring of Malger’s jealous glower. “And he loves me so much that he will do anything for me-even provide me with a corpse, although he would not decapitate it for me. I had to do that myself.”

Geoffrey swallowed hard, not liking the image of his sister sawing the head from a body.

“And then we had news that you had survived the Crusade, and might even pay us a visit-twenty years too late for me to care, but a visit nevertheless. We tried to prevent you from arriving at all. But I thought my Crusader brother would be the more richly dressed knight of the pair who wandered into the ambush at Lann Martin. I told Malger as much, and he concentrated his efforts on the wrong man. I should not have been so easily misled-you always were scruffy and uninterested in appearances. I should have known that the taller, more practically attired knight was you.”

“So Aumary was killed because you thought he was me?” asked Geoffrey.

“Yes and no,” said Malger, eager to join in and show off his own cleverness. “It would have been an excellent opportunity to get rid of you-and Caerdig’s pathetic little ambush provided a perfect cover. But whether we shot you, or Aumary, or both, it would have worked to our advantage.”

“How?” asked Geoffrey, puzzled.

“Because of these arrows,” said Malger, raising his bow again. “They were made by the same fletcher who made the arrow that killed King William Rufus. And King Henry would recognise them anywhere. You did what we could not: you took one of them right into Chepstow Castle and presented it to the King himself. And you can be assured he recognised it for what it was.”

Geoffrey recalled the King’s reaction to the arrow. He had studied it long and hard, but had refused to touch it. Eventually, he had ordered Geoffrey to throw it in the fire.

“So it was a warning to the King that an attempt would be made on his life?” asked Geoffrey. “But why bother with that if you planned to kill him anyway?”

“It was part warning and part message,” said Enide. “It was a warning that the King’s life could be taken as easily as had his brother’s; and it was a message that Rufus’s death was by no means the accident that everyone seems to have accepted.”

“You mean that Rufus really was murdered that day, even though your own plot failed?” asked Geoffrey. “That is no great revelation. Tirel is claiming that he did not fire the arrow.”

“Hmm,” said Enide, eyeing him critically. “Perhaps you are not so quick-witted after all. Of course Rufus was killed deliberately, but it was not by Tirel. Kings do not die in silly accidents like that! Do you think Tirel would have loosed his arrow had he thought that the King was anywhere near where it might have landed?”

Geoffrey was silent. So, Enide and Malger had used him to deliver their message to the King. It explained why the King had pretended that the recipe for horse liniment was so important, too. He did not want to tell Geoffrey that the real message lay in the corpse of Aumary, slain by a distinctive arrow; so he had snatched the scrap of parchment the constable had found and made a show that it was something vital. Since few men in Henry’s court could read, Henry had assumed-erroneously-that Geoffrey was also illiterate. Geoffrey was fortunate that the King had realised that he was innocent of all this treachery, or he might well now be languishing in the dungeons of Chepstow Castle. Or not languishing anywhere at all.

“And you robbed me later,” he said. “You stole my scrolls.”

“And that lovely chalice, yes,” she replied. “Although I was not there, personally. Fortunately, you left Ingram with your horses while you went dashing off to jump in the river after that other lout. Malger was all for slaying the whole lot of you, but Ingram virtually unbuckled your saddle for him, so keen was he to save himself from Malger’s sword. In the event, it was simpler to have Ingram hand us your ‘treasure’ and leave peacefully.”

“Ingram told me he was attacked by thirty outlaws,” said Geoffrey. “And all along it was merely two of the Earl of Shrewsbury’s hirelings?”

Drogo growled at the back of his throat, and Malger’s arrow came up. Enide pushed it down irritably. Remarkably, Malger made no move to disobey her, despite the sounds of the King’s party coming closer. Had Geoffrey been Malger, he would have ignored Enide, fired his arrow, and been away.

“I had expected your saddlebags to be loaded with plunder,” she said to Geoffrey, moving so that she stood in Malger’s line of fire. “Malger was most disappointed when he found only books.”

“I will bear that in mind next time,” said Geoffrey. “But why did he take the scrolls?”

“We knew you had been to see the King, and Malger thought they might be important messages. He cannot read, so did not know what they were. But I could see that they were just some worthless decorated manuscripts, probably in Arabic or Hebrew. Am I correct?”

Geoffrey nodded. “I was going to translate them.”

“Too late for that,” said Malger, raising his bow and stepping round Enide for a clear shot.

“Really, Malger,” said Enide reproachfully. “At least grant me a few moments with my favourite brother before you kill him.”

“Why did you shoot Norbert?” asked Geoffrey quickly, hoping to prolong the discussion long enough to allow the King’s men to find them. “I thought he was on your side.”