Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

To one side of them, the trees parted and Caerdig stepped out, followed by several of his villagers. All carried the sticks and staves that they had been using to beat the game through the forest for the King and his hunting party.

“God’s blood, Geoffrey!” muttered Henry, snatching his sword from his saddle. “What did you call him for? Now we will all be slain!”

“Put your sword away,” said Geoffrey, not taking his eyes from Caerdig. “You have nothing to fear. We have been trailed ever since we left the forest clearing, and if Caerdig had wanted us killed, we would be dead already.”

“And we might kill you yet,” said Daffydd, the man who wore the strange cap, as he fingered a sword with a broken tip.

“Hush, Daffydd,” said Caerdig. “This might be our chance for peace.”

“Peace?” thundered Henry. “Peace? Why should I make peace with you?”

“Less of this unseemly shouting,” said Geoffrey to Henry. “Have you no respect for the dead?”

“We need peace because too much evil has been perpetrated here already,” said Caerdig. “And who among us would not like to walk these paths without expecting a knife between the shoulder-blades at every step? It is time this nonsense ended.”

“Why now?” demanded Henry. “Do you think the Mappestones are weak because Stephen is dead?” He spat in derision.

“I tried for peace before, if you recall,” said Caerdig. “I offered to marry Joan or Enide, so that our estates would live in harmony.”

“But you have stolen my inheritance!” snarled Henry. “Lann Martin is mine, left to me by my mother.”

“It was not hers to leave,” said Caerdig firmly. “It belonged to Ynys, and Ynys wanted me to succeed him.”

“You are not Ynys’s legitimate heir,” shouted Henry, furious. “And so the estate should have passed back to us.”

“And that is why you killed Ynys!” yelled Caerdig back. “You struck a coward’s blow in the dark, so that you could inherit! Well, Lann Martin stands on Welsh soil, and by Welsh law, it belongs to me, as his named successor.”

“I did not kill Ynys-”

“Enide arranged for Drogo to kill Ynys,” said Geoffrey quietly. Despite his low voice, the other two turned and regarded him with disbelief.

“Henry’s belligerence is all the proof I need of his guilt,” said Caerdig. “I was prepared to let Ynys’s slaying go unavenged-he would not have wanted it to have caused continued bloodshed-but I will not do so if Henry is not man enough even to admit to his crime.”

“Enide arranged Ynys’s death,” persisted Geoffrey. “She wanted Henry accused of the murder, so that no one would raise questions when Henry was stabbed in the back one dark night. And then, doubtless, it would have been your turn, Caerdig-you would have been the prime suspect for Henry’s murder, and either hanged or slain by an act of revenge by some unidentified member of the Mappestone household. Then Enide would have had not only Goodrich but Lann Martin, too.”

“My God!” breathed Caerdig. “And this was the woman I offered to take as my wife?”

“Enide fooled many people,” said Geoffrey. “But the real issue is will you agree to a truce? If you two continue to fight, Enide will have won a small victory, and I am loath to see her win any at all. The people on both estates are suffering-you should stop wasting funds on this silly squabble and put them into the welfare of the people you need to make your lands profitable.”

Henry pursed his lips and folded his arms across his barrel chest. Caerdig scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“We can try, I suppose,” said Henry eventually. “I have never liked Lann Martin much anyway. It is full of Welshmen. And anyway I have Goodrich now. Take Lann Martin, Caerdig. It is yours.”

Caerdig gave him a look of dislike. “Then we will start our peace by allowing you to pass unmolested through our lands. And as an act of faith, we will not follow you to ensure you leave. Go home, and bury your dead.”

Geoffrey supposed it was as good a start as he was likely to accomplish. Henry took the reins of his horse and led the small procession on. Geoffrey lingered as the others left, and caught Caerdig’s arm as he made to stride away.

“I saw who drove the boar forward when Enide was about to kill me,” he said.

“It did not go quite according to plan,” said Caerdig ruefully. “I was almost too late for a start, and I did not intend for the wretched thing to attack you. A deer would have been a better animal to use, but time was short and the boar was the only beast available to me.” He grinned suddenly. “You should have seen Enide run when she saw it coming!”

Geoffrey could well imagine. There was little as dangerous or aggressive in an English forest as a furious wild boar. His arm still ached from where the animal’s tusks had raked him, and he knew the repairs to his chain-mail would be expensive.

Caerdig reached out and punched Geoffrey lightly on the shoulder. “We are even now, you and I. You spared my life when we tried to ambush you, and I prevented that witch from driving her dagger through your ribs. Do you think Henry will honour my right to Lann Martin now?”

“I do not know,” said Geoffrey. “He is as likely to break a promise as to make one.”

Caerdig grimaced. “Well, there will always be a hearth for you in Lann Martin if Goodrich becomes too hostile. Do not forget that, Geoffrey. You may need a haven from time to time. Enide and Stephen may be dead, but there are still Walter, Joan, and the dreadful Henry to contend with.”

He called to his men to follow him and walked away, leaving Geoffrey to make his way home alone with Stephen’s body. By the time the sturdy bulk of Goodrich Castle came into view, Geoffrey felt drained. He was cold and wet from the rain; his body was stiff and bruised from his fight with Drogo and Malger; and his chain-mail was damaged in several places. He felt he barely had the energy to reach the castle.

Geoffrey trudged through the mud, leading his destrier by the reins with Stephen’s body still flopping across the back of it. Henry had met Father Adrian by the ford, and the two of them were waiting for him, watching in silence while Geoffrey waded through the icy water. Adrian said nothing when he saw Stephen’s body, but his face was grey and his hands shook as he opened his Psalter to begin reciting prayers for the dead.

When they reached the castle, the gates stood wide open and the guards were nowhere to be seen. Geoffrey felt a surge of anger at their negligence, until he looked inside the barbican gatehouse and saw the two bodies that lay inside. Abandoning his horse to Julian, he ran up the steps into the inner ward. It was deserted.

Geoffrey bounded up the stairs to the keep and shot into the hall, Henry and Adrian not far behind him. Bertrada sat at the far end of the chamber, near the hearth, cradling Walter on her knees. Next to her was Joan, holding a bowl of water and gently wiping Walter’s face. Olivier stood by his wife’s side, resting his hand on her shoulder and muttering what sounded to be comforting words, while Hedwise knelt in front of the fire to stoke it up.

“Oh no!” groaned Geoffrey, sagging against the door frame.

Henry elbowed him out of the way. “God’s blood!” he exclaimed. “Who has done this? Was it Caerdig, do you think, while we were otherwise engaged?”

“Of course it was not Caerdig,” snapped Geoffrey, rubbing a hand across his face and continuing to stare. “How could he? He was in the forest all morning helping the King to slaughter deer.”

“Who then?” demanded Henry. “Old Sir Roger from Kernebrigges way? He has not liked Walter since we cheated him over those rams.”