Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

He had taken nothing to eat and drink that evening, a precaution he felt justified in taking when even the dog declined to eat the various titbits offered by the others. Stephen was dead, and so would not be bringing Geoffrey wine doctored with ergot to drink, but there was still Henry, Olivier, Joan, Hedwise, and Bertrada who might harbour murderous intentions towards him.

Sitting alone in Godric’s chamber, Geoffrey began to think that Henry was right to have scoffed at his belief that Enide would come that night. It would be a rash thing to do-she would be a fool not to guess that the household would be on the alert for her, and Enide was certainly no fool. Adrian had offered to wait with him, but Geoffrey had no intention of being stabbed at a vital moment by a lovelorn priest, and had asked Olivier to see Adrian away from the castle altogether.

The hour candle burned lower still. Geoffrey opened the door to the spiral stairs and listened. The castle was still, but not silent. Joan and Olivier still muttered in their room, and somewhere, someone snored at a volume loud enough to wake the dead. Geoffrey closed the door again, and went to the window, leaning out to take deep breaths of cold, crisp air. Joan and Olivier seemed to be finding a good deal to discuss. Were they talking about how they had murdered Godric, and how they might still turn his death to their advantage? And Henry and Hedwise-now the likely heirs to Goodrich Castle-were they sitting somewhere plotting and mixing their ergot and poppy powders?

He rubbed his eyes and looked at the candle. It was probably around two or three in the morning. The inhabitants of Goodrich had not been much interested in knowing the time, and all the hour candles that Geoffrey had managed to find were old and cheap. Geoffrey was not at all certain whether the wicks would burn at the correct rate. He turned back to the window again, looking at the pale glint of the river in the moonlight, and the dark mass of the tree-shrouded hills beyond. He entertained the notion that he might be better going to find a safe bed with Helbye than pacing in the castle all night.

Yet Geoffrey was convinced that Enide would come. Henry was right in that she would certainly flee-to Normandy probably, where the Duke would welcome her at the recommendation of his friend and ally the Earl of Shrewsbury-but he could not see her leaving unfinished business. Henry was still alive and stood to inherit Goodrich and, according to her reasoning, Geoffrey had slain her lover of many years” standing. She would not leave without having her revenge.

But as the darkness faded to pale grey, Geoffrey realised he had been wrong. He slumped against the wall and stared at the white embers of the dead fire. Enide must have decided to leave revenge until later. He hauled off his surcoat, and then tugged at the buckles on his hauberk with cold fingers. Divested of his armour, he went to a bowl of water on the chest and splashed some of it over his face, wincing at the chill. As he dried his face on his shirt-sleeve, he heard a faint tap on the door.

“Yes?” he called, striding across the room to where his sword lay under his pile of chain-mail. He relaxed when he saw it was only Hedwise carrying a tray. She balanced it on her knee, and turned to close the door, so that their voices would not disturb others who still slept.

“She did not come?” she asked unnecessarily, glancing around the empty room.

Geoffrey shook his head. “I was wrong and Henry was right. She will be well on her way to the coast by now. Then she will board a ship for France, and will not return until the Earl of Shrewsbury has determined that England is ripe for an invasion by the Duke of Normandy.”

“You look tired,” said Hedwise, sympathetic to his frustration. “Come and sit down. I have brought you some of my broth. I will build up the fire, and then you should rest. Your father and brothers will not be buried until mid-morning, and you should try to snatch some sleep before then.”

She set her tray on the table, and pulled out a stool for Geoffrey to sit on. He flopped down and rested his head in his hands.

“I was certain she would come tonight,” he said. “But it seems I am seldom right when it comes to Enide. She is not the person I once knew.”

“I really could not say,” said Hedwise. “I have known her only as she is now. Your hands are frozen. Here, drink some of this broth.”

She pushed a steaming bowl into Geoffrey’s hands, and stood behind him. A strong smell of fish rose into his face, and his stomach rebelled.

“What is it, ergot flavour?” he asked, somewhat discourteously, given that she had just been kind to him.

“Well, yes, actually,” said Hedwise, as, simultaneously, Geoffrey felt the sharp prick of a dagger through his shirt. “And you have a choice: drink the soup, or have me run you through. Which will it be?”

“It was you?” asked Geoffrey, startled. He started to turn, but Hedwise dug the dagger into him in a way that made him certain she was in earnest. “You poisoned me last time?”

“I put ergot in the broth, but I miscalculated and you survived. I suppose you did not finish it. There were only so many times that I could urge you to drink without arousing your suspicion. Afterwards, I guessed it would only be a matter of time before you worked out that the ergot was in my broth, not Stephen’s wine-”

“So you came back later, and added ergot to the wine, too-which is why the physician found ergot and poppy powder in both.”

“Correct,” said Hedwise.

“But why?” asked Geoffrey. “I was not a danger to Henry and his inheritance. Even if the will naming Godfrey as his heir had been approved in court, I would not have taken Goodrich.”

“So you say,” said Hedwise. “But as it happened, it was Walter I was after-your death was just part of my plan to get him out of the way. Walter had had a good deal to drink, and is a heavy sleeper anyway. My notion was for you and Godric to be found dead, and Walter blamed. But you survived, and that ridiculous Henry started claiming that you were responsible for Godric’s death! It was so ludicrous that I almost laughed. I tried several times to dissuade him and shift the blame to Walter, but you heard how he would have none of it.”

Geoffrey was angry with himself. He had assumed that because the ergot had not killed him and because his dagger had been used to stab Godric, the would-be poisoner had wanted him accused of the murder. That the whole elaborate situation had been devised to place Walter in a dreadfully compromising position had not crossed his mind.

“But why Walter? What has he done to deserve all this?”

“He was simply the first on my list. Getting rid of you was a bonus, but not really an important one because you are younger than Henry and so do not present a threat. Stephen was to be next.”

“I take it that Henry is unaware of all the pains you are taking to secure his inheritance?”

She laughed. “Do not ask stupid questions! Of course he does not know what I am doing-he has neither the brains nor the capacity for the discretion that is necessary for a successful outcome. But I do not have all day. Drink the broth or I will stab you. I recommend the broth, because it will kill you without too much discomfort. I cannot say the same for the knife, since I have not done it before. It might take more than one attempt.”

Geoffrey took a tentative sip at the broth, pretending to take more than he had. He grimaced at the strong flavour and the way the poison burned his mouth-even from the tiny amount he had taken.

“What is wrong?” asked Hedwise. “Do you not like it?”

“Not especially,” said Geoffrey. “It is too hot.”