Simon Beaufort - A Head for Poisoning

“Lord spare us,” gasped Henry, grinning in satisfaction as the door moved slightly. “It is all highly complex!”

“Not really,” said Geoffrey. “Just several people operating independently and with their own axes to grind.”

There was a hiss, and a few pebbles dropped from the ceiling onto Geoffrey’s head. He shoved Henry out of the way and snatched the lever from him. Henry might claim that anger made him strong, but Geoffrey’s terror of being caught inside a collapsing cave made him stronger still. The door budged slightly, and he heaved even harder, feeling the blood pound in his head with the effort. He was dimly aware of Henry and Joan urging him on, but he needed no encouragement from them to effect an escape from the cave. The door moved again, and then he was able to insert the lever into a better position.

With a groan of protesting wood, the door inched open sufficiently for Geoffrey to squeeze partway through. His inclination was to bolt out as quickly as possible when he saw the grey light of early morning seeping in, but he forced himself to emerge cautiously, sword in hand. Enide had been piling stones against the door and was likely to be nearby.

He was not mistaken. As he emerged, he detected something moving out of the corner of his eye. Enide stood there with a jagged rock held above her head. With a shriek of triumph, she brought it down with all her might, aiming for Geoffrey’s unprotected skull.

Geoffrey had been anticipating an attack from Enide, and so was ready to duck sideways as the rock came plunging downward. The stone grazed down the arm that was raised instinctively to protect his head, and then dropped harmlessly to the ground. With a howl of frustration, Enide was away.

Geoffrey wriggled the rest of the way through the gap, his shirt snagging and catching, so that Henry was forced to push him hard from the inside. The others, being smaller, had no such difficulties and were able to slip through with relative ease.

“You should have let me go first,” said Henry accusingly. “I would have been able to grab her.”

“You would have been dead,” said Joan. “You would not have emerged with the caution that Geoffrey exercised, and Enide would have brained you.”

Enide had stacked a sizeable pile of rocks, some of them quite large, against the door. Geoffrey was impressed at her physical strength, especially given her useless right hand, and was not surprised that the exit had been difficult to open. He took several deep breaths of air, and felt the unsteadiness in his limbs begin to recede.

“There!” Joan grabbed his arm and pointed. In the pale light of dawn, a tall, slender figure could be seen, weaving its way through the trees. Enide had made a mistake: she should have left Goodrich under cover of the night, for had it been dark they would never have spotted her. Perhaps she was not infallible after all.

Geoffrey darted after her, hearing the others following him, Joan graceful but slow, and Henry like a great panting ox. There was no chain-mail to weigh Geoffrey down this time, and he made good progress. The pale figure ahead of him saw him gaining on her and increased her speed. She was almost at the river.

The rain of the last few days had caused the river to swell, and it was now a great brown snake that tore at its banks in a mass of whirlpools and waves. Branches and bits of vegetation were dragged along it, turning and twisting in the crazy currents. Enide swerved to the right, and began running along one side of it, away from the village. Geoffrey followed, and saw she was aiming for a man on the path who was holding the reins of two horses. Geoffrey recognised him, even at a distance.

“Ingram!” he yelled, thundering down the trackway.

The young soldier balked at the sound of Geoffrey’s voice. Enide snatched the reins from his hands and prepared to mount. Then there was a singing sound, and the horse crumpled.

“Damn it all!” shouted Henry, lowering his bow. “I missed her!”

He tried again, but the missile went wide, falling harmlessly in a bed of nettles. Observing his appalling skills, Geoffrey was suddenly very grateful that Henry had declined to shoot Drogo when they had been struggling in Godric’s chamber.

Enide grabbed the reins of the second horse, impatiently gesturing for Ingram to help her mount.

“But what about me?” Geoffrey heard him protest. “What do I ride?”

“Help me up!” Enide screamed. “Stupid boy! Help me!”

Ingram hesitated and Geoffrey saw the flash of a blade.

“Ingram!” he yelled again. “Get away from her!”

His warning came too late. Ingram fell to the ground and the horse, alarmed by all the shouting, began to buck and prance.

“The Devil take you, Geoffrey!” Enide screeched, abandoning the animal, and turning to continue to race along the river path.

But someone else was on the path, too: Father Adrian had seen everything. Enide tried to dodge round him, but he dived full length and pulled her to the ground. She fought, kicked, and screamed, and Adrian only just managed to hold her until Henry was able to reach him to help.

Meanwhile, Geoffrey crouched next to Ingram, inspecting the wound that Enide had inflicted.

“I need a priest,” the soldier gasped. “Get me one, fast! I am dying!”

Geoffrey called for Adrian, who left the spitting Enide for Joan and Henry to hold. The priest knelt next to Ingram and began to recite the prayers for the dying. Geoffrey wondered how many more times he would hear Adrian’s requiem before he was able to escape from Goodrich. As he listened, he saw something protruding from Ingram’s hauberk.

“My chalice,” he said, reaching out to take the handsome silver cup that Tancred had given him.

Adrian caught his hand. “Would you rob a dying man?” he asked reproachfully.

Geoffrey was about to point out that he was a knight, and that most knights had gone on a Crusade to do exactly that, when Ingram pulled it from his hauberk himself. He thrust it at Adrian.

“This is for your church if you will say masses for me. I confess to killing Francis the physician. Absolve me, quick, before it is too late!”

“This is not yours to give, Mark,” said Adrian. “Anyway, I do not need to be paid for the masses I will say for your soul. But I cannot absolve you unless you repent. Are you sorry for murdering Francis?”

“Yes, but she told me to do it,” Ingram said breathlessly, glancing to where Enide still struggled in the arms of Henry and Joan. “I did it for her, and his blood is on her hands, not mine. She dragged me into all this, even though she is my mother!”

“Who is your mother?” demanded Geoffrey. Realisation dawned suddenly. “Enide? You claim that Enide is your mother?”

“She is; she told me,” said Ingram. “And it makes sense that I am the son of nobility-I have always known I was different from the rest. She said Goodrich was rightfully mine, and that she would help me get it as soon as you lot were out of the way.”

“You are different,” said Geoffrey coldly. “I have never met such a worthless, snivelling snake as you. And I can assure you that you are certainly not related to me!”

“Geoffrey!” snapped Adrian. “Either be quiet or leave. Continue with your confession, Mark.”

“She told me the truth about my ancestry when I got back from the Holy Land. I gave her all my treasure, so that she could help me take Goodrich. She needed the funds, you see, to hire lawyers and to petition the King.”

“I knew you were gullible,” said Geoffrey in disgust. “But I did not think you were insane! What were you thinking of? How could you part with all your treasure, just like that? What about your family?”