Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

She scowled. ‘You are too quick with your questions! But let us talk of nicer things. You have a fine, strong body and a handsome face. Would you like to-’

‘I would like to know why you were looking for Eleanor,’ interrupted Geoffrey, rather repelled by her salaciousness.

She pouted. ‘You prefer Eleanor to me? I am prettier.’

‘I could not say: I have never seen Eleanor’s face.’

‘She has no lower jaw,’ confided Agnes. ‘One of her magic potions blew it off.’

Geoffrey laughed, thinking it an outrageous claim. ‘What were you really doing at the spring? Was it you who did the drawing of the manor?’

‘That was probably Eleanor. I went to cancel the spell, so the fire would not break out again. My actions were noble.’

‘You know about cancelling spells, do you?’

His questions were making her angry, and her answer was sharp. ‘I learnt from my mother, who was a very wise woman.’

‘Did she teach you about poisons, too?’

‘As I told you before, I know nothing about those.’

Geoffrey was relieved when Goodrich’s sturdy walls appeared. He was tired of Giffard’s misery, Agnes’ attempts to make him behave indiscreetly and her son’s resentful looks.

‘My mother is recently widowed,’ Walter said tightly. ‘And she loves the Duke, so leave her alone. I did not teach you how to seduce women in Italian so you could have her .’

‘Where did you learn Italian?’ Geoffrey asked, before he felt compelled to box the boy’s ears for his impudence.

‘I spent much of my life in Italy,’ replied Walter loftily.

‘How much of your life?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering why he had not, then, learnt the language properly.

‘A whole week. There is much that is admirable about Italy.’

‘Including its poisons?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘You must ask Eleanor the witch about that,’ replied Walter.

‘I would, but she seems to be missing. Have you seen her since the fire?’

‘I saw her before the blaze, playing some game with Hugh that made him squeal like a pig,’ replied Walter. ‘But not after. I hope they are dead.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Hugh is an imbecile, and I want Baderon to leave his property to Hilde – if he does, then I might marry her: she will be sufficiently wealthy. And because Eleanor is a witch.’

‘I thought you and Eleanor were friends.’

‘We were – but she turned against me when I tried to bed her. I cannot imagine why, because I spoke Italian. I do not like women who are friendly one moment and hostile the next.’

‘There are rumours the Duchess was poisoned,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Do you think Eleanor provided the toxin?’

‘It would be the kind of thing she would do,’ agreed Walter spitefully.

When the travellers arrived at Goodrich, smartly dressed servants hurried out to tend the horses. Joan and Olivier appeared almost as quickly with wine. Olivier served Baderon and his knights, while Joan offered it to Giffard – who refused with a shudder – Agnes and then Geoffrey, who was touched by the courtesy. Durand was given a sip of ale by Torva.

‘Why is he here?’ whispered Joan. A plain-speaking woman herself, she did not like Durand’s slippery, unscrupulous ways, or that he had earlier been disloyal to Geoffrey.

‘To spy on Baderon. Henry thinks the alliances with the Welsh might not be good for England.’

Joan was thoughtful. ‘Henry is right. It is always better to have hostile nations divided into factions. Baderon is knitting them together too efficiently. They have been restless for war ever since Prince Iorwerth promised them one last summer. And many are starving. It is only a matter of time before they encourage each other to raid English granaries, and ours will be one of the first.’

‘It will, if Corwenna has any say in the matter,’ said Geoffrey, looking to where she sat astride her horse, frostily refusing the wine that Olivier proffered.

Joan grimaced. ‘She made a vow to see us in our graves. I have tried to win her round, but she is implacable. Still, as long as she is here, she is not encouraging the Welsh to unite against us.’

‘Do they listen to her?’

‘She is Caerdig’s daughter, and he is highly respected. Also, she likes to orate about honour and glory, and knows the kind of talk to get men’s blood up. Still, if the King is aware of the problem, I imagine it will soon be resolved.’

‘I hope so,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Have you heard about Jervil?’

She nodded. ‘Bale told us when you sent him ahead with the news that we were to expect guests. It is a pity; he was not nice, but he had a way with horses. But what was he doing at Dene?’

‘I wish I knew.’ Geoffrey lowered his voice. ‘The King saw him talking to Baderon, and says money changed hands.’

Joan’s eyes narrowed. She did not like the King, either. ‘Do you believe him, or was he making up tales so you would agree to conduct another of his investigations?’

Geoffrey thought about it. ‘He had no reason to lie.’

‘None you know about,’ corrected Joan. ‘He is crafty, with many plans and agendas. But assuming he was being honest for once, why did Baderon pay Jervil?’

‘In exchange for a dagger – one with a ruby in its hilt.’

Joan stared at him. ‘That sounds like . . . like the blade that killed our brother. I suppose Father Adrian finally sold it. Did I tell you I wrapped it in holy cloth once I removed it from Henry’s corpse? Nevertheless, it felt tainted, and I could not even bring myself to look at it when I gave it to Father Adrian.’

‘So, how did it go from Father Adrian to Jervil. Did Jervil steal it?’

Joan shook her head. ‘Even Jervil would not steal from a church.’

‘Father Adrian kept a murder weapon in his church?’ asked Geoffrey, startled.

‘It was a Black Knife, and needed to be somewhere holy – to cleanse it. Father Adrian put it under the altar and said it must remain there until Easter. By then, it would have lost its evil.’

‘None of this answers why Jervil sold it to Baderon. Was it Baderon’s in the first place? If it was valuable, then it probably did belong to a nobleman. But, if it was Baderon’s, then it means he or one of his men killed Henry.’

Joan sighed. ‘Baderon is low on my list of suspects. I like him: he is weak, but essentially decent. Top are fitzNorman and Ralph.’ She faltered into silence, watching the arrival of the wagons full of their guests’ possessions.

‘I hope you do not mind half of the county descending on you,’ said Geoffrey apologetically. ‘The King gave me no choice.’

‘I like visitors,’ said Joan. ‘Now we have the funds to entertain them, they are a pleasure. But I should see to your friend the Bishop. He looks unwell.’

‘Geoff!’ came a bellowing voice from the door of the hall. It was loud enough to still the buzz of conversation in the yard, and everyone turned to look. Geoffrey felt his spirits rise when he saw Goodrich had another visitor.

‘I almost forgot,’ said Joan, not entirely pleased. ‘Sir Roger of Durham arrived yesterday.’

Geoffrey smiled as the massive, familiar figure of his fellow Jerosolimitanus strode towards him. Roger was resplendent in a fur-lined cloak, fine boots and new surcoat, although the latter was already stained. The Crusader’s cross was bright and sharp, and proclaimed to all that here was one of those who had wrested Jerusalem from the infidel. His black hair was long, and he sported a fashionable beard: he was adapting to civilian life far better than Geoffrey.

‘I am glad to see you,’ Geoffrey said, as the friends embraced. ‘Life here is dull.’

‘That is not what I hear,’ said Roger, laughing. ‘You are looking into your brother’s death; Giffard wants you to find out if his nephew poisoned the Duchess of Normandy; the Welsh are girding their loins for war; and a groom and a noblewoman have been strangled. If you call that dull, we had better find a battle somewhere. And fast.’

Father Adrian was reciting mass when Geoffrey entered Goodrich’s little church the following morning. Joan had been directing a lively and erudite conversation around a blazing fire for those who preferred to be indoors, while Olivier had taken the others hawking. Even Geoffrey, who had never taken to the sport, could see that his brother-in-law was very good. With no social obligations, Geoffrey had decided to find out about the Black Knife.

Roger had accompanied him part way, but they had met Helbye, and a cup of ale with an old comrade held more appeal for Roger than seeing a priest. They agreed to meet later, although Geoffrey suspected it would be a good deal later. He stood at the back of the chapel, listening to Father Adrian and finding peace in the familiar words and cadences. Unlike many parish priests, Father Adrian’s Latin was good. Durand, who liked churches, nodded approvingly.

‘He is excellent,’ he whispered. ‘I could listen to him all day.’

Geoffrey soon saw they might have to: Father Adrian went on and on. Geoffrey left to roam in the graveyard, breathing in the spring-scented air. Eventually, he reached the area that held the Mappestones. Henry’s cross was down again, and it occurred to Geoffrey that it had not simply fallen – someone had forced it over. He began to pull it upright, but abandoned his labours when someone approached.

‘What happened to Jervil?’ demanded Torva. ‘Did you kill him?’

‘No,’ said Geoffrey firmly. ‘However, I do know he took a dagger with a ruby in its hilt and sold it to Baderon before he died. Why did he do that, Torva?’

‘I do not know,’ said Torva furtively.

‘I overheard Jervil trying to bribe Bale to spy on me,’ said Geoffrey, watching the steward’s reactions carefully. ‘Why?’

‘Why do you think?’ snapped Torva. ‘Because we need to know what you are up to. Now I have work to do.’

He hurried away, and Geoffrey could see that he was deeply worried. He decided to further question Torva later. After a while, Father Adrian emerged with those who had endured his mass. The parishioners nodded to Geoffrey as they passed, although few were familiar. To his surprise, Geoffrey saw that Ralph de Bicanofre had attended the service, too, with Douce and their father Wulfric. Geoffrey ducked behind the porch, not wanting Ralph to start another quarrel.

‘You are right to make yourself scarce,’ said Helbye’s wife – Geoffrey had no idea of her name, because Helbye never used it. She was one of Father Adrian’s most dedicated attendees and had seen Geoffrey move into hiding; uninvited, she joined him. ‘Ralph has a nasty temper.’

‘I am here, too,’ came a hot voice at Geoffrey’s ear, making him jump. It was Bale, and the three of them were uncomfortably cramped in the narrow space between porch and buttress. ‘Your sister told me where you were, so I thought I should make sure the priest does not do anything rash.’

‘Father Adrian?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘He is not violent.’

‘He keeps a knife under his altar,’ confided Bale. ‘A sharp one. I have seen it myself.’

‘It is the Black Knife that killed your brother,’ said Helbye’s wife. ‘Joan gave it to him, to sell for the poor. But it has lain in the church for months, and he has done nothing with it.’

‘It is not there now,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Jervil sold it to Baderon.’

‘Did he?’ asked Bale. He sounded sorry. ‘It was a fine thing, with a good, sharp blade. But Jervil was a fool if what you say is true. He risked his immortal soul if he stole from God.’