Deadly Inheritance

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘Listen to her, Lambert,’ said Baderon, although he sounded weary and defeated. ‘We do not want any more deaths.’

  ‘Your son was murdered!’ shouted Lambert. ‘And now my brother lies dead. Will you wait for me to die, too? And Hilde? Hugh and Seguin must be avenged, or there will be no end to the slaughter. I am going to Corwenna. At least she has the strength to face our enemies.’

  He shoved past Hilde, almost knocking her over. Geoffrey darted after him, alarmed by the damage that might ensue if he did as he threatened. Corwenna would be implacable, and Geoffrey doubted Caerdig would be able to prevent her doing something rash.

  ‘Please!’ Hilde begged, also hurrying outside to grab Lambert’s arm. ‘Wait until we have a culprit to show Corwenna, or she will pick one of her own.’

  ‘She will choose Goodrich,’ snarled Lambert, glaring at Geoffrey. ‘Henry killed her first husband, and now her next one lies dead on Mappestone land. So does your brother.’

  ‘Hugh was not killed at Goodrich,’ said Hilde. ‘His death and Seguin’s are not connected, and you must not make them sound as though they are.’

  ‘You are quibbling over the width of a river!’ shouted Lambert. ‘Hugh may have been washed to the other side. Or his body was dragged over, so blame would fall on someone other than Geoffrey.’

  ‘There are many suspects,’ said Hilde with quiet reason, but Lambert was too distraught to listen. He mounted his horse and was gone with a vicious jab of his spurs.

  ‘If he reaches Corwenna, there will be trouble,’ said Father Adrian with concern. ‘This will provide her with the opportunity she has been waiting for. The Welsh will rally to her call, in the hope that the spoils of war will feed their families. You must stop him.’

  Geoffrey leapt on to Baderon’s black bay and thundered after the fleeing knight. Lambert glanced behind him and spurred on his mount, ignoring Geoffrey’s yells to stop. He began to edge ahead, because Baderon’s horse was not as fleet as Lambert’s stallion.

  Geoffrey’s throat became hoarse from shouting, and he saw that they had crossed the brook that marked the territory belonging to Llan Martin. He jabbed his heels hard into the horse’s flanks, determined to catch his quarry, then pulled up abruptly when several arrows hit the ground in front of him, like a barrier. He reached for his shield before realizing that he did not have it. Archers emerged from the undergrowth on either side of the track. His horse whinnied in terror as a second volley of arrows hissed around them, and he struggled to control it. A little way ahead, Lambert stopped.

  ‘Come back,’ pleaded Geoffrey. ‘We can resolve this peacefully.’

  ‘Easy for you to say!’ Lambert shouted. ‘But my brother is dead, and so is Baderon’s son.’

  ‘Hugh is dead?’ one of the archers asked. ‘Did Goodrich kill him?’

  ‘We do not know yet,’ said Geoffrey before Lambert could reply. He tried to ride forward, but arrows thudded at his horse’s feet, making it skitter in panic. ‘I must speak to Caerdig.’

  ‘You will come no farther,’ instructed an archer. ‘Corwenna told us to let no Goodrich villains on our land. Go home, or I will put an arrow in your heart.’

  Geoffrey saw his options running out as Lambert started to ride towards Llan Martin. ‘Let me talk to Caerdig,’ he pleaded. ‘He said I was always welcome at—’

  ‘No,’ said the archer firmly. ‘Now go home, or we will send you there dead.’

  Lambert had disappeared along the forest track, and Geoffrey saw that there was no more he could do. Defeated, he turned towards Goodrich.

  ‘Damn!’ Hilde muttered when Geoffrey dismounted outside the priest’s house and shook his head despondently. ‘Now there will be trouble. We must leave immediately.’

  ‘You cannot. The archers will shoot you – they are under orders from Corwenna.’

  ‘They will not harm us,’ said Hilde. ‘But we cannot travel quickly carrying Seguin, so we must leave him here. I trust you will treat him with respect.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Joan stiffly, offended she should ask. ‘But wait until he is laid out decently, so you can tell Lambert. Then he may change his mind.’

  ‘You really think there will be a war?’ asked Isabel in a low voice. ‘Over Seguin?’

  ‘Not over Seguin,’ replied Hilde. ‘Over our Welsh neighbours not having enough to eat, and the alliances my father has forged having brought them together to air their grievances. That and Corwenna’s poisonous tongue. We must prepare ourselves for the worst.’

  Joan ushered everyone out until only she, Geoffrey, Father Adrian, Baderon and Hilde remained. Geoffrey took a blanket and laid it on the floor so that he could lift Seguin’s body into it but, as he bent, he saw something shiny. He reached under the table and picked it up. It was a long dagger with a ruby in its hilt. Baderon sank on to a bench when he saw it.

  ‘Is that what killed Seguin?’ he asked weakly. ‘The knife he gave me as a sign of his fealty?’

  Geoffrey measured the size of the blade against the wound in Seguin’s back and nodded.

  ‘What can we do with it?’ asked Baderon. ‘It claimed the life of my son, and now my friend.’

  ‘We cannot throw it in the river,’ said Joan. ‘Olivier did that, and it came back.’

  ‘Take it to the blacksmith in Rosse and pay him to melt it,’ suggested Hilde. ‘Do it today.’

  ‘I cannot,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Not with a skirmish brewing.’

  Baderon closed his eyes. ‘Do I stay here, and show my allegiance to England? Or do I ride to Llan Martin and stand with the Welsh, so they know I am in earnest when I offer the hand of friendship? Damn Lambert! He has done immeasurable damage.’

  ‘The security of an entire region is at stake,’ said Hilde practically. ‘So we have no choice but to side with the Welsh. It is only Goodrich that Corwenna wants to see in flames. When that is done, her fury will abate, and we will be able to prevent her inciting any further attacks.’ She glanced at Geoffrey and Joan. ‘I do not want to fight you, but I do not see what else we can do.’

  ‘Talk to Caerdig,’ urged Geoffrey. ‘He will see reason.’

  ‘His hands are tied, too,’ said Hilde grimly. ‘The other lords are desperate for food and will rally to Corwenna’s battle cry – especially if she claims Seguin was murdered by you. Caerdig will not be heard. Besides, he is no longer a power. Corwenna’s fiery speeches are more popular than his pleas for peace, and she has a greater following.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Joan. ‘I do not want our people to die because Corwenna hated Henry – and that is really what all this is about. You must stop this, Baderon. You are in charge of this region, so take control.’

  Baderon’s face was ashen, and Geoffrey did not think he had ever seen a more broken specimen. No proud Welsh prince would listen to such a man – they would look to Lambert’s strong sword and Corwenna’s flashing eyes and promises of grain. As Baderon walked towards his horse, Geoffrey could almost see the power draining from him. The Lord of Monmouth climbed slowly into his saddle and rode away without another word.

  ‘You cannot let them leave!’ cried Father Adrian, aghast as Baderon and Hilde cantered away. ‘They will lead the Welsh against us! You heard Hilde – she plans to sacrifice Goodrich to save the rest of the region.’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ demanded Joan. ‘Lock them in our dungeons? That would incite an attack for certain!’

  ‘I told Seguin that Hugh’s body was at Walecford, but he did not believe me,’ said Geoffrey, watching Hilde and Baderon disappear from sight. ‘If he had, none of this would have happened.’

  ‘He did not believe me, either,’ said Father Adrian tiredly. ‘I had to show him the empty church before he did. Then he said someone had intentionally misled him.’

  Geoffrey stared at him. ‘It sounds as though he were deliberately lured here. Why?’

  Father Adrian had no answer. ‘Take it with you,’ he ordered, pointing to the knife.

 
Geoffrey did not want it, either, but wrapped it in a piece of cloth, sprinkled generously with holy water, and set off towards the castle, to see what kind of troops he had at his command. He doubted they would be much, and only hoped they would not run away at the first sight of an enemy.

  First he went to Helbye. The old soldier was appalled that his peaceful retirement was being shattered, and his wife gave Geoffrey a piece of her mind, as her man collected his weapons and went to muster those who would fight.

  On his way to the castle Geoffrey met Durand, and handed him the cloth containing the dagger. ‘You know about holy matters. Will you dispose of this for me?’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Durand, unwrapping it. When he saw the stained weapon, he gave a shriek and dropped it. ‘It is covered in blood!’

  ‘It was used to kill Seguin,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Everyone else thinks it is cursed, but I know you are above such superstition. Will you take it to a blacksmith and have it destroyed?’

  Durand backed away. ‘I am not touching it. It is a Black Knife. You can destroy it yourself.’

  ‘How?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I will be organizing our defences. I could drop it down the well . . .’

  ‘It would put itself in a bucket and come back,’ said Durand. ‘That is the nature of Black Knives. They must be destroyed, not tossed away.’

  Geoffrey sighed. ‘Then lock it in a chest in my bedchamber, to melt down later.’

  ‘No,’ said Durand, backing even farther away. ‘I am having nothing to do with it – and no good will come of having it in your castle, either. All I can do is pray for you.’

  He turned and strode towards the church, leaving Geoffrey shaking his head, astonished that even Durand was affected by superstition.

  Olivier and Joan were already mustering their soldiers, so Geoffrey ran up the stairs to his bedchamber, shoved the Black Knife in the bottom of a chest, hastily donned full armour and set out for the bailey, to test the resources at his disposal.

  He was not impressed. The men knew the basics, but were ill equipped for hand-to-hand combat, and their armour and weapons were in poor repair. He saw that he would have to train them hard if he did not want them slaughtered. He did so for the rest of the day, and when the sun set, he took them through night manoeuvres. In the small hours he drew up plans of the estate and considered his natural defences, then woke the garrison before dawn for more drills. By sunset of the second day, they had improved, although he reserved judgement.

  That evening, when it was too dark to do more and his body ached from fatigue, Geoffrey went to the hall. Giffard and Walter were there, and he could tell by the sullen expression on the boy’s face that Giffard was lecturing him. Not wanting to interrupt, he sat with Joan. She reminded him about the passageway in his bedchamber – which might be used as an escape route, but could also render the castle vulnerable. Geoffrey’s first instinct was to block it off, but then what would happen if the invaders gained access to the bailey and the keep was set alight?

  Ralph, Douce and Wulfric were also there, evidently considering Goodrich safer than their undefended manor. Douce was with Bale, who was trying, without success, to show her how to use a catapult, while Olivier strummed his harp, mostly for the benefit of the nervous servants.

  Isabel sat on her own, head to one side as she listened. At one point Ralph walked past her and whispered something that made her face light up. She gestured that she wanted him to sit next to her, but he murmured some excuse that made her smile slip, and returned to Agnes. It seemed inordinately cruel to Geoffrey.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ said Giffard, abandoning his efforts with Walter. The lad immediately went to Olivier and ordered him to play something livelier. When Olivier declined, he snatched the instrument and began to plonk out a melody he claimed was popular in Italy. The servants promptly dispersed.

  Geoffrey stared into the flames. ‘I should never haver returned to England. Goodrich would be quieter and calmer if I were not here.’

  ‘Not so,’ countered Giffard. ‘Dene would still have caught fire – only the King, Isabel and I may not have escaped; Eleanor would still be missing; and Hugh and Seguin would still have been stabbed. And your presence means your sister is safer.’

  ‘What do you think of my daughter, Sir Geoffrey?’ asked Wulfric, approaching uninvited and nodding towards Douce. ‘A beauty, eh? A fine woman?’

  ‘Not tonight,’ said Giffard, giving Wulfric a severe look. ‘His mind is engaged with the defence of Goodrich.’

  ‘Yours might be,’ said Wulfric, looking Giffard up and down disparagingly. ‘But Sir Geoffrey is a red-blooded man who is always ready for a lass. Would you like to try her out? Tonight?’

  Geoffrey stared at him. ‘Are you serious?’

  Wulfric nodded. ‘Of course. Then we can finalize the details of your betrothal tomorrow. I guarantee you will not be disappointed. There are many men who would give their sword arms to possess a fine, sturdy girl like Douce.’

  ‘Let the poor man rest,’ said Gifford sharply. ‘He has been working all day and needs sleep, not a romp. Besides, he has competition – his squire has reached Douce first.’

  Wulfric shot to where Douce was leading Bale to an upper chamber, her expression full of carnal promise. Geoffrey smiled when Wulfric snatched her away, disappointing both parties. But, to his alarm, Wulfric began to drag Dounce back towards him.

  ‘You are right, Giffard,’ said Geoffrey, standing hastily. ‘I am tired. I am going to bed.’

  Nodding a curt farewell to Wulfric and Douce, he climbed the stairs. The sounds of the hall were soon below him, but he did not stop at his chamber. He walked to the top of the stairs, then out on to the battlements. A sharp, cold wind gusted, but the soldiers were alert and watchful, swathed in thick cloaks to keep them from freezing. He checked that all was well, then started to descend. He paused at one of the attic rooms, where he heard an odd humming. Curiously, he pushed open the door and was startled to see Mother Elgiva there, busy with what looked to be a corpse.

  ‘Come in, Sir Geoffrey, if you have a mind for company,’ said Elgiva, without turning around. He wondered how she knew it was him. ‘I am laying out Jervil, who was returned to us today.’

  ‘Why is he here and not in the church?’ asked Geoffrey.

  ‘It is his right to lie in the castle for a day,’ said Elgiva. ‘People will be offended if he goes into the ground without the proper respect. Did you not know this tradition?’

  Geoffrey saw again there was a lot he did not understand about his manor’s customs. He would have sent the body straight to Father Adrian, and was grateful that Joan had known what to do.

  ‘I brought you a gift,’ said Elgiva, ‘since you asked about certain things last we met. A book.’

  ‘A book?’ asked Geoffrey, immediately interested. ‘What kind of book?’

  ‘One my mother gave me,’ said Elgiva. ‘I knew my letters once, but I have not bothered with them for too long, and they are all forgotten now. Joan tells me you are fond of books, so you can have it. It will tell you all about mandrake and the like.’

  ‘It is about poisons?’ asked Geoffrey. If so, it was not something a knight should own.

  ‘Poisons and healing potions,’ replied Elgiva. ‘You will find all you need to know about mandrake, and a good deal more.’

  Geoffrey accepted a very small volume with minuscule writing. He sat on a chest and leafed through it, admiring its intricate drawings.

  ‘Poor Jervil,’ said Elgiva, turning back to the body. ‘He did not deserve this. Joan says you have been charged to find out who killed him.’

  Geoffrey nodded. ‘But I have not been very successful.’

  ‘Then perhaps I can tell you one or two things that might help. For example, Jervil went to Dene to meet Baderon and sell him the Black Knife. He told me himself – he came for a protective charm, but obviously my magic was not strong enough.’

  ‘Did he tell you how this dagger came into his possession? H
e told Baderon he bought it from the silversmith in Rosse, but it was not the knife Father Adrian sold there.’

  ‘I know,’ said Elgiva. ‘You mentioned it last time. I probably should have told you what I knew then, but I wanted to find out more about you first.’

  ‘What do you know about the dagger?’ Geoffrey asked, struggling to mask his irritation.

  ‘Sir Olivier threw the real one in the river,’ said Elgiva. ‘I overheard him at confession, although he should have asked my advice, not God’s. I could have told him the Wye was no place for a Black Knife. Two things conspired to bring it back again. Do you know what they were?’

  Geoffrey was far too tired for mental games, but strove to oblige her. ‘Jervil’s liking for treasure and Olivier’s feeble throw?’

  Elgiva cackled her appreciation. ‘You have a quick mind! Jervil happened to see Sir Olivier toss the Black Knife in the water. It landed in the shallows, so he fished it out.’

  Geoffrey tried to make sense of the dagger’s travels, starting at the beginning. ‘So, Seguin gave a ruby-handled dagger to Baderon as a gift. It was stolen from Baderon during the Feast of Corpus Christi and taken to Eleanor for cursing. It was used to kill Henry, spent a week or two in Joan’s bedchamber wrapped in holy cloth, was hurled in the river . . .’

  ‘. . . From where Jervil retrieved it. He brought it to show me, but I frightened him into burying it, for his own safety. There it might have remained, but for you. Baderon did not want a feud when you discovered it was his weapon that had killed Henry.’

  Geoffrey thought about it. ‘Baderon – like everyone except Olivier, Jervil and you – thought the real one was in Father Adrian’s church. That was the blade he paid Jervil to retrieve.’

  ‘But Baderon would have known Father Adrian’s was the wrong one, so Jervil dug up the Black Knife. I advised against it, but Baderon’s silver spoke louder than my wisdom.’

  ‘Was it coincidence that Baderon asked Jervil for help, when Jervil happened to be the one who had retrieved it from the river?’