Deadly Inheritance

by Simon Beaufort

  He wheeled around when he felt Lambert’s troops were sufficiently strung out, and the tight formation of his own riders cut through them like a knife through butter. Bale was riding hard towards Baderon, a savage smile on his face and a couched lance in his hand. Baderon fumbled for his sword, but Geoffrey knew he would be too late. Geoffrey spurred his horse forward, and managed to come between them, raising his own shield just in time. Bale’s lance shattered under the impact, and so did Geoffrey’s shield. The blow was so violent that Geoffrey was hurled from his saddle. He staggered to his feet, cursing his reckless chivalry – a knight on foot was heavily disadvantaged, and Baderon was riding towards him. Geoffrey met his eyes and prepared to fight.

  ‘Retreat!’ yelled Baderon, wheeling away. ‘Back!’

  And then the skirmish was over, leaving one of Geoffrey’s men severely wounded, and a number of Baderon’s dead on the grass. Those who had been unhorsed fled for their lives, while Geoffrey’s men whooped as they harried them, stopping only to claim riderless ponies as spoils of war.

  Geoffrey arrived in Goodrich to the adulation of its inhabitants, who were even more pleased when informed by Helbye that Geoffrey’s military masterpiece was against a much larger force. Tempered by the knowledge that one of their soldiers was coughing his last and three archers had been wounded, elation was still the order of the day.

  ‘It is not over,’ said Geoffrey, his voice hoarse from yelling. ‘Caerdig will not fight again, but Baderon and Lambert will.’

  ‘They will not,’ predicted Olivier confidently. ‘They have seen what we can do. You should have seen Joan direct the archers on their first attack!’

  Geoffrey winced. ‘I should not have left you to chase raiders in the woods.’

  ‘You should,’ countered Joan. ‘We can repel an invasion from one direction, but not two. Had Caerdig attacked at the same time as Baderon, we could not have coped.’

  ‘We need more arrows,’ said Geoffrey, quickly turning his thoughts to the future. ‘Tell the children to retrieve as many as they can.’

  ‘Man the gate!’ a guard yelled. ‘They are coming again!’

  ‘Already?’ groaned Geoffrey. He had hoped there would be more time.

  ‘Twenty horsemen!’ shouted the guard, as Geoffrey climbed to the main gate’s fighting platform to see for himself. ‘And they appear a damned sight better than the last lot.’

  Indeed, they did. They carried lances and rode in a tight formation, suggesting they were experienced in battle, and their weapons and armour appeared to be well tended, even from a distance. Geoffrey’s heart sank, thinking such a force would make short work of his amateurs. Then he saw the leading horseman, and his spirits soared.

  ‘Open the gate,’ he ordered. ‘It is Roger.’

  ‘When Helbye told me about Baderon’s alliances, I thought things might turn nasty,’ said Roger, clattering into the bailey, before dismounting and clasping his friend’s shoulder. ‘So I recruited a few men to lend us a hand. I came back as fast as I could.’

  ‘You are just in time,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Is that why you left? To rally troops?’

  Roger nodded. ‘There was no point telling you, because you would have tried to talk me out of it – not wanting me bloodied in your war, or claiming you do not have the funds to pay twenty mercenaries. But I am a wealthy man – I have not told you yet about my “visit” to Normandy, have I? I can afford to be generous to a friend.’

  ‘Where did you find them?’ asked Geoffrey. Roger’s warriors looked rough, cold and ruthless.

  ‘Hereford. I tried Rosse, but it was full of farmers, so I was obliged to travel farther afield, which is why I was longer than intended. What do you think?’

  Geoffrey nodded his approval, and for the first time he started to believe there was a chance of success. Then Roger noticed the battle-stained horses being rubbed down and the swords being cleaned of blood.

  ‘We are too late!’ he cried in disappointment.

  ‘You are in time,’ countered Geoffrey. ‘We fended off one attack, but Lambert and Baderon will not make the same mistakes twice. They were overconfident, and we took advantage of them, but it will not happen again.’

  ‘The news that a large force is gathering to attack Goodrich travelled all the way to Hereford,’ said Roger. ‘Lambert has amassed an army comprising not only half-starved, desperate Welshmen who have decided to test Baderon’s declarations of friendship, but many mercenaries, too.’

  ‘At least Caerdig is no longer among them,’ said Geoffrey. ‘His heart was never in it, nor is Baderon’s.’

  ‘It is Corwenna’s doing,’ said Joan angrily. ‘Damn her ridiculous taste for vengeance!’

  ‘If Caerdig keeps her under lock and key, the attack may lose impetus,’ said Olivier hopefully. ‘She is the one who is firing them up.’

  ‘She and Lambert,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But Caerdig will not be able to keep her quiet for long.’

  ‘This army you say has gathered,’ Joan asked Roger, ‘just how large is it?’

  ‘Several hundred, by all accounts,’ replied Roger.

  ‘Baderon,’ said Joan bitterly. ‘You say he does not want to fight us – and he held his hand this morning when he could have cut you down – but he still has a lot to answer for. He paid Jervil to get the Black Knife, so it stands to reason that he had Jervil killed.’ She shook her head, attempting to come to terms with the fact that the man who had been a guest in her home should now be trying to raze it to the ground. ‘He and Henry are the cause of all these problems.’

  ‘Why Henry?’ Geoffrey asked.

  ‘His arrangement with Baderon,’ explained Joan. ‘Peter the cook said he mentioned it to you, so there is no point in trying to hide it any longer. There is a rumour that Henry made a secret pact with Baderon – he was to marry Hilde, but then he reneged and went after Isabel instead. That is why Baderon has turned against us so bitterly.’

  ‘But Peter and Torva said the arrangement was not a marriage,’ said Geoffrey, recalling that Baderon had also hinted as much.

  Joan sighed. ‘They cannot know what it entailed – Peter witnessed the agreement, but could not read it. A marriage between Hilde and Henry is the only thing it could have been.’

  Roger grimaced. ‘Life is very complicated here. Things are so much simpler in the Holy Land.’

  ‘Will you watch the castle, Roger, and direct the defence if another attack comes?’ Geoffrey asked, walking towards his horse.

  Roger nodded. ‘But what will you be doing?’

  ‘Trying to stop this at its source,’ answered Geoffrey. ‘I am going to speak to Baderon.’

  Father Adrian applauded Geoffrey’s determination to bring an end to the dispute, but he was the only one; Joan, Olivier and Roger believed he was needlessly risking his life. Geoffrey declined Roger’s offer of company; although it would have been comforting to have a friend at his side, the northern knight’s blunt tongue was a danger to delicate negotiations. He rejected Bale’s offer for the same reason, and refused Olivier’s because the man looked terrified. He rode out of the castle alone, taking Dun – he wanted to save his own warhorse lest he needed it later.

  Geoffrey crossed the ford and rode north to the flat terraces near the river, where he imagined Baderon would be camped. He carried a white pennant on his lance, hoping it would prevent him from being shot at first sight. The forest was eerily quiet, which told him that men were hidden in the trees. Eventually, he reached the first of Baderon’s patrols. The captain of the guard saluted him, before wordlessly leading him to the camp.

  Geoffrey was horrified when he saw the size of Baderon’s army. Roger had been right: there were several hundred men sitting round fires or tending shaggy ponies. Some were clearly Welshmen, exploiting the opportunity to acquire grain to feed their villages, but more had the slovenly, undisciplined appearance of men who sold their services for a few coins and the prospect of plunder. The rest were Normans, distinctive in their mail and conical
helmets. Appalled, Geoffrey knew that Goodrich could not withstand such a force for long. The guard took him to a tent, shouting in Norman-French that a messenger had arrived. Geoffrey dismounted and waited.

  ‘Have you come to surrender?’ asked Lambert, emerging from the tent with a scowl. He gestured to his troops. ‘You should: you cannot defeat us.’

  ‘Where is Baderon?’ asked Geoffrey.

  The next person to emerge from the tent, however, was Corwenna.

  ‘It is Geoffrey Mappestone!’ she exclaimed, pulling a dagger from her belt. ‘This is better than I hoped. We shall send his head back to Joan – that will show her what we think of her attempts to negotiate.’

  ‘Tempting, but unwise,’ said Lambert laconically. ‘It is not how these things are done.’

  ‘Hywel was killed this morning,’ she hissed. ‘And my father is a broken man, refusing to fight. Do not talk to me about what is right!’ She spat on the ground at Geoffrey’s feet, and there was a murmur of approval from those nearby.

  Baderon emerged at last, with Hilde behind him. Hilde wore a mail tunic over her kirtle and a hefty sword strapped to her side.

  ‘You should not have come,’ Hilde said. ‘You have risked your life for nothing, because there can be no peace. These men will not disperse until they have the spoils they have been promised.’ She glared at Corwenna.

  ‘It is true,’ said Baderon hoarsely. ‘Either their food supplies are low and they need an excuse to take cattle and grain, or they have been promised plunder in return for their services. Neither faction will agree to leave empty-handed.’

  ‘They will be disappointed,’ warned Geoffrey. ‘Our livestock have been hidden, and there are men standing by to fire the granaries if we are overrun. And Goodrich has little to please mercenaries – it is not a wealthy estate. Tell your men that. It may make them less willing to squander their lives when they will have nothing in return.’

  ‘I am in an impossible position,’ said Baderon. ‘I wanted alliances with my Welsh neighbours, but it has all gone sour. I do not understand—’

  ‘We shall send Geoffrey’s corpse to Joan,’ interrupted Corwenna imperiously. ‘Then we shall burn Goodrich and slaughter every one of its inhabitants. I do not care about cattle, grain and loot. I just want to see blood spilt to avenge my murdered husband.’

  Geoffrey addressed Baderon. ‘Corwenna’s vengeance will cost you dearly. Many men will die – including those who should be planting crops for next year. Your people will take nothing of ours with you; Joan will see to that.’

  ‘I am sure she will,’ said Hilde. ‘I would do the same in her position.’

  ‘No grain?’ asked one of the Welsh captains, struggling to understand the Norman-French.

  ‘Every granary will be fired the moment you appear,’ replied Geoffrey, speaking Welsh to ensure he understood. ‘You will not have a single kernel.’

  This caused considerable consternation, and Geoffrey saw the extent to which hunger drove some of them.

  ‘He lies,’ Corwenna said with contempt. ‘Normans do not destroy grain.’

  Geoffrey did not need to press his point: the Welshmen had understood him perfectly. He addressed them directly. ‘We have corn aplenty, and we are prepared to share it with you – but only if you retreat by this evening.’

  ‘Do not listen,’ hissed Corwenna. ‘He will wait until you have disbanded, then destroy you one by one. And you will see none of his corn. I know what the word of a Mappestone means.’

  ‘Goodrich helped Llan Martin through lean times last year,’ said one of the captains. ‘And I trust Caerdig: if he will not fight, we should reconsider.’

  Another leader agreed, pointing out the futility of fighting if there was no booty to take home. They began to argue, while Corwenna watched, aghast.

  ‘They are going to back down,’ she breathed.

  ‘What were you telling them?’ demanded Lambert of Geoffrey.

  ‘He said he would pay each captain ten pieces of silver if they abandon you now,’ said Corwenna before Geoffrey could answer. ‘And another ten if they bring him your head and Baderon’s on pikes.’

  Lambert steamed across to the conferring Welsh and began to rail at them, while Corwenna ‘translated’. Geoffrey tried to interrupt, but swords were drawn and he was ordered back. He closed his eyes in despair when Corwenna informed her countrymen that Goodrich intended to trick them: that Roger’s recent arrival with mercenaries was evidence that they intended to attack Wales. Baderon watched for a moment, then ducked back inside the tent, his shoulders bowed.

  ‘Did you offer them silver to back down, Geoffrey?’ asked Hilde uneasily.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Do you think me a fool?’

  ‘I do not,’ Hilde said softly. She was silent for a moment, then spoke in a rush. ‘I have been thinking about the deaths of Hugh and Seguin, and I do not believe you are responsible.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Geoffrey drily. ‘It is a pity Lambert does not think the same.’

  ‘You had no reason to want them dead,’ Hilde continued. ‘If you had been willing to marry me, I might have assumed you wanted Hugh out of the way, but you do not. And you never let Seguin’s ill manners bother you much, either. You are not their killer.’

  ‘Well, despite all the evidence that points to his guilt, I do not believe your father killed my brother, either. He does not behave like a murderer, and the servants at Goodrich think there was a secret pact – a marriage contract, perhaps – between him and Henry, which makes it highly unlikely that your father is the culprit.’

  Hilde sighed. ‘They are right, in part. We did have an arrangement that only Henry and my family knew about, but it was nothing to do with him marrying me. I would never have agreed to that. It is a pity he was not you – I would not have minded you.’

  ‘You are not so bad yourself,’ said Geoffrey, feeling some sort of reciprocal compliment was in order. ‘Better than the others.’

  Unexpectedly, Hilde laughed. ‘You have a silver tongue, Geoffrey Mappestone, there is no doubt about that!’

  Geoffrey smiled. ‘What was this arrangement with Henry, if it did not involve an alliance by marriage?’

  ‘I did not say it was not an alliance by marriage. It was just not between him and me.’

  Geoffrey looked confused. ‘Who then?’

  ‘Joan. To Hugh.’

  Geoffrey regarded her askance. ‘But Joan has Olivier.’

  ‘Olivier had an accident last summer,’ said Hilde. ‘He broke his arm, but Henry led us to believe it was more serious, and offered Joan for Hugh.’

  Geoffrey stared at her. ‘I do not think Joan would have appreciated that.’

  ‘Neither would Hugh, whose heart was set on Eleanor. But it would have served its purpose: Henry could have had Isabel and secured an alliance with us. It would have united three Houses.’

  ‘But Joan has not produced heirs for Olivier, so her marriage with Hugh would have been equally barren. How would it have benefited Goodrich?’

  ‘Joan had children. Did you not know? Like Henry’s, they were taken by fevers, and then Olivier had an illness that means he cannot . . . well, she could provide heirs for a different husband.’

  Geoffrey had not known about such children and realized, yet again, that there was a good deal about his sister and her life that was a closed book to him.

  ‘Henry misled us over Olivier’s broken arm,’ Hilde went on. ‘And we have since learnt he attacked the poor man, clearly intending to kill him to provide a wife for Hugh. But I would be obliged if you keep this to yourself – if Joan were to find out that we were even remotely associated with a plot that almost saw Olivier murdered, we would never have peace.’

  ‘So that is why our servants think your father would not have killed Henry.’ Geoffrey rubbed his head; then an unpleasant thought occurred to him. ‘Are you sure Joan did not know about this?’

  ‘Positive,’ said Hilde firmly. ‘If she
had learnt that Henry had attempted to kill Olivier, do you think she would have murdered him by stealth? Of course not! She would have hanged him from the castle walls.’

  Geoffrey glanced at Corwenna and Lambert, who were still trying to persuade the wary Welshmen against leaving. He started to move towards them, but swords blocked him a second time, and Hilde pulled him back with a surprisingly strong arm.

  ‘Even if you do convince the Welsh that they are making a mistake, Lambert and Corwena will still have their Normans and mercenaries,’ she said. ‘Goodrich remains outnumbered by a considerable margin. If I thought you would listen, I would urge you to turn around and aim for the Holy Land, because there is nothing but death left for you here.’

  ‘And leave my sister?’ asked Geoffrey archly.

  There was no more to be said, so Geoffrey went to his horse and mounted. Then there was a sudden blur of movement as Corwenna snatched a crossbow from a guard, and fired.

  Geoffrey reacted instinctively, throwing himself to one side. Dun reared up in confusion and the bolt hit his chest. With a piercing whinny, the horse crashed to the ground. Hands dragged Geoffrey to safety, but he twisted away from them and knelt next to Dun, trying to stem the gush of blood with his fingers. It seemed a long time before the horse’s desperate, agonized battle for life was over.

  Geoffrey looked at the blood staining his hands and climbed slowly to his feet. The Welsh captains stood in a shocked, mute circle around him, while Hilde looked as angry as Geoffrey felt. He liked horses, and for his to have been killed by Corwenna was more than his temper could bear. He stalked towards her.

  ‘Easy, man,’ said Lambert uncomfortably. ‘She did not mean to hurt the horse. She was aiming for you.’

  Geoffrey was not sure why this was expected to make him feel better. Corwenna did not flinch when he reached her. Instead, she smiled, her eyes carrying an expression of intense satisfaction; she was delighted to see the death of the horse had touched him.