A Head for Poisoning

by Simon Beaufort

  “And what was my father saying?”

  “I do not know,” said Rohese. “I did not listen very carefully. Sir Godric is always angry about something or another, and it is usually something silly or boring. And once I was in the tunnel, I could not really hear anyway.”

  “But it was a man’s voice that you heard, talking with him?” asked Geoffrey, thinking that he could at least eliminate Joan as a suspect for the murder—which would be a relief, for he suspected that out of all of them she might prove the most formidable in the end.

  Rohese frowned. “It may have been a woman. Joan, Hedwise, and Bertrada often go to Sir Godric during the night. There would have been nothing odd in them being there.”

  “There is when my father claimed someone was poisoning him,” said Geoffrey. “Why did they ever need to come anyway? I thought you were his … chambermaid,” he said, selecting the term Julian had used.

  “Not for the last few weeks,” said Rohese. “Before he became ill, he would come to my chamber—Enide’s chamber, I should say—and spend the night there. I hate that room of his, and Enide said I did not have to sleep there if I did not want to.”

  “And you heard nothing at all of this conversation between this person and my father?” said Geoffrey. “Not a single word?”

  “Well, I might have heard a few,” said Rohese vaguely. “But I did not really understand what they were talking about. I only listened so that I could hear when they had gone, and I would be able to come out again.”

  “Yes?” asked Geoffrey, his hopes rising. “What did you hear?”

  “I cannot be certain. I think I heard Sir Godric say ‘Tirel.’”

  “Tirel?” asked Geoffrey. “You mean Walter Tirel?”

  “Yes!” said Rohese, giving a faint smile. “Walter Tirel. That was it. Who is he?”

  “The man who shot King William Rufus in the New Forest,” said Geoffrey. His thoughts reeled. Was Adrian right after all? First, they found that the dates on Enide’s hidden parchments corresponded to possible events connected with the murder of Rufus, and now the name of the murderer was mentioned in Godric’s chamber by the person who seemed to have killed Godric himself.

  Rohese sniffed. “Well, I do not know about things like that,” she said. “But later, I think I heard someone say ‘Norbert.’”

  “Norbert?” asked Geoffrey. “Godric’s scribe?”

  “I do not know,” said Rohese again. “You keep asking me questions, and I do not know the answers. I do not know whether they meant Norbert the scribe or another Norbert.”

  “Do you know another Norbert?”

  She considered. “No. I suppose they must have meant Norbert the scribe, then.”

  “Is that all?” asked Geoffrey when she was silent. “You heard nothing more?”

  “After a few moments, Sir Godric gave a great groan, and started muttering and moaning. I thought he must have made himself ill, perhaps with that vile wine he drinks. Eventually, when I was certain he was alone, I crept out, to see if I could help him, but there he was, lying in the bed and all covered in blood.”

  “And he was dead?”

  “No,” said Rohese. “He was not dead. He was groaning and crying and making fearful noises, and cursing and swearing. …”

  Geoffrey could well imagine how the ill-tempered Godric would take his impending death. “Did he say anything to you?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Rohese. “He cursed you all—although he called you Godfrey, so you need not worry too much. He told me that I should go to the tunnel in the garderobe and stay there until I was sure it was safe to come out—he said they would kill me for certain if they knew I had been there. I am still not sure it is safe, so I am still here.”

  “Did he say who had killed him?” asked Geoffrey, knowing the question was useless because Rohese, apparently, had thought it was him.

  As he had predicted, she shook her head. “He just said that there were dangerous men in the castle, and that I should never reveal to anyone that I had been listening in the garderobe passage the night he died.”

  Geoffrey sighed. Godric, with his desire to protect his whore, and by not mentioning the names of the dangerous men to her, had closed an avenue of investigation.

  “I stayed with him until he died, and then I left.”

  “Did you look at the wound that killed him?”

  “No,” said Rohese, surprised by the question. “It was in his stomach, though.”

  So, Geoffrey thought, Godric had been stabbed in the stomach with his own dagger and had died. But who had come to his chamber later, after he was dead and after Rohese had left, and stabbed him a second time, on this occasion with Geoffrey’s Arabian dagger and in his chest?

  Certain things were clear though. Someone had planned his father’s death with some care. Geoffrey stared at Rohese without really seeing her, trying to make some sense of the mass of information he had gathered. Someone had ensured that Walter and Geoffrey were drugged or drunk while Godric had been murdered, and that Geoffrey was still asleep the following morning to be discovered in a horribly compromising position with Godric’s corpse.

  Geoffrey rubbed one eye that was still sore from the dust. Rohese had said that Walter left the room before Godric was murdered. Walter had denied moving the chest to get out, and this was true, because, according to Rohese, Joan had moved it already. Walter claimed he rose early, and that Godric had still been alive. Rohese’s evidence indicated that he was telling the truth.

  However, while Rohese had explored the tunnel, someone had entered Godric’s room and argued with him, after which Godric had been stabbed. The killer had then tipped the wine out of the window and followed it with the murder weapon. Rohese had emerged, and found Godric dying. Once he was dead, she had fled back to the tunnel, after which the killer, or yet another person, had entered Godric’s chamber and stabbed the corpse a second time with Geoffrey’s weapon. Was this to make Geoffrey appear guilty of the crime, or to make absolutely certain the old tyrant was dead? Godric had pretended to be dead the morning after Geoffrey had arrived, so that his youngest son would catch the others in the act of looting his corpse. With wily old Godric, it would certainly have paid to be certain.

  He rubbed his eye harder. All he could deduce was that someone already inside the castle had murdered Godric, and that the culprit had not left via the tunnel after the crime because Rohese would certainly not be alive to tell the tale. And just because Walter had left the chamber before Godric was killed did not mean that he had not returned later to argue with and slay the old man.

  Geoffrey thumped the rocky wall in frustration. He had a witness who had been awake and in the same chamber the night his father had been murdered, and yet she was able to tell him virtually nothing—even whether the voice of the killer was male or female.

  “Did anyone else use the tunnel after you did?” he asked, certain that they had not because Rohese was still alive, but wanting to be thorough.

  Rohese shook her head. “No one at all. I have been here all alone. Except for her.”

  “Her?” queried Geoffrey. He turned to where Rohese pointed, and promptly dropped the torch in shock, plunging all into darkness once again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Geoffrey’s hands fumbled and shook, and he found himself unable to relight the torch. Rohese eased him out of the way.

  “Let me do it,” she said. “I am not afraid.”

  “I am not afraid, either,” snapped Geoffrey. “Just shocked, that is all.”

  “I was afraid at first,” said Rohese, as if he had not spoken. “But not any more. She cannot harm anyone, the poor creature.”

  Once again, the cave sprang into light. Geoffrey snatched the torch from Rohese, and went to inspect the thing in the alcove.

  It was, without doubt, the severed head of a woman. Geoffrey fought to keep the torch steady, but he found he could not. He swallowed hard, and looked at the leathery skin that stretched across the skull like a mask a
nd the gauzy hair that cascaded around it, and searched for some sign that he was gazing into the face of Enide.

  He raised a shaking hand to his mouth, and promptly turned away. Adrian had told him that Enide’s head had never been recovered: Geoffrey now knew that the reason was because someone had hidden it in Godric’s tunnel. Had Godric known it was here? Or had it been put in its niche after Godric had been confined to his bedchamber because poison was eating away at his innards?

  He rubbed harder at his eye. Joan’s role in Goodrich’s sordid affairs was beginning to look very suspicious: she knew about the tunnel—and therefore also about Enide’s head—and Rohese had not been able to tell whether a man or a woman had argued with Godric before killing him. Also, severing a head from the shoulders with a sword was something a knight might do—a man such as her husband, Sir Olivier. And finally, it was Malger and Drogo, friends of Olivier, whom Geoffrey had fought in the tunnel. How else could the Earl’s henchmen have found out about the tunnel, other than through Joan?

  Geoffrey looked around the chamber properly for the first time. It was roughly rectangular, with a door at each end, both of which stood open. One was the door through which Geoffrey had entered the cavern, while beyond the second was another tunnel, leading, Geoffrey assumed, to the woods, since Drogo and Malger had fled down it. A heap of rags on a low ledge in a corner had apparently been serving as Rohese’s bed, and there was a shelf along one wall. In the middle, displayed with some pride, was Geoffrey’s heavy silver chalice—the one that had been stolen from his saddlebags as he had rescued Barlow from the river.

  Bewildered, he picked it up. It was without question the one Tancred had given him—there was a dent in the rim where Tancred had used it to brain the man from whom he had stolen it. Geoffrey stood on tiptoe to see if the shelf held anything else, and reached up to retrieve his Hebrew and Arabic scrolls that had been stolen at the same time. Someone had ripped them in half, perhaps in anger at not being able to decipher them. Saddened, he placed them carefully inside his surcoat, grabbed the cup carelessly by its stem, and turned to Rohese.

  “You must be hungry,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “There was bread and water here,” said Rohese, pointing. “And cheese and some wine.”

  “Really?” asked Geoffrey. He bent to inspect Rohese’s bed. He had been wrong when he had assumed it comprised rags: it was actually several warm blankets. Next to them stood a jug and the remains of a loaf of bread. Someone else, apparently, had intended to stay a while in the underground chamber.

  “These were here when you arrived?” he asked. “You did not bring them here yourself?”

  “Of course not,” said Rohese. “I did not know the tunnel existed until the other night. These things were just here.”

  “And have you seen anyone else at all since you arrived?”

  “I already told you, no,” she said.

  “Did you not consider it curious that someone thought to provide bread and water, when no one knew you were coming to stay?”

  “I do not imagine they were put here for me,” said Rohese, looking at him as though he were stupid. “But I have been wondering when someone else might come. I have been ready either to flee up the tunnel to Godric’s chamber or down to the river as soon as I heard someone coming.”

  “But you were not fleeing when Malger and Drogo were here,” Geoffrey pointed out. “They had caught you.”

  Rohese shuddered. “I ran out of water and had to start drinking the wine instead. It must have made me sleep heavier than I intended. And I was tired. I have not really relaxed much down here.”

  Geoffrey could imagine why. Personally, he would rather have taken his chances sleeping in the woods than being locked in the oppressive chamber with only a severed head for company. Rohese, however, seemed quite sanguine over her ordeal. She continued.

  “The bread was quite fresh when I arrived, so someone must have put it here very recently.”

  “Was it Drogo and Malger who brought the supplies, do you think?” asked Geoffrey, more to himself than to her. “Do you think they might have stayed here from time to time?”

  “No,” said Rohese, frowning in thought. “They did not know where they were going when they came in—it was as if they were exploring the tunnel for the first time. By the time I heard them it was too late to run, so I hid under the blankets hoping that they would miss me, and I might escape while they investigated the stairs. But they started prodding at me with their swords. Then you came.”

  “But how did they know it was here?” asked Geoffrey. “It is supposed to be a secret.”

  Rohese shrugged. “I do not know. And I would not rub your eye like that if I were you. It is already quite red.”

  Geoffrey looked around the chamber once more, hunting for a piece of cloth. Finally, he settled for a strip from one of the bed covers, which he hacked off with his sword. Gritting his teeth against a curious gamut of emotions, which included disgust, sorrow, and tenderness, he took the head from its alcove and wrapped it carefully in the blanket.

  “Come on, Rohese,” he said. “I have had enough of this place.”

  She hesitated.

  “You cannot stay here forever,” he said gently. “And Julian is fretting. She thinks the Earl of Shrewsbury has done away with you.”

  Reluctantly, Rohese glanced around her sanctuary before following him to the door.

  “Which is the quickest way out?” he asked. “Up the stairs or towards the river?”

  “To the river,” she replied. “But we cannot go that way. The Earl’s knights might be waiting.”

  “I hope they are,” muttered Geoffrey. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than another encounter with those two. I have some questions I would like to ask them.”

  “You would fight them again?” asked Rohese fearfully. “But they might kill you this time!”

  “And I might kill them,” said Geoffrey. “Will you take these?”

  He handed Rohese the ominous bundle he carried under his arm and the chalice. He would need both hands free if he were to fight Malger and Drogo a second time. He drew his dagger, picked up his sword, and was ready. Clutching the bundle and cup, Rohese followed warily.

  To Geoffrey’s profound relief, the tunnel leading to the woods was only a short distance, and then they were out in the fresh air. He motioned for Rohese to remain where she was, while he crept around in the darkness, looking for signs that Malger and Drogo were lying in ambush. He imagined that they would not be expecting him to leave the underground cavern via the woods, but that he would return to the bedchamber so he would not be outside the safety of the castle walls. Therefore he did not really anticipate that they would be waiting, but only a fool would not be cautious.

  When he was certain that the Earl’s henchmen were not lurking nearby, he turned his attention to the hole that marked the tunnel’s entrance. Mabel had been right when she said that no one would find it unless they knew where to look. It was buried deep in a hawthorn thicket, and emerged near the riverside path. Taking Rohese by the hand, partly to ensure that she did not lag behind, and partly because she was frightened and it seemed to calm her, Geoffrey strode towards the village. Rohese was soon out of breath from trying to match his rapid pace, but valiantly trotted along beside him.

  “What will you do now?” she gasped. “Will you look for the Earl’s men and kill them? Or will you look for the man who murdered your father?”

  “How do you know it was a man who murdered him?” asked Geoffrey. “You said you could not tell whether the voice belonged to a man or a woman.”

  “I suppose I did,” said Rohese. “But Godric said the person who killed him was one of you. That is all he kept saying. I cannot imagine Joan knifing a man in the stomach, so it must have been Walter, Stephen, or Henry. They are all mean and vicious. Poor Julianna has had to pretend to be a boy to escape their foul attentions, and none of them will pay for the houses to be mended in the village
and they are falling about our ears.”

  “Can you remember Godric’s exact words?” asked Geoffrey, trying to force himself to be patient with her rambling. He glanced down to ensure that she still held the grisly bundle. “What precisely did he say when he lay dying?”

  “I have already told you,” she said. “And he certainly did not say who had rammed the dagger into his bowels—or I would not have assumed it was you, would I?”

  “Right,” said Geoffrey, forcing himself not to snap. “But tell me again exactly what he said. There may be something of importance that you might have overlooked.”

  She shook her head firmly. “You will be angry if I tell you his precise words.”

  “I will not be angry,” said Geoffrey, thinking that he very well might be if she continued to prove so irritating with her tantalising fragments of information.

  “Sir Godric said that his whelps had killed him at last,” she said, glancing at him nervously. “He kept calling his children things like his ‘brood,’ and his ‘litter.’ He really was not very polite.”

  “I would not be either, if one of them had killed me. Did he mention anyone by name?”

  “Yes,” said Rohese, after some serious thought. “He mentioned Walter, Stephen, Henry, Hedwise, Bertrada, Joan, Olivier, and Enide. Oh, and you, of course, but he called you Godfrey. He cursed each one of you in turn.”

  “But he did not indicate which one might have killed him?” asked Geoffrey, exasperated.

  “I have already told you, no,” said Rohese, with a long-suffering sigh. “He just said his brood had killed him—as though you had all come and done it together. Then he cursed you all, and Norbert the scribe, too. He was just starting on Francis the physician when he died.”

  That, Geoffrey realised with disappointment, told him nothing more than that Godric was railing against virtually everyone who had come into contact with him over the past few months. And one thing was clear: his family was unlikely to co-operate over his killing. Their hatreds ran deep enough that it would be only a matter of time before one of them betrayed another in a fit of pique, or because it might give him an advantage over the others. Even though they were united in battling with the Earl of Shrewsbury over Godric’s will, Geoffrey was certain it would not be long before the uneasy truce would be broken.