Deadly Inheritance (33 page)

The camp erupted in confusion. The men were eating, and their weapons were not readily to hand. Some fled, unwilling to be slaughtered by wheeling swords, but others stayed. Geoffrey killed two who faced him; one of whom released an arrow that soared across his shoulder and narrowly missed Bale. Then the assault disintegrated, with Geoffrey’s horsemen surrounded by enemy foot soldiers who hacked at their legs and saddles.

‘Back!’ Geoffrey yelled, hoping his men would remember what he had drilled into them the previous day. ‘Fall back! Now!’

He was relieved when they obeyed, breaking off the attack and swinging around to follow him. He glanced behind and saw, as he expected, whooping raiders following, sensing a rout. He waited until they were strung out, then wheeled his horse around hard and bore down on them again, using a tactic that had proven successful for Norman armies in the past: feigning flight, so pursuers were scattered and unable to fight as a unit. The invaders stopped in horror when they saw that they had rushed into a trap. The few who tried to fight were quickly dealt with, and Geoffrey rode for the camp itself. One of the first people he saw was Caerdig, kneeling next to his servant Hywel. There was a gaping wound in Hywel’s shoulder, which Geoffrey knew would be fatal. He saw Bale set off after the fleeing Welsh and yelled for him to come back.

‘I can get more of the bastards!’ cried Bale. He was smeared in blood from head to toe, and there was a ferocious gleam in his eyes.

‘Not in the woods. They will drag you off your horse and kill you.’

Bale was pale in the dawn light. ‘This is the first time I have taken a man’s life. It feels . . . unreal.’

‘Yes,’ acknowledged Geoffrey. ‘I was sick the first time I engaged in battle.’

‘I did not say I was
sick
,’ said Bale. ‘I said it is unreal. But it is not unpleasant, and I shall be happy to do it again.’

It was no place for such a discussion. Geoffrey turned to Caerdig.

‘Stop this,’ he said, when Caerdig looked up at him with an anguished expression. ‘I do not want to fight, and neither do you.’

‘We can defeat them!’ yelled Corwenna, appearing from nowhere and grabbing her father by the arm, as if she intended to shake her courage into him. ‘Most of our warriors escaped – we will win.’

‘We will talk,’ countered Caerdig harshly. ‘Call off your attack, Geoffrey, before any more of my men are slaughtered.’

As soon as Caerdig indicated that he wanted an end to the skirmish, Geoffrey called his men to order. He feared that it might be difficult to stop such raw recruits from killing once they started, and he was relieved when they did as they were told. He left Helbye in charge, with orders to call him if the raiders showed signs of regrouping, then he went to Caerdig. Hywel was already dead.

‘This should not have happened,’ Geoffrey said, dismounting. ‘What were you thinking?’

Caerdig shook his head. ‘I knew it was a mistake.’

‘Coward!’ shrieked Corwenna, throwing herself at her father with flailing fists.

‘She will see you all dead,’ Geoffrey said to the men who hurried to restrain her. ‘Lock her away where she can do no more harm.’

Still screaming, Corwenna was dragged off. ‘Goodrich is doomed. You have not won.’

Geoffrey’s blood ran cold when he understood what she was saying. He had been a fool to fall for such an obvious ploy.

‘Baderon’s men will attack our front while you assault us from behind?’

‘It was a stupid idea,’ said Caerdig bitterly. ‘We are raiders, ill equipped to tackle Norman horsemen. You had better go and face him. I do not think his heart is in this conflict, either, but Lambert and Corwenna have recruited war-like villains from both sides of the border with the promise of loot and grain. They are a bloodthirsty, undisciplined rabble, strengthened with Baderon’s professional troops. Together, they represent a formidable force.’

‘Do I have your word that
you
will not fight again?’ asked Geoffrey, reaching for his reins. ‘You will go home?’

Caerdig nodded. ‘We should never have left it in the first place.’

Geoffrey did not wait to hear more, knowing that Caerdig would not break his promise. Yelling for his men to follow, he climbed into his saddle and turned his back on the broken bodies in the clearing. One of his men had a cut arm, but they had otherwise executed a massacre with no loss to themselves. They rode fast towards Goodrich.

It was not long before the wooden palisade came into view, and he saw smoke issuing from inside. Fire arrows had been deployed, and he hoped the flames were being doused with the water and sand he had ordered to be placed around the bailey the previous day. Arrows showered in both directions, and it was obvious that the engagement had reached a stalemate: the attackers could not broach the walls, but the defenders could not drive them away.

‘Into the trees!’ he ordered his men. ‘Quickly.’

‘Will we attack?’ asked Helbye doubtfully, surveying the enemy with a practised eye. ‘Baderon’s horsemen alone outnumber us three to one.’

Geoffrey’s look silenced him – he did not want the men thinking the odds were insurmountable. He led the party along a forest track until they reached the place where
he
would have launched an assault against Goodrich. It comprised a spit of woodland that swept close to the castle and afforded good cover. Now he was going to attack the attackers.

‘Break off the moment I say,’ he whispered, lining up his men. ‘It is even more critical this time, because these are horsemen you are fighting, not foot soldiers.’

He waited until Baderon’s men were engaged in a futile swoop against the palisade, then he launched his own charge, feeling his throat crack as he screamed his war cry. Then he was out of the trees and thundering towards the enemy. Geoffrey saw the enemy scatter in alarm, then realize too late that they needed to meet his attack in formation. Baderon tried to rally them, but they were slow to obey. Geoffrey’s force slammed into them, and several went down immediately. Geoffrey engaged Lambert with a vicious blow to the chest, then swung hard with his shield, so the knight was forced to fall back. Then he recalled his men, watching with satisfaction as Lambert made the assumption that he was running because of inferior numbers. The enemy started to pursue with gleeful whoops.

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.