Deadly Inheritance (37 page)

‘He is not,’ agreed Geoffrey. ‘But he still does not know a good brew from a poor one. You were also ready to kill him later, in the confusion of the fire. I heard you. You saw me listening and promptly changed the subject.’

Agnes opened her mouth to protest her innocence again, but Walter was less skilled at dissembling. He sighed with impatient resignation, as if he had been caught cheating at dice rather than in a plot to kill his uncle.

‘Well, we did not know what else to do. He will not let us do what we want, and he ruins our plans by interfering all the time.’

Giffard was aghast. ‘You would kill me, when all I want is for you to live good, honest lives?’

Even Agnes saw that there was no point in denials now. ‘You are tedious, Giffard, and your brother was the same. I do not want a “good, honest” life. I want to enjoy riches, power and lovers. Why will you not leave us alone to live as
we
see fit, not as you want us to be?’

Giffard’s face was ashen. ‘Then you may consider yourselves free of me, if that is what you want. I wash my hands of you.’

Walter was unashamedly delighted. ‘We shall leave today,’ he declared. ‘Isabel and fitzNorman had the right idea:
I
do not want to stay here to be slaughtered, either.’

Roger had been listening to the discussion with open disgust. Suddenly, he stepped forward and grabbed Walter by the tunic, speaking in a low hiss that even Geoffrey found intimidating.

‘The King does not like people murdering his bishops, so you had better hope Giffard lives a long and happy life, boy. If he dies a day before he reaches his three-score years-and-ten, I shall tell King Henry
you
are responsible for his death.’

‘But it might not be true,’ said Agnes, alarmed. ‘All powerful men have enemies.’

‘Then you must join ranks against them,’ said Roger coolly. ‘The day Giffard dies is the day I tell the King
you
are responsible.’

Geoffrey agreed with Agnes that Roger’s threat was unfair, but he did not care. If it prevented them from striking at Giffard in the future, that was fine with him.

‘And what about the Duchess?’ asked Giffard in a whisper. His face was grey with shock as the enormity of the betrayal struck home. ‘Did you harm her?’

‘They tried,’ said Geoffrey, when Agnes opened her mouth to lie. ‘And Walter provided the means. But they did not succeed, because they cannot read Italian.’

‘What do you mean?’ demanded Agnes, too startled to deny the charge. She glanced at her son, who seemed equally bemused. ‘What does Italian have to do with it? Besides, Walter
does
read Italian.’

‘He knows some phrases, but he does not understand the language – no matter what he tells you.’

‘Lies!’ shouted Walter. He took a deep breath. ‘All cats love beautiful women when the moon is green.’ He reverted to Norman-French. ‘See? I speak it like a native.’

‘Then tell me what I am saying now,’ said Geoffrey, also in Italian. ‘And prove it.’

‘He is talking gibberish,’ said Walter, appealing to Giffard. ‘He is trying to make me look stupid when I am not.
I
speak Italian. He is just blathering with nonsense words.’

‘Actually, he is not,’ said Giffard. ‘I know Italian myself – I learnt with the Pope in Rome. Geoffrey made sense; you did not. I warned you against lying before, Walter: not only will it stain your soul, but now you have been caught out.’

‘I found this among your possessions,’ said Geoffrey, showing the box of mandrake to the seething boy and his mother. Both looked shocked. ‘Unlike most people on the night of the fire,
you
had time to gather your belongings, because you knew what was about to happen. It was a mistake: you should have left this to burn, so it would not be here to accuse you.’

‘It is dried mandrake fruit,’ said Agnes with a light, false laugh. ‘What is your point? Many people own them, and in Italy they are considered a rare treat.’

‘Eat one, then,’ suggested Geoffrey, offering her the box.

She stepped away from it. ‘I do not like the taste.’

‘Walter?’ said Geoffrey. Walter regarded him with sullen loathing, but made no move to take one.

‘I will,’ offered Giffard, reaching out to the box. ‘I am partial to these, but they are rarely seen in England.’ He swallowed it and took another.

‘Have them all,’ suggested Agnes eagerly. ‘They are the finest money can buy.’

‘Here,’ said Roger, looking from Giffard to Geoffrey in concern. ‘Should you be doing that? Mandrake is poisonous – even
I
know that.’

‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Geoffrey. ‘But not all the plant is toxic. There are times when mandrake fruit, which look like yellow plums, can be harvested and eaten with no ill effects – as you would know, had you read the label on this box, and as Giffard is aware. But Agnes did
not
know: she told me that
all
parts are poisonous. She was wrong.’

‘You gave Sibylla these, thinking to poison her?’ asked Giffard, incredu-lously. ‘Silly woman! Surely you know they are harmless when they are ripe? And even when they are unripe, they are not as toxic as the root. You cannot kill anyone with these!’

‘Margaret and Eleanor both saw Agnes give the Duchess yellow fruit,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Sibylla ate one, but did not like it. She gave the rest to her courtiers, who ate them with no ill effects. Agnes and Walter fully expected Sibylla to die from their gift, but that was not what killed her.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Roger uneasily.

Geoffrey nodded. ‘Mandrake poisoning is characterized by gripping pains in the gut and purging. I have spoken to people who saw the Duchess in the final stages of her illness, and they mentioned no such symptoms: she slipped away peacefully. Agnes and Walter
wanted
to murder the Duchess, and even executed their plan to kill her, but they did not succeed.’

Agnes shot Walter an accusing glare. ‘
You
told me—’ she began, before realizing she should hold her tongue.

‘He told you mandrake is poisonous,’ finished Geoffrey. He held up the phial Durand had seen fall from Walter’s bag after the fire. ‘And he had this, which contained juice of mandrake root. Mandrake root is
very
toxic. However, he grabbed an empty pot from somewhere, and it was never full when you were with the Duchess.’

‘You
told
me you tested mandrake and it worked,’ Agnes snapped imprudently.

‘I saw it work in Italy,’ said Walter defensively. ‘I stole the pot later, so I would remember its name.’

Agnes sighed angrily, before shooting Geoffrey a triumphant smirk. ‘So, you have learnt the truth, but it means nothing. Our fruit did not harm Sibylla – as you have just proved – so we have committed no crime. We are innocent.’

‘And Sibylla is still dead,’ said Walter, contemptuous of Geoffrey’s conclusions and their implications. ‘And my mother will be duchess in her place.’

‘She can try,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But the rumours that she is a killer – regardless of whether they are true – mean that will never happen. Despite his infidelity, the Duke loved his wife.’

‘He did,’ agreed Giffard. ‘So do not be surprised if he declines your offer of marriage, Agnes.’

‘Come, Mother,’ said Walter loftily. ‘We do not have to listen to this. We are leaving.’

‘It is not safe,’ warned Geoffrey. ‘You are not Isabel and fitzNorman, who know the area and evoke sympathy as a blind woman and an old man. You will be caught and treated as spies.’

‘Well, I will not stay here,’ said Walter defiantly. He glared at Roger. ‘
He
might try to stab me when Baderon attacks and pretend I was struck by the enemy.’

‘Aye, lad,’ said Roger. ‘I just might.’

‘Thank you,’ said Giffard, as he sat with Geoffrey at the midday meal. The knight had little appetite, his nerves stretched taut from the imminent attack.

‘For what?’ he asked. ‘Proving what you did not want to hear? That Agnes
did
try to kill the Duchess, and that Walter was not only party to the plan, but provided her with the means to do it?’

‘You showed they did not succeed,’ said Giffard.

‘But they
wanted
to, and only failed because they used the wrong poison. That is almost as bad.’

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Giffard. ‘But I feel happier now that I have the truth – living with uncertainty was far worse. I feel safe, too: they will not try to hurt me now. Not after what Roger said.’

Geoffrey nodded. ‘But if they send gifts of yellow plums, you should not eat them.’

‘I doubt they will send me presents,’ said Giffard. ‘I am going to ask the King to place Agnes in a convent, and Walter will not become a man of significance without her. Their brush with power is over.’

‘You should eat something, Geoff,’ advised Roger, who was himself enjoying a sizeable portion of meat. ‘It is unlike you to refuse food. What is wrong?’

‘This situation,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘God knows we have seen battles before, but there is something deeply wrong about this one. I barely know what it is for, other than that Corwenna wants it.’

‘Do not dwell on it, or it will sap your concentration,’ advised Roger. ‘If the enemy is as numerous as we fear, then we need all the resources we can muster – including your wits.’

Reluctantly, Geoffrey accepted the bread Roger shoved into his hands, but he had taken no more than a mouthful before there was a shout. Geoffrey was on his feet in an instant, running across the hall and clattering down the stairs to the bailey, Roger at his heels.

‘They are here!’ called the white-faced man from the main gate’s fighting platform. ‘And there are thousands of them, stretching as far as the eye can see.’

Fourteen

‘Hundreds,’ corrected Geoffrey, scrambling up on to the fighting platform and trying to conceal his alarm at the size of the army Baderon had mustered. ‘Not thousands.’

With Roger at his side, he assessed the troops massing just out of arrow range. They formed a vast inverted U, with horsemen on each side, and a huge company of foot soldiers in the middle. Behind, watching from the vantage point of a knoll, were Baderon and his commanders. The Lord of Monmouth sat astride a dark bay. Lambert was on his right, identifiable by the fair hair below his helmet, and Hilde was to his left, atop a white pony. Corwenna was well to the front, however, head bared to reveal her auburn mane. She was standing in her stirrups, yelling. Even from a distance, her voice was clear and strong, and her words met with cheers.

Meanwhile, Goodrich’s defenders watched in horrified silence as rank after rank filed forward, armed with spears, battleaxes and shields. Just when Geoffrey thought the last had arrived, more appeared, until the fields around the castle gleamed silver with weapons and armour.

‘Lord!’ breathed Olivier. ‘We cannot withstand such a number. We shall be slaughtered.’

Roger clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘But you and I will take a few with us, eh? We shall meet in Paradise and exchange stories.’ Olivier looked terrified, and Geoffrey suspected Roger’s illusions about him were soon to be shattered once and for all.

‘We are well defended,’ said Joan firmly, although Geoffrey knew she spoke only for the benefit of the troops.

Geoffrey jumped from the platform and strode to where Bale waited with his warhorse. Durand was with him, dressed in something suspiciously like one of Father Adrian’s habits. Geoffrey could not find it in his heart to condemn Durand for donning clothes he hoped might see him spared. He was caught in the middle of a battle that was none of his making.

‘Remember what you promised me,’ Geoffrey said to Joan. ‘You cannot lead an attack yourself.’

She touched his cheek, her hand shaking. She was frightened, although her face betrayed no emotion. ‘Dear Geoff. But go, and let us pray we live to see each other again.’

He took the reins from Durand. ‘I am sorry,’ he said to his old squire. ‘You should not be here.’

‘No, I should not,’ agreed Durand fervently. ‘I knew it was a mistake coming here. Violence follows you, but this time you have excelled yourself. I do not envy Bale for what you are going to make him do today.’ He glanced at the squire. ‘Although he looks more than eager to begin.’

Bale was armed with an axe and a sword. Both were honed to a devastating sharpness, and the dull light in his eyes indicated he was ready.

‘You should hide,’ Geoffrey said to Durand, watching Roger prepare his mercenaries to engage the masses outside. ‘Remember the passage I told you about, which leads from my chamber to the woods? Go down it if we are overrun. Then tell the King what really happened.’

‘Very well,’ said Durand, terrified. ‘But let us hope it will not be necessary.’

With a great whoop, the gate was flung open and Roger hurtled out, his warriors streaming behind him. They flew across the space separating the invaders from the castle and, when the enemy broke ranks to meet them, Geoffrey signalled for his archers to begin their deadly attack. Roger tore among the front ranks with his broadsword, men falling around him like timber. Baderon’s troops fell back, and Geoffrey held his breath, half-expecting Roger to forget the plan in the heat of battle. But, still hacking at hapless stragglers, Roger yelled a retreat.

Geoffrey heard Lambert order his men to pursue Roger and watched as they obeyed, shields raised to fend off the deadly hail of arrows. As per his instruction, Roger veered to the right, towards Baderon’s right flank. The speed of the change confused the enemy, and some scattered, getting in the way of others trying to press forward. Roger wheeled away again.

Geoffrey ordered the gates opened a second time and led his own men out, yelling for them to keep in formation and not break ranks. He made a feint at the horsemen on the left, who had seen what happened to their comrades and were ready. They surged forward, but Geoffrey abruptly changed direction and aimed for the swarming foot soldiers, making sure Baderon’s left followed him.