A Head for Poisoning (42 page)

As he scrambled over an especially large pile of rocks, the walls of the tunnel came close together as they snaked between two large boulders. Geoffrey squeezed between them, but the space was narrower than he thought, and he became wedged. With a show of strength made great by blind terror, Geoffrey ripped free of the confines of the walls, and shot forwards onto his hands and knees.

In front of him was a stout door. Geoffrey heaved a sigh of relief, aware that he had reached the end of the tunnel, and that he would soon be out. Warily, he listened at the door for a few moments, before taking the handle and hauling it open.

“Malger!” he exclaimed in astonishment.

Sir Malger of Caen, the Earl of Shrewsbury's chief henchman, looked up from where he knelt next to a prostrate figure on the ground. Seeing Geoffrey, he leapt to his feet, hauling his sword from his belt, and assumed a fighting stance. Grateful that he had not abandoned his chain-mail completely, Geoffrey drew his own sword, and met Malger's lunge with an ear-splitting clash of metal, dropping the flaming torch as he used both hands to parry the blow.

He sprung backwards as Malger lunged a second time, kicking out so that the other man lost his balance and stumbled against the wall. Before he had a chance to take advantage of Malger's vulnerability, a moving shadow seen out of the corner of his eye warned that there was someone behind him. Ducking instinctively, he span round as Drogo's sword whistled through the air above his head. While Drogo recovered from his wild swing, Geoffrey jabbed his own sword forwards, and succeeded in slicing through the chain-mail on Drogo's arm. Drogo let out a howl of pain and rage, and came at Geoffrey, wielding his sword around his head, and striking sparks as it grazed the ceiling.

Meanwhile, Malger had regained his balance, and was advancing. Geoffrey darted forwards when Drogo's sword was high in the air, and drove the knight hard up against the wall, before grabbing his arm and swinging him round to collide with the advancing Malger. Both men stumbled, but not before Drogo had seized a handful of Geoffrey's tunic to haul him down with them.

Aware that Malger was already drawing his dagger, Geoffrey scrabbled his way clear of the thrashing melee of arms and legs, pausing only to bite a hand that made a snatch at his throat. Drogo grasped his leg, and brought him crashing to the ground, while Malger was on his feet and was coming forwards at a crouch, dagger at the ready. Geoffrey's well-aimed swipe with his own sword sent it skittering from his hand, and drew a cry of pain from Malger. Drogo hurled himself forwards, pinning Geoffrey's legs under his heavy body, leaving the knight all but helpless as Malger advanced yet again.

But Geoffrey had faced worst odds in the Holy Land, and was determined that he was not going to be summarily dispatched by the henchmen of the Earl of Shrewsbury. He twisted violently, so that Drogo's grip loosened, and he was able to strike at Malger with his sword. Malger ducked backwards and Geoffrey brought the heavy hilt down square upon Drogo's helmeted head. The resounding clang made Geoffrey's arm ache, and Drogo went limp. Malger backed off farther as Geoffrey struggled out from under Drogo's inert body. Then Malger's arm flicked upwards, and Geoffrey was enveloped in a cloud of swirling dust.

Geoffrey flapped it out of his face, but it was in his eyes, blinding him, and catching at the back of his throat. He began to cough, straining to look with his smarting eyes to where Malger might be. A shadow moved to his left, and Geoffrey whipped round, painfully aware that he could barely see, and struck out wildly with his sword. There was a grunt, and then a thrown stone struck him hard on the chin. Reeling, he lunged again, stabbing with his dagger in one hand and his sword in the other.

“Leave him,” shouted Malger as Drogo, thick skull quickly recovering from the stunning blow to the head, moved forwards again. Geoffrey leapt towards the voice, but his eyes were now stinging so much that he could not open them at all. Footsteps of someone running echoed briefly. Then there was the sound of a heavy door slamming, and all was silent.

Geoffrey groped his way to the wall, and slid into a sitting position, his eyes closed tightly and streaming. His instinct was to rub them, to rid them of the dust, but he knew from experience of desert storms that rubbing was likely to embed small particles in them, and make them worse. He sat blinking in the darkness, feeling tears course down his face, and hoping they were washing the dust away. He poked at his chin, where the rock had struck him, aware that, if it had been just a little higher, he might have lost some teeth. Geoffrey, unlike most men who had spent a lifetime fighting, was still in possession of a complete set of strong, white teeth, and he fully intended to keep it that way.

Eventually, the burning in his eyes lessened, and Geoffrey was able to open them and look around. Not that it did him any good, for Malger and Drogo had taken the torch with them, and Geoffrey had dropped his own when he was first attacked. It was pitch-black. As the realisation dawned on him that he was trapped in an underground cave in a darkness that was total, Geoffrey felt a familiar sensation of panic rising up inside him. His breath began to come in shallow gasps, and he felt as though he were suffocating.

He leaned back and clenched his hands tightly, forcing himself to take deep, long breaths, and trying to clear his mind of everything but his breathing, a technique to subdue his fear he had learned from a woman he met in the Holy Land. Gradually, the tightness in his chest eased, and the sense that he was being crushed by the weight of rock above faded. Once he had his breathing under control, he let himself relax, resting his hands on his knees, and leaning his head against the stone wall behind him.

It was not so bad, he told himself. The very worst that could happen was that he would have to climb back up the stairs again in the dark. But then the tunnel's narrowness would work to his advantage, because he could brace a hand on either side so he would not fall. Carefully, he clambered to his feet, thinking that he would feel around to see if he could find the torch he had dropped.

Still holding his sword, he began to prod about on the floor. His shuffling feet bumped against something soft, and he bent to put out a hand to feel it. Something flailed out and struck him, sending him sprawling before he realised what had happened. With a sickening clarity, he recalled that Malger had been kneeling over someone who lay prostrate on the ground. Even with Malger and Drogo gone, Geoffrey was still not alone.

Geoffrey sat in the blackness of the cavern, his ears ringing from the blow that had knocked him from his feet. He felt dizzy too, although whether that was from the punch or the disorienting effects of the darkness, he could not say.

“Who is there?” he called, knowing it was a stupid question, but short on other ideas.

“Get away!”

“Rohese?” he called, relieved as he recognised her voice.

“Leave me alone!”

“Rohese, it is Geoffrey. There is a torch on the floor. Help me find it, and then I will take you out of here. There is nothing to fear. Malger and Drogo have gone.”

He was aware of someone moving around behind him, and he turned, looking about him blindly. Then all was silent.

“Rohese, listen to me. Julian is worried about you. Help me find the torch, and I will take you to her.”

There was still no reply. Geoffrey thought he could probably wheedle and comfort all night long, but Rohese would not be easily convinced. He restarted a tentative search of the floor, keeping a careful ear out for any more tell-tale noises that might precede an attack. Eventually, after several collisions with the uneven walls of the cave, Geoffrey found the torch. He sat with it between his knees and struck a flint into the kindling he had brought.

The cave flared into light, and Geoffrey saw the terrified eyes of Rohese regarding him from the other side of it. He smiled reassuringly.

“See?” he said. “It is only me. Come. Julian will be pleased to see you.”

He stood, and walked towards her, holding out his hand. She appeared to be frozen with fear, until the moment when he leaned down to help her to her feet. Then she shied away from him, and darted away to the other side of the cave. Geoffrey did not want to spend all night chasing Rohese across an underground cavern, and felt his patience wearing thin.

“Rohese,” he said firmly, “you are quite safe now. The Earl has gone, and Julian is worried about you. You cannot stay here, so come with me.”

“Please!” she whispered. “Do not kill me. I promise I will not tell!”

“Tell what?” he said, without thinking.

“I promise I will not tell that you killed him,” she whispered.

“Killed who?” he asked, puzzled. “I have killed no one. Well, not in England, at least.”

“Of course!” she said, nodding furiously. “I will tell them that you did not do it.”

“Damn!” said Geoffrey as realisation of what she was talking about dawned on him. “I was hoping you might be able to help me, but now it appears you cannot.”

“I can!” she cried. “I will! Only please do not kill me.”

Geoffrey rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You think I am responsible for my father's murder. I can assure you, Rohese, I am not.”

Rohese looked at him in confusion. “But who else could it have been?”

“Walter?” suggested Geoffrey. “Or someone who came into the room after I was asleep.”

“Walter left,” said Rohese. “It was not him.”

“Did anyone else come in?” asked Geoffrey.

“I do not know,” sobbed Rohese. “I fell asleep—it was warm inside those mattresses. But I heard you talking to Sir Godric before he died.”

“When exactly?” asked Geoffrey.

Rohese gazed at him in mute terror. He perched on a rocky ledge, well away from her so she would not feel threatened, and spoke gently.

“Think, Rohese. I am hardly likely to murder my own father while you hid under the mattress, am I? And if I were, I would have killed you there and then. After I fell asleep, I spoke to no one until I was awoken the following morning with a bucket of cold water. But tell me what you saw or heard, and we might be able to work out who did murder Godric.”

“Joan came out of the garderobe after you slept—”

“Joan?” asked Geoffrey, startled. “But she was not in Godric's chamber.”

“She was,” insisted Rohese. “She must have come out of this passage.”

“Yes,” said Geoffrey, his thoughts whirling. “So she might.”

So, Joan knew of the presence of the secret tunnel, too. Had Enide told her? Had Godric? Or had she discovered it by some other means? Geoffrey supposed that Joan was unlikely to be indulging in anything overtly sinister the night that Godric died with the Earl in the chamber below, and so she had probably been checking the passage to ensure Rohese had not hidden there—in which case, Rohese was lucky Joan had not caught Geoffrey hiding her between the mattresses.

And that, Geoffrey realised suddenly, was what Godric had meant when he had warned Geoffrey against letting Joan discover that he had played a role in hiding Rohese away. Godric must have known that Joan was in the garderobe passage searching for Rohese, because he would have seen her enter it and not come out again. Geoffrey rubbed his itching eyes. Godric might have warned Geoffrey and Rohese that Joan was nearby and likely to catch them. But, Geoffrey supposed, if Joan had emerged and caught him red-handed, then Godric would have had a highly entertaining scene to watch—yet another argument between two of his children. The wicked old man was probably hoping Joan would catch Geoffrey hiding poor Rohese.

“What happened after Joan came out of the garderobe passage?” he asked, starting to pace back and forth restlessly.

“She pushed the chest back from where you had put it near the door, and left. Then there was an almighty competition between you and Walter to see who could snore the loudest—”

“I do not snore!” said Geoffrey indignantly.

But he might have done, he thought, since he had been heavily drugged. And Walter was drunk: he had slept through Geoffrey moving the chest towards the door and Joan pushing it back again, and nothing had roused him until dawn the following day.