A Head for Poisoning (54 page)

“How did you know that?” asked Henry, astonished.

“Because Enide is nothing if not thorough,” said Geoffrey with a sigh. “With the death of two men found in possession of her veil, the business of her alleged murder was at an end. No one would think any more about it—which was what Father Adrian said she had intended. She wanted to disappear as completely as possible, and she did not want discussions of her unsolved murder to keep her memory fresh in people's minds.”

“Are you accusing me of slaying innocent men?” demanded Henry.

“Since you saw Enide alive yourself a few moments ago, what do you think?” said Geoffrey, eyeing his brother askance. Henry had always been slow, but increasing age had made him much worse. “They made a false confession to you because you terrified them into it.”

“Oh!” said Henry. “What have I done?”

“What indeed?” asked Geoffrey. “Next time you kill someone, you might want to pay a little more attention to detail. Such as whether you have the right victim. And now, since you killed their menfolk, you are responsible to ensure that their families do not starve—assuming that they have not done so already. You should bring them to Goodrich, and find some employment for them.”

“I will do that,” said Henry fervently. “I will. Lord save us. What a mess! That Enide! What has she done to us?” He rose to his feet again. “I will kill her for this!”

“You told me the King's chief hunter has already had that honour,” said Geoffrey.

“Would that he had not!” shouted Henry. “I would sooner slay her myself. The treacherous, murdering, lying, evil—”

“Initially, the conspirators were Enide, Godric, Norbert, the physician, Malger, Drogo, and your wife,” said Geoffrey to Stephen, ignoring Henry's futile rage. “Pernel was killed because she was too gleeful about the plot, and Enide was afraid she might betray them all with her indiscretion.”

“I always suspected Enide had something to do with poor Pernel's death,” said Stephen weakly. “And I threatened to kill her for it. But someone got there before me—or at least I thought they had.”

Geoffrey nodded. That made sense. Enide had decided to disappear after she had become ill from the paints in Godric's room and had erroneously deduced that someone was trying to kill her. Since Stephen had threatened to do exactly that, to avenge his wife's death, Enide had probably assumed he was already trying, and so she had inveigled Adrian into faking her death so that she would be free to act without Stephen dogging her every step.

“That business with Pernel is long since done and forgotten,” said Henry soothingly. “Do not dwell on the matter now.”

“She is not forgotten by me,” said Stephen, so softly he was difficult to hear. “She was my wife.”

“But she cuckolded you,” said Henry harshly. “She slept with any knight who visited the castle, and she was greedy, cruel, and selfish.”

“She must have fitted in well at Goodrich, then,” murmured Geoffrey, although not loud enough for Stephen to hear.

Stephen's eyes welled tears. “Perhaps she was not all a wife should have been,” he said in a whisper. “But I still loved her. She was so beautiful!”

Geoffrey rubbed his chin and looked down at his brother. Stephen's short hair was wet from sweat, and his eyes were black and sunken. Geoffrey took a deep breath, and pressed on. There was not much time left.

“Last spring, when father first believed he was being poisoned, he hired a food taster called Torva to find out who was the culprit. Torva began to investigate, and uncovered not the plan to kill Father but the one to kill Rufus. Pernel was apparently fanatical about it, and was so pleased to be part of the plot that she probably told Torva.”

“Rufus was a hateful man,” whispered Stephen. “He was unnatural and deserved to die. Pernel was a good woman and his behaviour offended her Christian virtues.”

Geoffrey had heard that argument before, and was not convinced that offending Christian virtues was an entirely acceptable motive for murder. After the Crusade, he was no longer certain what Christian virtues entailed—other than an excuse to loot, murder, burn, rape, and pillage in other people's countries.

“So Torva learned about Pernel's desire to kill Rufus, and what happened next, Stephen? Did he try to blackmail you after she had died?”

“Worse,” breathed Stephen. “He tried to blackmail Enide. Foolish man! I saw Enide leave the castle shortly after Torva went to indulge in his nightly binge at the tavern. Torva never came back alive, and the following morning, Enide was back in her chamber as though nothing had happened.”

“Stop this, Geoffrey,” protested Henry. “Now is no time for such revelations—Stephen needs a priest, not a meaningless conversation about things that happened a long time ago.”

“Then fetch Father Adrian,” said Geoffrey. “You can be to Goodrich and back in an hour.”

“It might be too late by then,” said Henry. “And anyway, this is Caerdig's land. I am not riding alone through it with him skulking in the woods.”

“Take Helbye,” said Geoffrey. “He will protect you.”

Henry glowered at him and declined his offer, so Geoffrey sent Barlow for Father Adrian.

“I will not live to see a priest,” said Stephen weakly. “I will make my confession to you, my brothers. Then you can avenge my death, and make an end of her.”

“There has been enough avenging already,” said Geoffrey. And he had no wish to know Stephen's sins. “This family makes the Earl of Shrewsbury seem like a saint.”

“It is not us, it is
her,
” said Stephen. “She was always causing us to fight. When we were at peace with each other, she would needle us into arguments, pretending to find some document that proved someone's illegitimacy, or saying that she had overheard one of us making secret pacts with Godric.”

“That is true,” agreed Henry. “My wife, Hedwise, was always saying we would fight less if Enide were not here.”

“She was not here when I returned a few days ago, but you were still fighting,” Geoffrey remarked.

“That was different,” said Henry. “By then, she had sowed so many seeds of discontent, that we would have had enough to quarrel about had Godric lived to be a hundred.”

“Listen, Stephen,” Geoffrey said. “Shrewsbury told King Henry about the plot to kill him, because he did not think it would succeed and he wanted to be on the winning side. By then, Godric was dying and Pernel had been killed by Malger. Now Norbert is dead, also killed by Malger; Malger is dead, killed by Enide; Drogo has not the sense to keep himself alive without Malger; Enide is said to have been shot by the chief huntsman; and the physician was killed by Ingram.”

“The physician?” asked Henry. “Francis? Killed by Ingram?”

“I expect one of the King's agents paid Ingram to do it,” said Geoffrey. “The boy is stupid and greedy enough to accept such a commission for pay. And finally, you, Stephen, very conveniently happened to ride in front of the King's bow.”

“The King would never shoot a man deliberately,” proclaimed Henry hotly. “He is honest and just. I have already told you—when you are on a hunt and you see something move, you just fire at it while you have the chance. The beaters are always getting shot by mistake.”

“No wonder the King pays them good money,” said Geoffrey. “But whether it was an accident or not, every one of the King's would-be killers is now dead. Were you one of those, Stephen?”

“What proof do you have for these accusations?” demanded Henry, rising abruptly and standing over Geoffrey with clenched fists. “You come prancing back from the Holy Land, without so much as a silver goblet to show for it and accuse your own family of committing terrible crimes!”

Geoffrey was silent. He had very little to support his guess that Stephen was the last of the conspirators, although Stephen had denied nothing. Was Enide telling him the truth when she had said there was one other? Or was she simply trying to confuse him?

“Well?” asked Geoffrey of his dying brother. “Am I right? Did you conspire to kill the King?”

Stephen closed his eyes, and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Because Pernel was so deeply involved in the plot to kill Rufus, others have assumed that I shared her passion. I did not. I never plotted to kill Rufus, and I most certainly did not conspire to kill King Henry. In fact, I tried hard to dissuade Pernel from getting involved at all. She would not listen. I did not even know that Enide was still alive until the night Godric died. I met her then.”

“You were locked out of the castle,” said Geoffrey, thinking fast. “Malger had replaced our guards on the gates with his own, because he thought ours were inadequate. By the time you returned from seeing the dog that was about to pup, the guards would not let you in again. So, you used the secret tunnel to gain entry instead.”

“What tunnel?” demanded Henry.

Stephen nodded. “I met Enide in the chamber at the bottom of the stairs. I cannot tell you which of us suffered the greater shock! She told me of her plan to kill King Henry. I tried to dissuade her, as I had Pernel, but she was beyond reason.”

Then that must have been while Rohese was still sleeping under Godric's mattresses, Geoffrey thought, or they would all have bumped into each other. “And she let you leave unscathed?” he asked. “That does not sound like Enide.”

“She let me go because I offered to inform Godric of what was afoot,” said Stephen. “She could not: she was supposed to be dead. Godric and I argued about it—or rather, he yelled at me about it. I wondered then how you could sleep through it, but assumed you simply wanted to listen without becoming involved. I had no idea you were drugged. I am guilty of concealing Enide's resurrection from you all; I am guilty of concealing the fact that I suspected Enide of killing Torva; I am guilty of not forcing Pernel to give up her foolish notions of regicide. But I have not killed, and I have not plotted to murder any kings.”

His eyes closed in exhaustion. Geoffrey rubbed his temples, sighed, and tipped his head back, looking at the low, grey-bellied clouds that scudded above him.

“I told you it would be too late to fetch Father Adrian,” said Henry in a low voice.

Stephen was dead.

It was a sombre procession that wound its way along the path that led from Lann Martin to Goodrich bearing the body of Stephen across Geoffrey's destrier. The path was grassy and overgrown from lack of use. Geoffrey remembered that it had been well trodden when he was a boy, and was angry that Enide's plotting and intrigue had spread not only to devastate her own family but had even touched the innocent villagers of Lann Martin, too. The route to the market town of Walecford through the Goodrich estate had been a convenient and useful short-cut from Lann Martin in former, happier days.

“Caerdig?” Geoffrey yelled to the silent trees.

Henry regarded him askance. “Caerdig is not here. And less of this unseemly shouting. We are bearing the corpse of our brother here. Have you no respect for the dead?”

To one side of them, the trees parted and Caerdig stepped out, followed by several of his villagers. All carried the sticks and staves that they had been using to beat the game through the forest for the King and his hunting party.

“God's blood, Geoffrey!” muttered Henry, snatching his sword from his saddle. “What did you call him for? Now we will all be slain!”

“Put your sword away,” said Geoffrey, not taking his eyes from Caerdig. “You have nothing to fear. We have been trailed ever since we left the forest clearing, and if Caerdig had wanted us killed, we would be dead already.”

“And we might kill you yet,” said Daffydd, the man who wore the strange cap, as he fingered a sword with a broken tip.

“Hush, Daffydd,” said Caerdig. “This might be our chance for peace.”

“Peace?” thundered Henry. “Peace? Why should I make peace with you?”

“Less of this unseemly shouting,” said Geoffrey to Henry. “Have you no respect for the dead?”

“We need peace because too much evil has been perpetrated here already,” said Caerdig. “And who among us would not like to walk these paths without expecting a knife between the shoulder-blades at every step? It is time this nonsense ended.”

“Why now?” demanded Henry. “Do you think the Mappestones are weak because Stephen is dead?” He spat in derision.

“I tried for peace before, if you recall,” said Caerdig. “I offered to marry Joan or Enide, so that our estates would live in harmony.”

“But you have stolen my inheritance!” snarled Henry. “Lann Martin is mine, left to me by my mother.”

“It was not hers to leave,” said Caerdig firmly. “It belonged to Ynys, and Ynys wanted me to succeed him.”

“You are not Ynys's legitimate heir,” shouted Henry, furious. “And so the estate should have passed back to us.”