A Head for Poisoning (27 page)

“It is nothing to do with me,” the small knight repeated, playing with the hilt of a highly decorated dagger with which Geoffrey would not have deigned to peel fruit, let alone carry at his side. “But Godric was very ill when she left a week ago. I imagine she thought he had not long for this world.”

“But Godric seems to have rallied somewhat now,” said Bertrada, looking hard at Geoffrey, her tone suggesting that this was not good tidings.

“I suppose the Earl has brought the copy of this wretched new will of Godric's,” said Walter. He pursed his lips, and looked at Geoffrey. “Are you sure
you
did not send for him?”

“I most certainly did not,” said Geoffrey.

The Earl of Shrewsbury was one of the last people Geoffrey would invite anywhere. If the King were sufficiently worried to recruit Geoffrey to ensure that the Earl was kept away from Godric's inheritance, then Geoffrey would just as soon not meet the Earl at all.

Godric's eyes gleamed in anticipation of recriminations and arguments to come. “You had better attend to Shrewsbury, then,” he said to Walter. “And send Rohese to me.”

Walter opened the door, and held it open for Geoffrey to precede him.

“Not a chance,” said Geoffrey, sitting near the fire. “The black-hearted Earl is your guest, not mine. I will stay here and ensure that father rests.”

Stephen walked towards the door, and there was an almost comical jostle as he and Walter tried to be the first one out to greet the Earl. The others followed, leaving Geoffrey alone with Godric.

It was not long before laughter and other sounds of gaiety drifted up from the hall, as the Earl and his retinue were treated to a welcome quite different to the one Geoffrey had received. A sound from the doorway caused Geoffrey to glance up from where he was helping Godric to sip some of his strong red wine. A woman stood just outside the door, beckoning to him. Reluctantly, Geoffrey went to see what she wanted.

“I see your taste in clothes has not improved since I last saw you,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and surveying his borrowed hose and shirt with some amusement. “You always were a ruffian.”

“Joan?” Geoffrey asked, subjecting his older sister to the same meticulous attention as she had given him. Her thick, curly brown hair was dusted with silver, and her slender figure had thickened since she had reached her forties. But she still possessed the restless energy that Geoffrey remembered, and the hard lines around her mouth suggested that time had honed, rather than softened, her domineering tendencies. He had entertained hopes that he might fare better with Joan than with his brothers in terms of civility, but such rashly held fantasies were rapidly dismissed.

“Of course I am Joan,” she retorted. “Who else is left, bird-brain? You have met our esteemed sisters-in-law Bertrada and Hedwise, and surely even you can see that I am not Enide risen from the grave!”

Geoffrey winced. For the first time since he had met him, Geoffrey felt sorry for Sir Olivier.

“Where is Rohese?” came a querulous voice from the bed.

“She will be with you as soon as she has warmed herself from the journey,” called Joan. “And before you say it, she will do better by the fire than tumbling about in this chilly hole with you.” She cast a disparaging glance around at Godric's room and shuddered. “This place reminds me of a whore-house!”

“Well, you should know!” shouted Godric furiously. Joan threw him a contemptuous glower, and began to walk down the stairs.

“The Earl of Shrewsbury has ordered that you attend him in the hall,” she said over her shoulder to Geoffrey as she left.

“Then the Earl of Shrewsbury can go to the Devil,” retorted Geoffrey. “I am not his vassal, especially since Walter seems to have used my manor of Rwirdin to secure Olivier d'Alençon for you.”

Joan paused and glared at him. “You should have been here, then, if you wanted Rwirdin so much. You cannot cheerfully leave our father and poor Walter to run your estate for you, and then swan back and demand it on whim.”

“Their stewardship of my manor has made a good deal of money for our father and poor Walter,” said Geoffrey acidly. “I do not think you will hear them complain.”

“Well, Rwirdin is mine now and you cannot have it back,” said Joan in a tone that suggested that, as far as she was concerned, the topic was laid to rest for good. “Now, do not be foolish and make an enemy of the Earl. He is waiting for you.”

“Then he can wait,” said Geoffrey, walking back into his father's chamber. “I do not care if I make an enemy of the Earl or not—I do not plan to be here long enough for that to matter.”

Joan stamped back up the stairs. “Do not be stupid, man! Do you know nothing of the Earl and his reputation?”

“Enough to know I do not want him as any acquaintance of mine,” said Geoffrey. “So, you can tell him to take his orders and—”

“Sweet Jesus, Geoffrey!” whispered Joan, casting an anxious glance back towards the stairs. “Do not play with fire in our house! If you will not come for yourself, then come for your family. We have no wish to draw his wrath down upon us!”

“I did not invite him here, you did,” said Geoffrey, as Stephen appeared behind Joan.

“What is keeping you?” Stephen demanded of Geoffrey. “The Earl is becoming impatient. Not only that, but your dog has just bitten him. You had better come and explain its foreign manners before he has it run through.”

Reluctantly, Geoffrey followed his brother and sister down the stairs, and his resolve to leave Goodrich as soon as possible strengthened with each step. At the far end of the hall, seated comfortably in front of a blazing hearth was Robert de Bellême, the Earl of Shrewsbury, laughing loudly at some anecdote that Olivier was telling him—probably his bold encounter with the wild boar. Despite his reticence, Geoffrey was interested to see in the flesh the man whom much of England and Normandy held in such fear. He was not disappointed. Geoffrey was a tall man, but the Earl was immense. Even seated, he dominated the hall. Falling to his shoulders was a mane of sparse grey-black hair, and his eyes were like tiny pieces of jet in his big, red face.

As Geoffrey walked closer, the Earl stopped laughing and affixed him with eyes that, on closer inspection, were reptilian. Geoffrey was not a man easily unsettled, and he had faced more enemies than he cared to remember, but there was something about the Earl's beady gaze that transcended any malevolence he had encountered before. He had a sudden conviction that King Henry's suspicion that Shrewsbury might have had a hand in the killing of William Rufus might not have been so outlandish after all.

He paused in front of the hearth and looked down at the Earl, before kneeling and rising so soon again that his obeisance was only just within the realms of courtesy. The Earl continued to regard him, and the hall was silent as everyone waited for the great man to speak.

“So,” he said eventually, tearing his eyes away from Geoffrey's steady gaze, and looking him up and down. “You are Sir Geoffrey Mappestone, newly returned from the Crusade.” His voice was deep and powerful, and Geoffrey could well imagine it directing the many battles that he was said to have fought and won.

The Earl continued when Geoffrey did not reply. “You do not look like a knight. Where is your chain-mail?”

“I was about to retire for the night,” replied Geoffrey coolly. “I do not usually wear it to bed.”

Olivier's imprudent laughter was silenced by a flick of the Earl's expressionless eyes. “I see,” he said. He took a hearty swig from the goblet he held and changed the subject abruptly. “Your sister tells me your father is near his end. You have timed your return well.”

“It was not timed at all,” said Geoffrey. “And he is not as ill as everyone seems to believe.”

He was certainly not too ill to consider a romp with his whore Rohese, thought Geoffrey. He looked at the assembled people and wondered which one she was—a woman brave enough, or feeble-minded enough, to serve both Godric and Joan.

“Really?” asked the Earl in a voice so soft it was sinister. “Your brothers are not under that impression, and so I have taken the liberty of bringing my personal priest to give Sir Godric last rites.”

He snapped imperious fingers, and a fat priest slid out from the ranks of the courtly retinue to disappear up the stairs.

“Thank you,” said Geoffrey politely. “That was a kindly thought.”

The Earl looked startled. “No one has called me kindly for many years—if ever. But tell me, Sir Geoffrey, how was the looting in the Holy Land? Did you bring many items of value home with you? Might I see them?”

“He brought nothing but a sackful of books,” said Henry, spitefully gesturing to Geoffrey's saddlebags near the Earl's chair.

“And three Arabian daggers,” added Walter helpfully.

“Books?” asked the Earl, confused. “Whatever for? Do you intend to renounce your worldly ways and take the cowl now you are home? I understand many knights have done so.”

“Absolutely not,” said Geoffrey. “I intend to return to my lord Tancred de Hauteville in the Holy Land as soon as possible.”

“Are you asking us to believe that you have made a dangerous journey of several weeks” duration, simply so that you can turn around and go back?” asked the Earl with arched eyebrows.

“Believe what you will,” said Geoffrey, shrugging. “It is the truth.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stephen gesturing desperately to him, urging him to be more polite, while the rest of his family appeared horrified by his disrespect to the Earl. But Geoffrey had no intention of being interrogated about his personal affairs by Shrewsbury or anyone else. If his family did not care for his attitude and threw him out of the castle, then so much the better—it would be an excellent excuse to escape the obligations imposed on him by the King, and the whole household could murder each other to their hearts” content.

“Well, you are here now,” said the Earl, sitting back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Geoffrey's face. “So, I suppose we had better make the best of it. How would you like to join my service for a few months? I can always use a good knight.”

Geoffrey was taken aback, and he was reminded of the murders he had solved in Jerusalem, when he had been recruited to the task by more than one of the warring princes who held power there. He had vowed that he would never allow himself to be put into a similar situation again, and since he was already under orders from the King, the Earl of Shrewsbury was out of luck.

“Thank you, no,” he said, forcing himself to be civil. “I will not be in England long, and anyway, I am already in the service of Tancred de Hauteville.”

“But I was given leave to understand that you are a knight in the retinue of the Duke of Normandy,” said the Earl, looking at Stephen briefly before bringing his cold eyes back to bear on Geoffrey. “What has possessed you to abandon the Duke and flee to the service of another?”

“It was on the orders of the Duke that I went to Tancred,” said Geoffrey, nettled by the implication that his loyalties were cheap, “although I fail to see what concern that is of yours.”

The sharp intakes of breath from the Earl's courtiers and the horrified faces of his family suggested that Geoffrey's answer might have been less than prudent. For several moments, the Earl did nothing but stare at Geoffrey, his expression unreadable.

“I meant no offence,” the Earl said finally, although his tone was anything but conciliatory. “I asked merely because the Duke is a good friend of mine, and I always look to the interests of my friends. But we waste time here, Sir Geoffrey. I called you to me for two reasons. First, so that I could see you and make my own assessment of Godric's youngest son. And second, so that you could make reparation to me for the nasty nip I have suffered from that evil beast you call a dog.”

Geoffrey's heart sank, and he looked around for the animal.

“Have no fear,” said the Earl. “I have not ordered it to be dispatched. Yet. But what have you to offer me in recompense for my wound, other than books, of course?”

“Just advice,” said Geoffrey, as determined that the Earl should not intimidate him into offering compensation as the Earl was to have it. “Dogs bite. Stay away from them.”

This time, there were no sharp intakes of breath: Geoffrey had gone too far. Blood drained from the Earl's face as he rose from his chair, his big body taut with anger. He advanced on Geoffrey, his thick fingers resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. Geoffrey cursed himself for dispensing with his chain-mail and weapons. He was never without them while out on patrols, and the situation at Goodrich ever since he had arrived was every bit as dangerous as was chasing Saracens in the desert. He did not back away as the Earl drew nearer, but he was tense, ready to leap to one side if the Earl were to haul his gigantic broadsword from his belt.