The Bloodstained Throne (31 page)

‘You smeared his injury with your balm,’ Geoffrey said, thinking it was time he resolved whether Juhel had poisoned him once and for all. ‘Do you still have it?’

Juhel looked uncomfortable. ‘No. Roger accused me of poisoning you with it, so I threw it away before he could add something toxic, then denounce me as a murderer. I have seen how scapegoats are procured, and I am too easy a target – a lone Breton among Normans and Saxons.’

‘Roger was right to accuse you. You do not like Magnus, and it was not me you wanted to harm, but
him
. The pot has two sides – red and blue – but in your excitement at having your victim at your mercy, you confused them.’

Juhel was aghast. ‘That is a dreadful thing to say! I would not know the first thing about feeding a man noxious substances.’

‘Obviously, as Magnus and I are still alive. I should have listened to Philippa when she told me you were a killer. She saw you throw Paisnel overboard – and saw him wave his arm in a feeble attempt to call the boat back.’

Juhel’s jaw dropped. ‘She is lying.’

‘I thought so, too. But Donan also saw him struggling in the water.’

Juhel began to tremble, his face ivory pale. ‘That cannot be true! He was dead.’

‘You admit tossing him over the side?’ pounced Geoffrey.

Juhel put his head in his hands. ‘He was dead! There was no life-beat.’

‘The cold water must have shocked him into consciousness. Why did you kill him? I thought you were friends.’

‘I did
not
kill him,’ whispered Juhel. ‘I admit to tipping his body into the sea. But only after someone else had stabbed him.’

Geoffrey did not believe him. ‘You probably murdered Vitalis, too,’ he said in disgust. ‘A frail old man. How could you?’

‘He was not as helpless as you think,’ said Juhel, some of his fire returning. ‘But
I
did not kill him, and I did not kill Paisnel.’

‘Right,’ said Geoffrey, walking away.

It had not been a pleasant interview, and Geoffrey was disheartened. When he saw Roger sitting on the hospital steps, he flopped down next to him and put his head in his hands.

‘I have been thinking,’ the big knight said. ‘It is beginning to feel very dangerous here, so I recommend we walk to the nearest town, buy horses, then ride to Winchester. I trust Breme to deliver your message, but it occurs to me that Henry may later ask why we did not do it ourselves.’

Geoffrey was relieved. It was a sensible plan. ‘Shall we go now?’

‘No – tonight is the eve of the Feast of St Columba, and I intend to keep a vigil until dawn. We shall leave tomorrow at dusk, when the darkness will afford us some protection. Besides, you need the additional day to regain more of your strength. You are still too pale for my liking.’

Geoffrey stared at him. ‘St Columba? Who is he?’

Roger waved an expansive hand. ‘A holy man – Irish, I believe. Or Scottish. God’s blood! What is Ulfrith doing to that woman now?’

Philippa’s furious voice was audible over most of the abbey as she screeched her outrage. Geoffrey hurried towards them, Roger at his heels, wondering whether the squire had done something that would see them on their way sooner than anticipated. Galfridus would not want female guests to suffer sexual advances while they were under his protection.

‘My Lady!’ cried Ulfrith, distraught. ‘I meant no harm. I love you!’

Geoffrey saw Lucian nearby, watching the scene with a troubled expression. Philippa looked at him out of the corner of her eye while she railed at Ulfrith, who hung his head with shame. Geoffrey frowned, wondering what she was up to.

‘I must go to the chapter house,’ mumbled Lucian, edging away. ‘Brother Ralph is reading from the writings of the Venerable Bede.’

‘Do not leave me!’ cried Philippa, swinging around fast, so the folds of Edith’s cloak billowed. ‘Not to the mercy of louts. Why did you not tell Ulfrith that I am already taken? We have an understanding – I gave you my necklace as our troth.’

‘You gave me your necklace for my journey to Bath,’ corrected Lucian, a little coolly. ‘There was no “understanding” between us. How could there be? I am a monk.’

Philippa gaped at him. ‘But you said you would renounce your vows for me.’

The flicker of unease that crossed Lucian’s face convinced Geoffrey she was telling the truth, but the monk remained firm. ‘You are mistaken, madam. My vows are sacred.’

Philippa was furious. ‘It is because of what you read in Vitalis’s will,’ she declared accusingly. ‘You had no right to steal it from me and poke through it without my permission.’

Lucian shrugged. ‘You do not own it. So how could you, a woman who willingly undertook a bigamous marriage, stop me?’

Geoffrey understood immediately what had happened: Lucian had not known Philippa’s ‘marriage’ was illegal and had expected her to inherit Vitalis’s wealth. Now he was in retreat – and Philippa had used the hapless Ulfrith, fooling the boy into molesting her in the hope that Lucian would be forced to declare himself publicly before it was too late.

‘So, Aelfwig was right: you
did
only want me for my money,’ said Philippa, bitterly accepting the truth. ‘Except that now you know I have none.’

‘Men of God are not interested in money, lass,’ said Roger slyly. He looked hard at Lucian. ‘Unless he is an imposter, of course, and no more a monastic than I am.’

The altercation had attracted the attention of several monks, Aelfwig among them.

‘Lucian is not an imposter,’ said Aelfwig, not altogether happily. ‘He may not act like one of us, but I have visited the abbey at Bath, and he
is
the bursar there. He is most certainly a powerful member of our Order.’

‘He may be powerful, but he is not rich,’ said Geoffrey. ‘His “gold” cross was actually painted steel, and he has been inveigling money, rings and necklaces from anyone who will part with them. And I imagine he has no intention of repaying any “loans”, either. Anything left over when he reaches Bath will go straight into his abbey’s coffers – from which there will be no return.’

Lucian looked angry. ‘So I collect funds for my abbey. What of it? There is nothing wrong with vain women parting with baubles for a worthy cause. I keep very little for myself. Ask my Bishop.’

‘He knows what you do?’ asked Aelfwig, shocked.

Lucian regarded him coldly. ‘He sanctions it.’

‘You do it to curry his favour, because you have no influential family to help you,’ surmised Roger. ‘You lied about that. You are—’

‘You forget yourself!’ snarled Lucian. ‘My family owns most of Herefordshire and my father has the ear of the King.’

Geoffrey smiled. ‘My own estates are in Herefordshire, and I know the biggest landowners. Your family is not among them. Like me, they may hold a tiny part, but they will not be wealthy.’

‘I did my best to warn you,’ said Aelfwig to Philippa. ‘I told you not to give him anything.’

Philippa scowled at Lucian, who scowled at Aelfwig. ‘So I have parted with my necklace,’ she said flatly. ‘The only thing of value I own – for a man who does not intend to marry me?’

‘There is still me,’ said Ulfrith generously. ‘
I
will marry you.’

‘But I do not want
you
,’ she sneered, making the squire take a step away, stung. ‘Boy!’

Geoffrey watched her, amazed at the risks she had taken to secure herself a safe future. He wondered what else had she done in her relentless pursuit of a man who would keep and protect her. And then answers snapped clear in his mind. Carefully, he eased back her cloak, then pointed to the purse that he had seen as she had twirled around. Protruding from the top was a strand of red ribbon.

‘You killed your friend,’ he said. ‘And your husband.’

‘I did not!’ screeched Philippa furiously. ‘Why would I kill Vitalis, when he was my provider? And Edith said she would look after me.’

‘But she could not guarantee it,’ said Geoffrey. ‘The chances are that she would have been forced to marry another wealthy suitor, and then what would have happened to you? Women are seldom allowed to control the money they inherit, and you knew Edith might not have been able to keep her promise. It was safer to kill her and try for Lucian.’

To Geoffrey’s surprise, Philippa proved quick-thinking and resourceful, quite unlike the babbling imbecile he had taken her for. She came towards him with a sly smile.

‘You are wrong,’ she said. ‘About everything. I loved Vitalis and I loved Edith. And, anyway, Edith was killed when I was with Roger – with whom I spent the night.’

‘Oh, God!’ whispered Ulfrith shakily.

‘Yes – we were here, in the church,’ said Roger, more to the listening monks than Ulfrith. ‘So you must be wrong, Geoff. She could not have killed Edith. I still think it was Lucian.’

‘Lucian was in the Lady Chapel from vespers until prime,’ said Aelfwig, although he regarded his fellow monk with deep distaste. ‘And a dozen brothers will tell you the same.
We
were praying that Bellême will not invade England, and
he
was asking God to send him some money.’

But Geoffrey now knew the truth. He continued to address Philippa. ‘Edith was strangled
before
you sought out Roger’s company. You used him because you knew you might need an alibi.’

‘She was alive when I left, and dead when I returned,’ said Philippa coldly. ‘And
you
cannot prove otherwise. It is dreadful of you to say these things when I am alone and unprotected.’

She shot a rueful glance at Lucian and drew the cloak more closely around her shoulders. As she did so, one of its pleats opened and revealed the lining underneath. The material was scarlet, but there was a corner that had been ripped away. Geoffrey stepped forward to inspect it, recalling what he had seen in Edith’s dead hand. Philippa shoved him away with considerable force and stalked out with her head held high, defiance in her every move.

‘Was that ripped when she killed Edith?’ asked Roger uneasily.

‘I imagine there was an argument between them,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘And the ribbon was to hand. It is not difficult for one woman to throttle another, if her blood is up. Then she was cunning enough to slip out and secure herself an alibi.’

‘Unfortunately, throttling Edith did nothing to affect Philippa’s situation one way or the other,’ said Lucian. ‘I read Vitalis’s will today. He bequeathed everything to sons from an earlier marriage, and Edith was to have a paltry pension until her next marriage. Philippa was not even mentioned.’

‘He is right,’ added Aelfwig. ‘She brought me the will when she first arrived, and wept bitterly when I read it to her. She snatched it back, and I assumed she intended to destroy it, perhaps with a view to composing one that was more congenial to her.’

‘Yet you did nothing to stop her?’ asked Lucian. ‘And you criticize
my
behaviour! Hypocrite!’

‘She is a poor Saxon lass,’ flared Aelfwig. ‘Abused by greedy Normans. Of course I kept quiet about the will in the hope that it would give her a chance to redress the injustice of her situation. I did not think she would stoop to murder . . .’

‘Philippa is not Saxon,’ sneered Lucian. ‘She said she was kin to my Bihop, John de Villula – and he is as Norman as they come. She said an alliance with her would earn me untold favour in ecclesiastical courts.’

‘And you believed her?’ demanded Aelfwig archly. ‘When she is so patently poor?’

‘I am unused to liars,’ replied Lucian stiffly. ‘So yes, I believed her – until a few moments ago, when she slipped up with some insignificant fact. I might have overlooked it, had she not then promptly tried to distract me from it by screeching that the squire had assaulted her.’

‘And I never touched her,’ whispered Ulfrith, still shocked.

‘It seems we all underestimated her,’ said Geoffrey quietly. ‘She is far cleverer than we thought.’

‘What a merry dance she has led us all!’ muttered Roger, half disapproving and half admiring. He addressed Geoffrey. ‘So, is that it? Philippa killed Edith? Did she dispatch Vitalis, too?’

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘She had far too much to lose. Edith did not kill him, either, because Philippa would have stopped her.’

‘So what happens now?’ asked Roger. ‘Will she hang? It is a pity – she is a pretty wench.’

‘Not on the evidence we have,’ said Geoffrey. He lowered his voice. ‘However, I would recommend you keep Ulfrith away from her. She is bitter and vengeful, and I would not like to think of her striking at us through him.’

Thirteen

‘I shall never understand monks,’ said Roger as he packed up his salvaged possessions later that day. Ulfrith sat in the window looking miserable, while Bale sharpened his knives, humming under his breath. Geoffrey sat on the edge of the bed and took sips from Ulfrith’s water flask. Nearby, Aelfwig was folding blankets. ‘They let themselves be deceived by a pretty face.’

So, too, had Roger, by allowing Philippa to use him as her alibi, but Geoffrey said nothing.

‘Monastics
are
a strange breed,’ agreed Bale. ‘These notions of not bearing arms and living in peace are not normal. And Lucian
is
a monk, because he did not slaughter anyone after all – Philippa strangled Edith, and the shepherd’s death was an accident.’

It was peculiar logic, but Geoffrey did not feel inclined to take issue with him.

‘So Juhel must have murdered Paisnel and probably Vitalis, too,’ mused Roger. ‘Which means that all the murders are solved, but not one culprit will pay the price. Juhel will slip away and may well kill again, and Philippa will find herself a rich husband.’

‘You are wrong,’ said Ulfrith from the window, although his voice lacked conviction. ‘She is too beautiful to be a murderess.’

Aelfwig clicked his tongue admonishingly. ‘You had a lucky escape, my boy. If I had known the love potion you charged me to make was to be used on her, I would never have sold it to you.’