It was with a heavy heart that Geoffrey rode back to Goodrich, Durand at his side. The day was still clear and fine, with sun streaming through branches beginning to show the first greening of spring.
‘What do you think of Baderon’s story?’ Geoffrey asked. ‘Do you believe him?’
‘No,’ said Durand, without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Seguin gives him a dagger with a ruby in it – a ruby, mark you, not a piece of glass – and he shoves it in a chest and does not realize it has been stolen for months? A likely story!’
‘But Goodrich’s servants say Baderon wanted Henry alive.’
Durand was dismissive. ‘He has a temper – you saw how quickly he attacked you in that church. I imagine he did the same to Henry, only Henry was drunk and unable to defend himself.’
Geoffrey supposed that was a possibility.
Durand continued. ‘Then this wretched Black Knife starts to rove all over the place. Joan wraps it in holy cloth, but Olivier removes it from their bedchamber and it disappears for a long time. Then you arrive, and it appears again. The King sees it passed to Baderon, and it is used to murder Baderon’s own son. But Baderon is a liar: I do not believe for a moment that he paid good silver to retrieve a dagger that might cause a rift between him and Goodrich.’
‘You do not like him, do you?’
‘No,’ declared Durand fervently. ‘He would have killed you, had you not ducked out of the way – and then he would have told Joan that he had nothing to do with the death of her youngest brother, either. No, I do not like him.’
Geoffrey imagined the real reason Baderon had earned Durand’s dislike was because of what had happened at Dene. Durand did not forgive insults to his dignity, and he was no doubt delighted to see Baderon in such dire straits. But although Durand was spiteful, his reasoning was flawless. Geoffrey saw Baderon was still very much a suspect.
They arrived at Goodrich, where people continued to discuss Hugh’s death. Giffard was quiet and withdrawn, so Geoffrey sat with him, hoping he would take comfort from a friend’s proximity. He knew exactly why Giffard was upset: the glance Agnes had shot her son had all but confessed Walter’s involvement in Sibylla’s death.
‘I should not have drawn my sword against you,’ Baderon said to Geoffrey as the company assembled for the midday meal. He looked old, weary and tearful. ‘You offended me, but you had good reason to do so. I hope my poor manners will not damage our friendship?’
Geoffrey accepted the apology with amiable grace and then left the hall, not wanting to discuss the matter further. Outside, Olivier was struggling in a strong wind to saddle his pony, and Geoffrey wondered why he did not do it in the stables. Then he recalled Olivier’s admission that he had avoided the stables since Henry’s death. It seemed ridiculous that a grown man should be so unnerved – especially since Geoffrey had removed the charms and dried blood – but Olivier tartly reminded him of his own unease in caves.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, watching Olivier’s inept fumbling.
‘Out,’ replied Olivier. ‘I like visitors, but these guests are taxing.’
Geoffrey knew what he meant. ‘May I come with you?’
Olivier smiled. ‘I should be glad of the company – and the protection. This Black Knife is at large again, and who knows when the thing will strike next?’
‘Never, with luck. May I ride your palfrey? He is not exercised enough.’
‘Dun? Yes, but do not expect me to take a turn on him. I do not like undisciplined horses.’
Bale came to assist with the saddling, but was more hindrance than help. Eventually, Geoffrey climbed on Dun’s back, only to have the horse rear suddenly, as though he had never carried a rider before. Geoffrey was obliged to shorten the reins in order to control him.
‘He is a lively beast,’ said Olivier. ‘Baderon warned he was wild when he sold him to me. I would ask Eleanor for a charm to calm him, but she is gone God knows where and, unless you are prepared to take him, he must be sold, because there is no one else who can manage him.’
Geoffrey quickly discovered what he meant, as Dun shot off like an arrow from a bow, leaving Olivier behind. People scuttled out of the way as he rounded a corner far faster than was safe. He slowed as they passed the church, although Dun still reared and bucked furiously.
‘There is something wrong with him,’ he said, as Olivier caught up.
‘He is itching for exercise,’ explained Olivier, spurring his pony forward and heading for the woods. He bounced in his saddle like a sack of grain. ‘Give him his head; he will soon tire.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ muttered Geoffrey, who did not think that Dun’s behaviour had anything to do with excess energy. The beast pranced and then bucked hard, forcing Geoffrey to grip tightly with his knees. Another horseman was riding towards him: Seguin, followed by a servant with a cart.
‘Having trouble?’ Seguin asked, watching Dun’s antics with amusement. ‘He just needs a decent run. Or are you too frightened to let such an animal have his freedom?’
‘Why are you here?’ retorted Geoffrey. He glanced at the cart, which carried a wooden box and a blanket. ‘Have you come for Hugh? He is at Walecford, not Goodrich.’
Seguin scowled. ‘The message I received said he is at Goodrich – where he was murdered.’
‘Then it was wrong,’ replied Geoffrey coolly. ‘Incidentally, Baderon says you gave him a dagger with a ruby hilt. I do not suppose you have seen it recently?’
‘It was a fine weapon, but he shoved it in a chest,’ glowered Seguin. ‘The next thing I knew, it was in Henry. But I have not seen it since. If I do, you will be the first to know.’ He made a violent stabbing motion with his hand and rode away.
Gingerly, Geoffrey touched his heels to Dun’s sides and eased the pressure on the reins. The horse started to walk in an odd, sideways gait that told Geoffrey he wanted to go faster. He kept the animal tightly under control until they were well past the village, and caught up with Olivier, who was singing to himself. Olivier continued to warble, indicating with a gesture that music calmed horses. It seemed to work, and they reached the edge of the woods without further incident. A long, straight path stretched out in front of them, heading upwards into a twiggy tunnel.
‘I think I might trot,’ said Olivier, kicking his nag to a slightly quicker pace. The sudden cessation of music and another animal moving ahead were too much for Dun. Ignoring Geoffrey’s commands, he began to gallop. Supposing he might as well let him, Geoffrey eased his grip on the reins, as Dun moved like the wind. Then Dun started his curious bucking movements at speed, taking Geoffrey by surprise. He lurched forward roughly, then heard something snap. While he was still trying to regain his balance, Dun bucked again. Geoffrey felt the saddle loose underneath him. And then he was flying head over heels into a patch of brambles.
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Olivier, trotting up. ‘Are you all right?’
Geoffrey did a rough inventory. His head was spinning, but only his pride was damaged. ‘Yes.’
‘Do not struggle,’ instructed Olivier. ‘Or you will become more deeply entangled. Let me cut some of these thorns away.’
Geoffrey watched him sawing the thick, spiked branches. ‘I have not been thrown by a horse in years. Perhaps you should sell him, Olivier. He is too much for me, too.’
Olivier shoved his dagger in its sheath and offered Geoffrey his hand. Geoffrey half-expected them both to end up in the brambles, but Olivier soon had him extricated. Dun stood quietly, head down. Olivier held the bridle and crooned softly, while Geoffrey went to remove the saddle, which clung at an odd angle. He showed it to Olivier.
‘The strap is broken.’ Geoffrey felt better knowing that the accident resulted from faulty equipment.
‘Not broken,’ said Olivier, studying it. ‘Sawn through. You can see the smooth line of a cut made by a knife, then a jagged part that broke under the strain. Someone deliberately damaged it.’
Geoffrey was angry. ‘How could someone have been so stupid? Joan might have been killed!’
‘No,’ said Olivier. ‘This saddle is only ever used for Dun, and Joan does not use him. There was no chance of anyone riding Dun but you.’
Geoffrey gazed at him. ‘Someone did this to harm me?’
Olivier nodded. ‘Yes, because here is something else – metal shards twisted into the saddle. No wonder Dun bolted! These spikes, along with the damaged strap, were certain to cause an accident.’
‘Who would have done this?’ asked Geoffrey, bewildered.
‘Ralph, perhaps,’ mused Olivier. ‘Or fitzNorman, Baderon, Seguin or Corwenna. Or Agnes and Walter, who are determined to stop you from learning who killed the Duchess. Or perhaps even a servant who was not won over by your flamboyant gambling techniques.’
Geoffrey sighed. ‘A whole host of suspects, as usual.’
They walked back to the castle, leading their horses and discussing suspects. Olivier favoured Ralph, who, he declared, might well use a horse to do his dirty work. Geoffrey was more inclined towards Walter, whose stupidity meant he might not see that such a stunt could hurt the horse as well as his intended victim. They were still debating when they entered the bailey, and Bale came racing up to them grinning from ear to ear.
‘You had better come,’ he said to Geoffrey. ‘Someone has been stabbed in the priest’s house – and there is blood everywhere.’
Geoffrey followed his squire across the bailey, with Olivier at his side. In the street outside the castle people were spilling out of their homes, looking alarmed. Geoffrey left Olivier to allay their fears and headed for the house next to the church, where Father Adrian lived. The priest was in his garden, being sick on his winter cabbages, while Durand tried to comfort him.
‘Aim for the onions,’ Geoffrey recommended as he passed. ‘Joan says they are more resilient.’
‘Do not be flippant,’ snapped Durand. ‘It is not becoming under these circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Who is dead?’
Father Adrian emptied his stomach again and seemed incapable of speech, and Durand shrugged that he did not know, so Geoffrey entered the house. He had not been inside it for more than a year, but it was much as he remembered. A neat, clean place, with a fire flickering in the hearth, a pot of stew bubbling and an overfed cat sitting on a windowsill.
The room was full of people who had come running when Father Adrian raised the alarm. Agnes and Walter were there, regarding the victim with dispassionate interest, and Geoffrey realized that their horror over Hugh’s death had been an act, to convince Giffard that they were not killers. Ralph stood rather closer to Agnes than was necessary, while Giffard knelt by the dead man.
Nearby was fitzNorman, holding Isabel’s hand. Her head was tilted to one side, and Geoffrey suspected that she was listening for Ralph. He was glad she could not see him standing so close to Agnes. FitzNorman could, though, and his face was a mask of fury. Joan stood on Isabel’s other side; Geoffrey had the feeling that she was ready to step forward and intervene, should Ralph say or do anything unpleasant and fitzNorman react with anger.
Bale was right in that there was a good deal of blood, although it was no worse than many scenes Geoffrey had viewed. The body sat at Father Adrian’s table, resting its head on its arm as though it were asleep; the other hand lay in its lap. It looked as though its owner was sleeping – except for the gash in the middle of the back.
‘Seguin!’ exclaimed Geoffrey. ‘How did this happen? He was alive and well when I went riding with Olivier a short while ago.’
‘You were the last one to see him alive?’ pounced Ralph. Isabel’s face softened at the sound of his voice. ‘Can anyone verify that you did not kill him?’
‘Olivier was with me,’ said Geoffrey, before realizing that was untrue. Olivier had ridden ahead and had not been party to the discussion.
Father Adrian appeared at the door, white-faced and shaking. ‘I am sorry to be feeble,’ he said in a whisper. ‘I deplore violence.’
‘So do we all, Father,’ said fitzNorman insincerely. ‘Although some of us seem rather more used to it than others.’ He shot Geoffrey a nasty glance, then did the same to Agnes.
‘I do not know what happened,’ said Father Adrian. ‘Sir Seguin came to Goodrich because he thought Hugh’s body was here. I offered him ale before I set him on the right road, but found I did not have any. I went to beg a jug from Mistress Helbye, and when I came back, I found . . .’ He gazed at the slumped figure, and his hand went to his mouth again.
‘Do not look,’ advised Geoffrey, standing so that the priest could not see the corpse.
‘Do not worry about the blood, Father,’ said Bale eagerly. ‘I will scrape it up for you.’ He made a scooping gesture with his hand, and Father Adrian disappeared outside again.
‘Father Adrian came straight to the castle,’ said Joan. ‘But Seguin was beyond earthly help.’
‘Where were you all?’ Geoffrey asked, supposing he had better add Seguin’s murder to his investigation.
‘You accuse us of this?’ asked Ralph incredulously. ‘You are the one I suspect.’
‘No, Ralph,’ said Isabel. ‘Geoffrey would not resort to violence when words could do.’
Ralph burst into mocking laughter. ‘He is a Holy Land knight! Resorting to violence is what they do. He is the one here who likes slaughter.’
Geoffrey regarded Ralph with dislike, while thinking that Seguin had been stabbed in the back – exactly the kind of cowardly act he would expect from the loathsome heir of Bicanofre.
‘Answer my question,’ Geoffrey said coolly. ‘Where were you?’
‘We were walking in the woods,’ said Agnes, smiling at Ralph.
‘You were with Ralph?’ Isabel asked unsteadily. ‘In the forest?’
‘Walter was there,’ said Joan. ‘And he is always looking out for his mother’s virtue. They did nothing amiss, you can be sure of that.’
‘My father and I were in the church,’ said Isabel in a small voice. ‘I was praying for . . . for my happiness.’ The expression she shot in Ralph’s direction made even Agnes flinch.
Voices sounded on the road outside, and Geoffrey heard Olivier speaking. From the tread of spurred feet, Geoffrey knew it was Baderon and Lambert coming. He braced himself for trouble.
‘My brother!’ whispered Lambert, gazing at the body in horror.
Baderon stepped forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. ‘My son and my friend in one day.’ His voice choked with emotion. ‘How many more will die before we have peace?’
Lambert’s eyes were bleak. ‘I am going to Llan Martin. Corwenna must be told.’
‘No,’ said Hilde gently. ‘You cannot go to Corwenna yet – not until you know what happened here. If you do, she will claim Seguin was murdered to destroy my father’s alliances, and there will be trouble.’
‘Yes,’ said Lambert coldly. He made as if to pass her, but she blocked his way.
‘Listen to her, Lambert,’ said Baderon, although he sounded weary and defeated. ‘We do not want any more deaths.’
‘Your son was murdered!’ shouted Lambert. ‘And now my brother lies dead. Will you wait for me to die, too? And Hilde? Hugh and Seguin must be avenged, or there will be no end to the slaughter. I am going to Corwenna. At least she has the strength to face our enemies.’
He shoved past Hilde, almost knocking her over. Geoffrey darted after him, alarmed by the damage that might ensue if he did as he threatened. Corwenna would be implacable, and Geoffrey doubted Caerdig would be able to prevent her doing something rash.
‘Please!’ Hilde begged, also hurrying outside to grab Lambert’s arm. ‘Wait until we have a culprit to show Corwenna, or she will pick one of her own.’
‘She will choose Goodrich,’ snarled Lambert, glaring at Geoffrey. ‘Henry killed her first husband, and now her next one lies dead on Mappestone land. So does your brother.’
‘Hugh was not killed at Goodrich,’ said Hilde. ‘His death and Seguin’s are not connected, and you must not make them sound as though they are.’
‘You are quibbling over the width of a river!’ shouted Lambert. ‘Hugh may have been washed to the other side. Or his body was dragged over, so blame would fall on someone other than Geoffrey.’
‘There are many suspects,’ said Hilde with quiet reason, but Lambert was too distraught to listen. He mounted his horse and was gone with a vicious jab of his spurs.
‘If he reaches Corwenna, there will be trouble,’ said Father Adrian with concern. ‘This will provide her with the opportunity she has been waiting for. The Welsh will rally to her call, in the hope that the spoils of war will feed their families. You must stop him.’
Geoffrey leapt on to Baderon’s black bay and thundered after the fleeing knight. Lambert glanced behind him and spurred on his mount, ignoring Geoffrey’s yells to stop. He began to edge ahead, because Baderon’s horse was not as fleet as Lambert’s stallion.
Geoffrey’s throat became hoarse from shouting, and he saw that they had crossed the brook that marked the territory belonging to Llan Martin. He jabbed his heels hard into the horse’s flanks, determined to catch his quarry, then pulled up abruptly when several arrows hit the ground in front of him, like a barrier. He reached for his shield before realizing that he did not have it. Archers emerged from the undergrowth on either side of the track. His horse whinnied in terror as a second volley of arrows hissed around them, and he struggled to control it. A little way ahead, Lambert stopped.
‘Come back,’ pleaded Geoffrey. ‘We can resolve this peacefully.’
‘Easy for you to say!’ Lambert shouted. ‘But my brother is dead, and so is Baderon’s son.’
‘Hugh is dead?’ one of the archers asked. ‘Did Goodrich kill him?’
‘We do not know yet,’ said Geoffrey before Lambert could reply. He tried to ride forward, but arrows thudded at his horse’s feet, making it skitter in panic. ‘I must speak to Caerdig.’
‘You will come no farther,’ instructed an archer. ‘Corwenna told us to let no Goodrich villains on our land. Go home, or I will put an arrow in your heart.’
Geoffrey saw his options running out as Lambert started to ride towards Llan Martin. ‘Let me talk to Caerdig,’ he pleaded. ‘He said I was always welcome at-’
‘No,’ said the archer firmly. ‘Now go home, or we will send you there dead.’
Lambert had disappeared along the forest track, and Geoffrey saw that there was no more he could do. Defeated, he turned towards Goodrich.
‘Damn!’ Hilde muttered when Geoffrey dismounted outside the priest’s house and shook his head despondently. ‘Now there will be trouble. We must leave immediately.’
‘You cannot. The archers will shoot you – they are under orders from Corwenna.’
‘They will not harm us,’ said Hilde. ‘But we cannot travel quickly carrying Seguin, so we must leave him here. I trust you will treat him with respect.’
‘Of course,’ said Joan stiffly, offended she should ask. ‘But wait until he is laid out decently, so you can tell Lambert. Then he may change his mind.’
‘You really think there will be a war?’ asked Isabel in a low voice. ‘Over Seguin?’
‘Not over Seguin,’ replied Hilde. ‘Over our Welsh neighbours not having enough to eat, and the alliances my father has forged having brought them together to air their grievances. That and Corwenna’s poisonous tongue. We must prepare ourselves for the worst.’
Joan ushered everyone out until only she, Geoffrey, Father Adrian, Baderon and Hilde remained. Geoffrey took a blanket and laid it on the floor so that he could lift Seguin’s body into it but, as he bent, he saw something shiny. He reached under the table and picked it up. It was a long dagger with a ruby in its hilt. Baderon sank on to a bench when he saw it.
‘Is that what killed Seguin?’ he asked weakly. ‘The knife he gave me as a sign of his fealty?’
Geoffrey measured the size of the blade against the wound in Seguin’s back and nodded.
‘What can we do with it?’ asked Baderon. ‘It claimed the life of my son, and now my friend.’
‘We cannot throw it in the river,’ said Joan. ‘Olivier did that, and it came back.’
‘Take it to the blacksmith in Rosse and pay him to melt it,’ suggested Hilde. ‘Do it today.’
‘I cannot,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Not with a skirmish brewing.’
Baderon closed his eyes. ‘Do I stay here, and show my allegiance to England? Or do I ride to Llan Martin and stand with the Welsh, so they know I am in earnest when I offer the hand of friendship? Damn Lambert! He has done immeasurable damage.’
‘The security of an entire region is at stake,’ said Hilde practically. ‘So we have no choice but to side with the Welsh. It is only Goodrich that Corwenna wants to see in flames. When that is done, her fury will abate, and we will be able to prevent her inciting any further attacks.’ She glanced at Geoffrey and Joan. ‘I do not want to fight you, but I do not see what else we can do.’
‘Talk to Caerdig,’ urged Geoffrey. ‘He will see reason.’
‘His hands are tied, too,’ said Hilde grimly. ‘The other lords are desperate for food and will rally to Corwenna’s battle cry – especially if she claims Seguin was murdered by you. Caerdig will not be heard. Besides, he is no longer a power. Corwenna’s fiery speeches are more popular than his pleas for peace, and she has a greater following.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Joan. ‘I do not want our people to die because Corwenna hated Henry – and that is really what all this is about. You must stop this, Baderon. You are in charge of this region, so take control.’
Baderon’s face was ashen, and Geoffrey did not think he had ever seen a more broken specimen. No proud Welsh prince would listen to such a man – they would look to Lambert’s strong sword and Corwenna’s flashing eyes and promises of grain. As Baderon walked towards his horse, Geoffrey could almost see the power draining from him. The Lord of Monmouth climbed slowly into his saddle and rode away without another word.
‘You cannot let them leave!’ cried Father Adrian, aghast as Baderon and Hilde cantered away. ‘They will lead the Welsh against us! You heard Hilde – she plans to sacrifice Goodrich to save the rest of the region.’
‘What do you want us to do?’ demanded Joan. ‘Lock them in our dungeons? That would incite an attack for certain!’
‘I told Seguin that Hugh’s body was at Walecford, but he did not believe me,’ said Geoffrey, watching Hilde and Baderon disappear from sight. ‘If he had, none of this would have happened.’
‘He did not believe me, either,’ said Father Adrian tiredly. ‘I had to show him the empty church before he did. Then he said someone had intentionally misled him.’
Geoffrey stared at him. ‘It sounds as though he were deliberately lured here. Why?’
Father Adrian had no answer. ‘Take it with you,’ he ordered, pointing to the knife.
Geoffrey did not want it, either, but wrapped it in a piece of cloth, sprinkled generously with holy water, and set off towards the castle, to see what kind of troops he had at his command. He doubted they would be much, and only hoped they would not run away at the first sight of an enemy.
First he went to Helbye. The old soldier was appalled that his peaceful retirement was being shattered, and his wife gave Geoffrey a piece of her mind, as her man collected his weapons and went to muster those who would fight.
On his way to the castle Geoffrey met Durand, and handed him the cloth containing the dagger. ‘You know about holy matters. Will you dispose of this for me?’
‘What is it?’ asked Durand, unwrapping it. When he saw the stained weapon, he gave a shriek and dropped it. ‘It is covered in blood!’
‘It was used to kill Seguin,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Everyone else thinks it is cursed, but I know you are above such superstition. Will you take it to a blacksmith and have it destroyed?’
Durand backed away. ‘I am not touching it. It is a Black Knife. You can destroy it yourself.’
‘How?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I will be organizing our defences. I could drop it down the well . . .’
‘It would put itself in a bucket and come back,’ said Durand. ‘That is the nature of Black Knives. They must be destroyed, not tossed away.’
Geoffrey sighed. ‘Then lock it in a chest in my bedchamber, to melt down later.’
‘No,’ said Durand, backing even farther away. ‘I am having nothing to do with it – and no good will come of having it in your castle, either. All I can do is pray for you.’
He turned and strode towards the church, leaving Geoffrey shaking his head, astonished that even Durand was affected by superstition.
Olivier and Joan were already mustering their soldiers, so Geoffrey ran up the stairs to his bedchamber, shoved the Black Knife in the bottom of a chest, hastily donned full armour and set out for the bailey, to test the resources at his disposal.
He was not impressed. The men knew the basics, but were ill equipped for hand-to-hand combat, and their armour and weapons were in poor repair. He saw that he would have to train them hard if he did not want them slaughtered. He did so for the rest of the day, and when the sun set, he took them through night manoeuvres. In the small hours he drew up plans of the estate and considered his natural defences, then woke the garrison before dawn for more drills. By sunset of the second day, they had improved, although he reserved judgement.
That evening, when it was too dark to do more and his body ached from fatigue, Geoffrey went to the hall. Giffard and Walter were there, and he could tell by the sullen expression on the boy’s face that Giffard was lecturing him. Not wanting to interrupt, he sat with Joan. She reminded him about the passageway in his bedchamber – which might be used as an escape route, but could also render the castle vulnerable. Geoffrey’s first instinct was to block it off, but then what would happen if the invaders gained access to the bailey and the keep was set alight?
Ralph, Douce and Wulfric were also there, evidently considering Goodrich safer than their undefended manor. Douce was with Bale, who was trying, without success, to show her how to use a catapult, while Olivier strummed his harp, mostly for the benefit of the nervous servants.
Isabel sat on her own, head to one side as she listened. At one point Ralph walked past her and whispered something that made her face light up. She gestured that she wanted him to sit next to her, but he murmured some excuse that made her smile slip, and returned to Agnes. It seemed inordinately cruel to Geoffrey.
‘You look exhausted,’ said Giffard, abandoning his efforts with Walter. The lad immediately went to Olivier and ordered him to play something livelier. When Olivier declined, he snatched the instrument and began to plonk out a melody he claimed was popular in Italy. The servants promptly dispersed.
Geoffrey stared into the flames. ‘I should never haver returned to England. Goodrich would be quieter and calmer if I were not here.’
‘Not so,’ countered Giffard. ‘Dene would still have caught fire – only the King, Isabel and I may not have escaped; Eleanor would still be missing; and Hugh and Seguin would still have been stabbed. And your presence means your sister is safer.’
‘What do you think of my daughter, Sir Geoffrey?’ asked Wulfric, approaching uninvited and nodding towards Douce. ‘A beauty, eh? A fine woman?’
‘Not tonight,’ said Giffard, giving Wulfric a severe look. ‘His mind is engaged with the defence of Goodrich.’
‘Yours might be,’ said Wulfric, looking Giffard up and down disparagingly. ‘But Sir Geoffrey is a red-blooded man who is always ready for a lass. Would you like to try her out? Tonight?’
Geoffrey stared at him. ‘Are you serious?’
Wulfric nodded. ‘Of course. Then we can finalize the details of your betrothal tomorrow. I guarantee you will not be disappointed. There are many men who would give their sword arms to possess a fine, sturdy girl like Douce.’
‘Let the poor man rest,’ said Gifford sharply. ‘He has been working all day and needs sleep, not a romp. Besides, he has competition – his squire has reached Douce first.’
Wulfric shot to where Douce was leading Bale to an upper chamber, her expression full of carnal promise. Geoffrey smiled when Wulfric snatched her away, disappointing both parties. But, to his alarm, Wulfric began to drag Dounce back towards him.
‘You are right, Giffard,’ said Geoffrey, standing hastily. ‘I am tired. I am going to bed.’
Nodding a curt farewell to Wulfric and Douce, he climbed the stairs. The sounds of the hall were soon below him, but he did not stop at his chamber. He walked to the top of the stairs, then out on to the battlements. A sharp, cold wind gusted, but the soldiers were alert and watchful, swathed in thick cloaks to keep them from freezing. He checked that all was well, then started to descend. He paused at one of the attic rooms, where he heard an odd humming. Curiously, he pushed open the door and was startled to see Mother Elgiva there, busy with what looked to be a corpse.
‘Come in, Sir Geoffrey, if you have a mind for company,’ said Elgiva, without turning around. He wondered how she knew it was him. ‘I am laying out Jervil, who was returned to us today.’
‘Why is he here and not in the church?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘It is his right to lie in the castle for a day,’ said Elgiva. ‘People will be offended if he goes into the ground without the proper respect. Did you not know this tradition?’
Geoffrey saw again there was a lot he did not understand about his manor’s customs. He would have sent the body straight to Father Adrian, and was grateful that Joan had known what to do.
‘I brought you a gift,’ said Elgiva, ‘since you asked about certain things last we met. A book.’
‘A book?’ asked Geoffrey, immediately interested. ‘What kind of book?’
‘One my mother gave me,’ said Elgiva. ‘I knew my letters once, but I have not bothered with them for too long, and they are all forgotten now. Joan tells me you are fond of books, so you can have it. It will tell you all about mandrake and the like.’
‘It is about poisons?’ asked Geoffrey. If so, it was not something a knight should own.
‘Poisons and healing potions,’ replied Elgiva. ‘You will find all you need to know about mandrake, and a good deal more.’
Geoffrey accepted a very small volume with minuscule writing. He sat on a chest and leafed through it, admiring its intricate drawings.
‘Poor Jervil,’ said Elgiva, turning back to the body. ‘He did not deserve this. Joan says you have been charged to find out who killed him.’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘But I have not been very successful.’
‘Then perhaps I can tell you one or two things that might help. For example, Jervil went to Dene to meet Baderon and sell him the Black Knife. He told me himself – he came for a protective charm, but obviously my magic was not strong enough.’
‘Did he tell you how this dagger came into his possession? He told Baderon he bought it from the silversmith in Rosse, but it was not the knife Father Adrian sold there.’
‘I know,’ said Elgiva. ‘You mentioned it last time. I probably should have told you what I knew then, but I wanted to find out more about you first.’
‘What do you know about the dagger?’ Geoffrey asked, struggling to mask his irritation.
‘Sir Olivier threw the real one in the river,’ said Elgiva. ‘I overheard him at confession, although he should have asked my advice, not God’s. I could have told him the Wye was no place for a Black Knife. Two things conspired to bring it back again. Do you know what they were?’
Geoffrey was far too tired for mental games, but strove to oblige her. ‘Jervil’s liking for treasure and Olivier’s feeble throw?’
Elgiva cackled her appreciation. ‘You have a quick mind! Jervil happened to see Sir Olivier toss the Black Knife in the water. It landed in the shallows, so he fished it out.’
Geoffrey tried to make sense of the dagger’s travels, starting at the beginning. ‘So, Seguin gave a ruby-handled dagger to Baderon as a gift. It was stolen from Baderon during the Feast of Corpus Christi and taken to Eleanor for cursing. It was used to kill Henry, spent a week or two in Joan’s bedchamber wrapped in holy cloth, was hurled in the river . . .’
‘. . . From where Jervil retrieved it. He brought it to show me, but I frightened him into burying it, for his own safety. There it might have remained, but for you. Baderon did not want a feud when you discovered it was his weapon that had killed Henry.’
Geoffrey thought about it. ‘Baderon – like everyone except Olivier, Jervil and you – thought the real one was in Father Adrian’s church. That was the blade he paid Jervil to retrieve.’
‘But Baderon would have known Father Adrian’s was the wrong one, so Jervil dug up the Black Knife. I advised against it, but Baderon’s silver spoke louder than my wisdom.’
‘Was it coincidence that Baderon asked Jervil for help, when Jervil happened to be the one who had retrieved it from the river?’
‘Well, everyone knew Jervil was a thief. He was the obvious person to approach.’
Geoffrey resumed his analysis of the Black Knife’s fortunes. ‘Within hours of Baderon buying it, there was a fire at Dene, and he assumed it was destroyed with his other possessions.’
‘But he was wrong – Black Knives do not fall foul of accidents. It was probably found in the rubble. Whoever did so was overwhelmed by its power and used it on Hugh and Seguin. Now I understand it is with you. You should be careful.’
‘Thank you for telling me this,’ said Geoffrey, wishing she had done so sooner. He stood to leave, feeling tiredness wash over him in a great wave. But Elgiva had not finished.
‘Come here, and smell Jervil’s mouth when I push on his chest.’
‘No, thank you! I have had a long day, and sniffing corpses would not be a good way to end it.’
‘Come,’ said Elgiva. ‘You are not the kind of man who is unsettled by such a request. It will not take a moment.’
With considerable reluctance, Geoffrey did as she asked, hoping it was not a ghoulish trick. He leant close to Jervil’s mouth, and inhaled when she pushed on his chest. A slightly sweet smell came from it.
‘Now this,’ she said, handing him a tiny phial.
‘It is the same,’ said Geoffrey, watching her nod in satisfaction. ‘What is it?’
‘Poppy juice,’ said Elgiva. ‘It is a strong medicine used to induce sleep or ease pain in the very sick. Jervil must have swallowed a powerful measure, if we can still detect it after four days.’
Geoffrey rubbed his head. It was not the first time he had encountered the slightly sweet smell, and he tried to recall where he had come across it before. He knew it was recent, but the memory remained frustratingly beyond his grasp. He was just too tired to think.
‘Jervil was given a sleeping draught before he died?’ he asked.
Elgiva nodded. ‘The draught made him drowsy and weak – and then he was strangled.’