The voice made Geoffrey jump so violently that he almost lost his balance again. He fumbled for his dagger, cursing fingers that were numb from the cold. ‘Who is there?’
‘Eleanor, of course. Can you not see me? I am right above you.’
Geoffrey strained his eyes, and could just make out a figure standing on the bank. There was a sudden flare of light as she removed whatever had been covering her torch.
‘Well?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to stand in the stream all night, or would you like to sit by my fire?’
Geoffrey scrambled after her, noting that she wore her red cloak and the veil still covered her face. He struggled to catch up, eager to accept her offer of warmth.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘I like to be alone,’ she replied enigmatically. ‘I thought I would have some peace when I returned from Normandy without being married off like some prize sow. But people started talking about weddings and alliances again, and it was worse than ever.’
‘I know how you feel,’ muttered Geoffrey. They reached the top of the hill and she led him to the little shepherd’s hut, indicating that he should precede her inside. Reluctantly, he held back. ‘My horse. I should-’
‘I tethered it and removed its saddle,’ said Eleanor. ‘It is quite comfortable. Sit by the fire and drink this – and do not look suspicious! It is only a little concoction of my own devising.’
‘That is what I am worried about,’ said Geoffrey ungraciously, so she took the first sip behind her veil and handed him the rest. It tasted fairly pleasant, and he felt warmer after finishing it. He removed his sopping surcoat, which she placed near the fire, but he kept his armour on. He glanced at the ceiling and saw that the dead birds had been removed from the rafters.
‘I heard Hugh is dead,’ Eleanor said, following his look. ‘So, I thought I had better hide any evidence that indicates I am still alive. I do not want to be accused of his murder.’
Geoffrey did not blame her. ‘You have been here all the time?’
‘Here or nearby. Few people linger at the Angel Springs, which is how I like it. Hugh followed me occasionally, but he was no trouble – and no one listened to him, anyway.’
Geoffrey remembered what Bale had said about the Angel Springs. ‘You sharpen knives. My squire leaves them with a coin and thinks spirits hone them.’
She laughed. ‘A number of folk have been obliging in that way, and a little money does not go amiss. I have none of my own, and neither does my lover.’
‘Your lover? Is that why you ran away after the fire? To be with him?’
Eleanor nodded. ‘We did not see each other for months when I was in Normandy, so I escaped as soon as I could – the fire provided a useful diversion. However, I did not know murders had been taking place.’
Geoffrey thought about the woman kissed by the red-cloaked figure as they fled the fire. He reached out and tugged off the veil, revealing a face that was impish in its prettiness, and certainly not missing a jaw.
‘Your lover is not a man, but a woman,’ he surmised. ‘That is why you have refused to marry – and have been to such pains to pretend you are disfigured. You do not want men to pester you.’
‘You guessed that rather easily,’ she said, frowning. ‘How?’
‘You do not speak as though you were minus a mandible, but it is certainly a disfigurement that would make most men think twice. Who is she?’
‘She is Welsh, of noble birth – from one of the villages that declines to join Corwenna’s assault on Goodrich. That wretched woman has destabilized the entire region, so I am removing any evidence of me being here, lest I am accused of causing the war by witchcraft. You know how people are – regardless of the victor, someone will look for a scapegoat.’
‘And who better than a sorceress?’ agreed Geoffrey. ‘Do you know what happened to Hugh?’
‘When he followed me after the fire, I went north and lost him. I thought he would find his own way home, but I was wrong. I am sorry he is dead. He was a stupid lump, but he did no harm – unlike those with more wits. Your brother, for a start.’
‘Tell me about the dagger that killed Henry,’ said Geoffrey, remembering what Olivier had seen. ‘I know you cursed it, but who asked you for such a spell?’
‘That I shall never reveal, because he knows the identity of my lover. If I tell, so will he.’
‘But it is a man,’ said Geoffrey, supposing he could cross Hilde off his list of suspects. ‘Do you really believe that putting a spell on an object can imbue it with an evil life of its own?’
She nodded earnestly. ‘Of course. And so do many others.’
‘The Black Knife has killed both Seguin and Hugh since it dispatched Henry,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I locked it in my room, and the next night someone tried to set me alight.’
Eleanor shrugged. ‘That is what Black Knives do. You must take it deep into the forest and bury it under an old oak – as old as you can find – with mistletoe growing on it. That should stop it in its tracks.’
‘Lord!’ muttered Geoffrey. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It would be even better if the person who ordered the curse were to do it, but I doubt that will happen.’ Eleanor rummaged in a sack and handed Geoffrey a tiny pouch with a piece of twine attached. ‘Wear this amulet. It will protect you while you do it. Bury it near the oak at the same time.’
Geoffrey was tempted to decline, thinking a Crusader should have more faith in his own God, but he was unsettled by the self-confessed witch, and decided to err on the side of caution. He put it around his neck, tucking it inside his surcoat.
‘I wish you knew a spell to bring an end to this ridiculous fighting,’ he said.
She gave a sad smile. ‘You must pray to your God for something of that magnitude. I work on a much more modest level.’
Geoffrey and Eleanor sat in silence for a long time, listening to the rain and the crackle of the fire. His thoughts were of Goodrich, and his fears of a night attack. Hoping to distract himself, he decided to interrogate Eleanor about the murders he had been ordered to solve.
‘I would like to ask you some questions,’ he said. ‘With your permission.’
Eleanor smirked, amused. ‘How could I refuse such a politely worded request? Would that all men were so well mannered – then I might not have felt the need to secure a female lover.’
‘Did Agnes ask you for poison while you were in Normandy? Mandrake, for example?’
Eleanor knew exactly why he asked. ‘If she had, I would not tell you. It would make me an accomplice to the murder of the Duchess. But, as it happens, she did not need poison from me, because Walter had some mandrake of his own.’
‘His phial has been empty for a long time. It was so dusty inside that I could barely smell what was once in it – and a book Mother Elgiva gave me said mandrake has a powerful aroma. I imagine Walter found an empty container and carried it for show.’
‘He is a silly boy. I watched them carefully once I realized the Duchess’ death would suit Agnes, but I never saw anything untoward. The only thing they ever gave her was a dish of dried yellow plums. Sibylla ate one, but declared it too sweet and passed the rest to her courtiers. The poison was not in the fruit, or they would have died, too.’
‘You spied on Agnes and Walter? I thought they were your friends.’
‘No, they were just after my spells: Agnes wanted the Duke to love her, and Walter wanted a charm to attract women. I told him to speak Italian, and he has been doing it ever since. He even tried to bed me with his nonsensical phrases. I clouted his ears.’
‘So neither Walter nor Agnes asked you for mandrake?’
‘They asked about it, but it is not a plant I use because it irritates my skin. Look what happened when I touched my lover’s hand after she had sliced some.’ Eleanor removed her glove to reveal a rash. It had healed somewhat since when Geoffrey had seen it at Dene, but it still looked sore. ‘Mandrake does not grow readily in this part of the world, so I am not often exposed to it. However, my sensitivity exonerates me from giving any to Agnes – if Sybilla was poisoned, that is.’
‘You think she may not have been?’
Eleanor shrugged. ‘Her physicians say she died of childbirth fever – it happens to duchesses and paupers alike, so perhaps they are right.’
‘What about the fire at Dene?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Did your curses bring that about? I saw a picture of a burning house at the Angel Springs just hours after the blaze.’
Eleanor’s face hardened. ‘Agnes drew that. I was delighted when it started, because it gave me the chance to escape from my father and brother, but I am sorry people died.’
Geoffrey was thoughtful. The solution to at least one part of the mystery snapped into place as he thought about the people allocated rooms in the corridor where the fire had started. He just needed one or two more details.
‘How well had the fire taken hold before you became aware of it?’ he asked.
‘Agnes had warned me that a fire might break out, so I was alert that night. However, she is full of talk and I was surprised when it really happened. Had I known the entire manor would go up, I would have tried to stop her.’
‘It started at your end of the corridor, not near Giffard and me. In fact, I suspect it began in Isabel’s room.’
‘How did you guess that?’ asked Eleanor, startled.
‘Because Isabel started it. I imagine Agnes told her to.’
Eleanor gave a wry smile. ‘You are right: Agnes wanted the fire, and when her drawings at the Angel Springs did not work, she adopted another approach. She encouraged Isabel to start it, lest she herself was caught.’
‘I suppose she contrived some nonsense about Ralph realizing his true feelings if Isabel were in danger – and poor Isabel was desperate enough to believe it. Meanwhile, Agnes would be rid of Giffard, who is keeping her from the Duke.’
‘You are right in every detail. Nasty, is it not?’
‘So why did you not expose them? Several servants died – and it very nearly claimed the King and Isabel herself.’
‘Agnes made me promise to say nothing. I agreed because I did not think Isabel would have the courage to go through with it anyway, and also because Agnes agreed to stop trying to learn the identity of my lover if I complied. By the time I realized Isabel had not set a little fire but a raging inferno, it was too late. And the irony is that the whole ghastly business achieved none of its objectives.’
Geoffrey recalled seeing Agnes at the Angel Springs after the fire, doubtless destroying evidence of her involvement. The plan had failed spectacularly: Isabel had lost her house and several servants, Ralph had discovered an attraction to Agnes, and Giffard had escaped.
‘It is a pity you have seen me,’ said Eleanor eventually. ‘It was more convenient for people to assume I died in the fire.’
‘Leave your veil in the rubble, then,’ Geoffrey suggested. ‘You are never seen without it, so it may convince them.’
‘But you know I am alive.’
‘I will never reveal your secret.’ Geoffrey studied her pretty face uneasily. ‘You do not want me to drip my blood on chicken entrails to prove my sincerity, do you?’
Eleanor laughed. ‘Do not be ridiculous! I do not have a chicken to hand, and it would be a terrible waste to kill one when I know you are a man of your word. To repay your understanding, at first light I shall lead you to your castle by a quicker route than you would find on your own. Until then, keep yourself warm by the fire.’
Despite sharing the hut with a witch, Geoffrey was so fatigued, he soon fell asleep. He woke at one point to find himself alone, but Eleanor glided back in and shot him a mysterious smile. He was ready to leave long before dawn and fretted impatiently until she deemed it light enough to travel. He urged her to move as fast as possible, sitting her on the pony and running behind it in his desire to reach Goodrich. They parted south of the castle, he to follow the main road to his home, and she to head west to her lover. She slid off the horse and gave it a pat.
‘Be careful, Geoffrey. You have a turbulent time ahead. Do not be fooled by fair eyes filled with tears, and remember that women are just as ruthless as men. And do not forget the Black Knife, either. Get rid of it as soon as you can. Do you still have the amulet I gave you?’
Geoffrey fingered the bundle around his neck, his thoughts on Joan, Roger and the others.
‘All is well at Goodrich,’ she said kindly, seeing his concern. ‘The wind is from the north, and we would smell smoke if it were burning. You will find your home still standing. And thank you for agreeing to be discreet – you have earned a friend.’
‘So have you,’ said Geoffrey.
Eleanor laughed, and Geoffrey was glad she would no longer wear her veil, thinking hers was a face that should be seen. ‘But I mean it, Geoffrey. If you ever have need of a witch, just leave two sticks tied together by the well at Llangarron, and I will come.’
They parted, and when Geoffrey glanced behind him, Eleanor was already lost among the trees. He doubted he would ever see her again, suspecting he was unlikely to need the services of a witch. He urged the pony into a gallop, wanting to be home as soon as he could. He was reassured when he was challenged by one of the patrols he had organized, and soon found himself trotting into the bailey.
Roger rushed to meet him, sombre-faced and anxious, Olivier and Joan behind. Joan looked angry, and Geoffrey suspected his absence had given her an uneasy night.
‘Where is Giffard?’ he asked as they approached.
‘In the hall,’ snapped Joan. ‘Where have you been? You promised you would return by dusk, and we were worried.’
‘Where is Dun?’ cried Olivier. ‘If you traded him for this beast, you have been cheated.’
‘Corwenna shot him,’ said Geoffrey sadly. ‘I am sorry, Olivier. God knows where I will find the funds to replace him.’
‘Do not worry about that,’ said Roger, while Olivier gaped at Geoffrey in dismay. ‘We shall loot Baderon’s estates when this is over, and then you will have enough.’
‘If we win,’ said Geoffrey soberly. ‘There are at least five hundred men in Baderon’s camp. We are heavily outnumbered.’
‘Rubbish!’ said Roger with characteristic optimism. ‘Baderon and his rabble will not defeat two Jerosolimitani!’
There was a lot to do, and Geoffrey was busy for much of the morning strengthening the defences and checking the deployment of archers. He was grateful for Roger’s company, and found Olivier surprisingly helpful, too. His brother-in-law’s extensive theoretical knowledge made him an excellent strategist – he was just not very good at actual fighting.
There was a brief respite for the midday meal, which Geoffrey ate while inspecting a cache of ancient weapons Joan had discovered in a cellar. Some were usable, but most were not. Then, suddenly, everything was done that could be, and there was nothing left to do but wait. Waiting was the part Geoffrey hated, so he decided to go in search of Isabel, who had remained at Goodrich with her father, because Dene’s garrison had been disbanded following the fire. No one had imagined fitzNorman would need his soldiers within a week, and the old veteran had been appalled to find a war bubbling and him powerless to prevent or join it.
Isabel smiled when Geoffrey spoke her name, although there was unhappy resignation in her face. He glanced across the hall and saw Ralph and Agnes in a nearby corner. Isabel knew they were together, and the horrible truth was finally becoming clear.
‘He will never love me, will he?’ she asked.
‘No,’ replied Geoffrey honestly. ‘I am sorry.’
She fumbled for his hand, wanting him to sit next to her, but sensed his reluctance.
‘What is wrong?’ she asked. ‘What have I done?’
‘Agnes urged you to start the fire, because she said Ralph’s anger would melt if he thought you were in danger. It might have worked, had there been any warmth in his heart, but there is not.’
‘No,’ Isabel sighed, not denying the accusation. ‘There is not. I see now that he thinks only about himself and does not care for me. I suspect he never did.’
‘Is that why you killed Margaret?’ he asked softly. ‘Because she told you the truth?’
Isabel gaped at Geoffrey, then forced a laugh. ‘Has this battle unhinged your wits? Wait here, and I shall fetch a draught that is good for fevered minds.’ She started to rise, but Geoffrey stopped her.
‘Margaret told you on the night of the fire that Ralph did not care about you, but you did not believe her. In outraged fury, your killed her.’
Isabel was appalled. ‘But Margaret died because she witnessed Jervil’s murder. You said so yourself.’
‘I was wrong. It was the other way round: someone killed Jervil after you strangled Margaret, probably in the hope that you would be blamed for both deaths.’
‘But I am blind, Sir Geoffrey,’ said Isabel earnestly. ‘How could I kill anyone?’
‘We were all blind that night. It was dark and there was smoke everywhere. Margaret could no more see you than you could see her. She told you about Ralph, and you grabbed her throat. But you squeezed harder than you had intended, and she died. She was not young and fit like you.’
‘This is nonsense,’ said Isabel. ‘I shall tell my father about these ridiculous accusations.’
‘He already knows,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Perhaps he saw something – or heard you and Margaret arguing – but he knows. Why do you think he threatened to kill me if I investigated? He even claimed Margaret was having an affair with Jervil, just so I would ask no more questions.’
Isabel’s pale blue eyes filled with tears. ‘He did that?’
‘In order to protect you, he was prepared to let people think his beloved sister slept with servants. It also explains what he said when you asked him to fetch Ralph and he refused. He said, “He thinks you have Margaret. If only he knew.” I did not understand what he meant at the time, because it did not occur to me that you would kill her.’
‘It was an accident,’ said Isabel, starting to cry. ‘She said Ralph did not care for me, and that he ran away when he knew I needed him. I could not bear it – not when servants had died and the house lay in ruins. Agnes promised to douse the fire before it did any real damage, but it took hold so quickly.’
Geoffrey doubted Agnes had intended anything of the kind – at least not until the flames had reached the room where Giffard lay in his drugged stupor. But, of course, Giffard was not the only one who had been drugged.
‘You added a sleeping draught to the honeyed milk you gave me,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But I do not think you wanted me to burn. I think you did it because I had been restless the previous night, and you did not want me to catch you with your tinderbox.’
Isabel’s head drooped, confirming his theory. ‘What will you do? I will hang if you tell the sheriff.’
Geoffrey did not know. Both Isabel and Agnes would end up kicking empty air at the gibbet if any of what he had learnt ever came to light.
‘I told you once that I would sooner become a nun than marry anyone but Ralph,’ said Isabel weakly. ‘It is still true. I will ride to Gloucester today and ask Serlo to find me a remote convent.’
‘Very well,’ said Geoffrey, not wanting to be responsible for a hanging. ‘But you cannot leave now: it is too dangerous.’
‘But I must,’ said Isabel tearfully. ‘It pains me to be here. I can hear them laughing together, like lovers. I would rather be gone, to reflect on the harm love can bring. I have little to pack; most of my belongings were lost in the fire. I will leave within the hour. My father will escort me.’
Geoffrey saw that he would be unable to dissuade her and did not try. A short while later, he met fitzNorman, who was ready to leave. He looked old and tired, the fire gone from his eyes.
‘Not even Baderon’s mercenaries will attack a man and his blind daughter on a pilgrimage to Gloucester Abbey,’ said fitzNorman when Geoffrey suggested he should delay their departure until the looming battle was over. ‘But will you wait until tomorrow before telling anyone what you know? By then, Isabel will be safe.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I will see Isabel settled, and then return to Dene. I shall survive, although I am not sure you will. You could come with us and save yourself. I hear Baderon has an army of five hundred, and Goodrich cannot hold out against such numbers.’
‘Time is passing, and you should leave,’ said Geoffrey, ignoring the older man’s suggestion. He was already having second thoughts about allowing a killer to go free.
He watched them ride away, before seeking Roger in the battlements. While talking, he fingered the charm around his neck, and found himself wondering if he had enough time to find an old oak draped with mistletoe. On a whim, he decided to collect the Black Knife, but to his horror, found it had gone. He sat back on his heels, wondering who might have taken it.
He was still thinking when Durand burst into the room, flopped on to the bed and began a litany of complaints about Joan assigning him to a group to defend the well. A man of his status and wealth should be exempt from such duties, he said.
‘The Black Knife has gone,’ Geoffrey interrupted.
Durand gaped at him, before turning recriminatory. ‘I told you to get rid of it, and now someone else will die. Why did you not take it to Rosse, instead of attempting to parley with men determined to fight?’
‘Who else knew it was here?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Other than you?’
‘The whole castle,’ replied Durand. ‘Roger found it while he was browsing through your possessions this morning and took it downstairs to quiz Joan about it. She made him put it back, but everyone knows where he got it from.’
‘Damn!’ muttered Geoffrey. He had forgotten Roger’s disagreeable habit of rifling through Geoffrey’s belongings to assess what was valuable. ‘We must get it back before-’
He was interrupted by a series of shouts. Assuming they were under attack, he raced down the stairs and tore across the bailey. But the soldiers were not looking outside the castle, they were looking within. Geoffrey’s dog had found something concealed behind several water butts. Pleased with itself, it wagged its tail and pushed its nose against what looked to be a leg. When Geoffrey pulled the dog away, he saw Ralph. The heir to Bicanofre had been stabbed in the chest.
‘There is your Black Knife,’ said Durand, peering over the knight’s shoulder. ‘And it does not require a great deal to work out who murdered him!’
‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey. He thought about Eleanor’s warning: Do not be fooled by fair eyes filled with tears. He should have paid more heed to what was very good advice.
‘Is there any point in going after Isabel?’ asked Durand doubtfully. ‘She will be halfway to Shropshire by now, where she plans to live with a distant cousin.’
‘Gloucester,’ corrected Geoffrey. ‘She is going to join a convent.’
‘She told me York,’ countered Joan.
‘FitzNorman told me it was Normandy,’ said Olivier. ‘Or perhaps Anjou.’
Geoffrey shook his head in disgust.
The following morning, after a night in which every sound made him start into wakefulness, Geoffrey’s head was still heavy with regret over Isabel’s deceit. To make amends for his failure in one case, he determined to succeed in another, and decided to resolve the question of Sibylla’s death once and for all. He thought he could do it, armed as he was with Eleanor’s words, what he had read in Elgiva’s book and his own suspicions.
He secured Roger’s help, asking him to occupy Agnes and Walter. The big knight promptly gave Walter a lesson in swordplay, demonstrating to his alarmed mother that the boy had been exceedingly poorly trained.
Meanwhile, Geoffrey shut himself inside the chamber where the pair had slept and began a close inspection of their luggage. It was not long before he found what he was looking for: a small, heavy box with an Italian label brazenly claiming its contents to be mandrake. Inside were several dried fruits and a list of suggestions for their use, also in Italian. Geoffrey read it, then rubbed his chin. He understood the instructions perfectly, but was equally sure Agnes and Walter had not. He went in search of Giffard.
The bishop, wearing mail under his monastic habit, was talking to Father Adrian. Although he deplored violence, Giffard was a practical man and knew that Geoffrey had done all in his power to avert a catastrophe. He was willing to support his friend’s cause, and carried a wooden staff, which he would use if necessary. Adrian was less pragmatic and had informed Goodrich’s inhabitants that they would go to Hell if they fought – a statement promptly retracted when Giffard had quietly ordered him to desist or risk an early visit to Hell himself.
‘I am sorry Isabel could not resist such an evil choice,’ said Giffard. ‘I suppose she accepted that she could not have Ralph, so decided no one else would, either. It is a pity – I could have told her Agnes would not have bothered with him for much longer.’
‘Ralph still would not have taken Isabel,’ said Father Adrian. ‘Her adoration delighted him initially, but the incident with Henry showed him her affection was fanatical. Too much love can be suffocating.’
‘Isabel did not kill Ralph,’ said Geoffrey. ‘That was fitzNorman. Isabel could not have hidden Ralph’s body behind the water butts or found the Black Knife in my chamber – you need eyes to do both.’
‘You are probably right,’ said Father Adrian sadly. ‘He will deny all when he returns, and she will be safely in her secret refuge. You will never prove what happened. Poor Wulfric. He has lost two children – Eleanor’s veil was found in the rubble at Dene yesterday, and only one conclusion can be drawn: she is dead.’
Geoffrey thought about Eleanor’s absence from the hut two nights before. She had taken his suggestion seriously, and would be delighted to know the ruse had worked.
‘Come with me,’ he said, indicating Giffard was to follow him outside. ‘I want you to hear something.’
They walked to where Agnes was screeching at Roger to be careful, while Walter dashed in circles to avoid being nicked by the big knight’s sword. Walter was furious at the humiliation, and his hand shook in rabid outrage as he pointed at Geoffrey.
‘You have no right to make me fight such an ox! He might have killed me!’
‘And he might have taught you something that will save your life,’ said Geoffrey, grabbing Roger’s arm before he took offence. ‘His lessons will be far more valuable than the ones your mother taught you – about mandrake and lighting fires to kill those who stand in your way.’
Giffard regarded him uneasily. ‘Isabel set Dene alight, to secure the affection of her lover. You told me she admitted it.’
‘But someone put the idea in her mind and encouraged her to follow it through. And that person had her own motives. Do you remember the wine you drank that night?’
Giffard shuddered, while Agnes’ eyes narrowed into hard, spiteful slits. ‘It was revolting stuff and made me ill.’
‘It tasted salty – someone had added salt to make you thirsty, so you would drink more of it. But it contained more than wine and salt, did it not, Agnes?’
‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ she said coldly.
‘Two days ago Mother Elgiva made me smell something. It was poppy juice, which had been given to Jervil to make him unable to resist when his killer strangled him. The scent was familiar, although I could not place it. But now I remember: it was in the wine you gave Giffard.’
‘You are talking nonsense,’ snapped Agnes. ‘That wine was-’
‘Giffard seldom drinks, so could not tell that your gift contained substances it should not have done,’ Geoffrey cut in. ‘Salt and a sleeping draught.’
‘Why would I do such a thing?’ demanded Agnes. ‘Poppy juice syrup is expensive.’
‘Because you did not want him to wake when the fire took hold. You wanted him to die.’
Giffard gaped at him. ‘You must be mistaken!’
Agnes’ red lips parted in a sensual smile, and she took Giffard’s hand. ‘Geoffrey is deluded! I did give you wine, but it was to soothe your ragged spirits. You seemed so sad.’
‘That is right,’ declared Walter. ‘Only a fool would not notice salt in his wine.’ He gave Giffard a patently false smile. ‘And you are not a fool.’
‘He is not,’ agreed Geoffrey. ‘But he still does not know a good brew from a poor one. You were also ready to kill him later, in the confusion of the fire. I heard you. You saw me listening and promptly changed the subject.’
Agnes opened her mouth to protest her innocence again, but Walter was less skilled at dissembling. He sighed with impatient resignation, as if he had been caught cheating at dice rather than in a plot to kill his uncle.
‘Well, we did not know what else to do. He will not let us do what we want, and he ruins our plans by interfering all the time.’
Giffard was aghast. ‘You would kill me, when all I want is for you to live good, honest lives?’
Even Agnes saw that there was no point in denials now. ‘You are tedious, Giffard, and your brother was the same. I do not want a “good, honest” life. I want to enjoy riches, power and lovers. Why will you not leave us alone to live as we see fit, not as you want us to be?’
Giffard’s face was ashen. ‘Then you may consider yourselves free of me, if that is what you want. I wash my hands of you.’
Walter was unashamedly delighted. ‘We shall leave today,’ he declared. ‘Isabel and fitzNorman had the right idea: I do not want to stay here to be slaughtered, either.’
Roger had been listening to the discussion with open disgust. Suddenly, he stepped forward and grabbed Walter by the tunic, speaking in a low hiss that even Geoffrey found intimidating.
‘The King does not like people murdering his bishops, so you had better hope Giffard lives a long and happy life, boy. If he dies a day before he reaches his three-score years-and-ten, I shall tell King Henry you are responsible for his death.’
‘But it might not be true,’ said Agnes, alarmed. ‘All powerful men have enemies.’
‘Then you must join ranks against them,’ said Roger coolly. ‘The day Giffard dies is the day I tell the King you are responsible.’
Geoffrey agreed with Agnes that Roger’s threat was unfair, but he did not care. If it prevented them from striking at Giffard in the future, that was fine with him.
‘And what about the Duchess?’ asked Giffard in a whisper. His face was grey with shock as the enormity of the betrayal struck home. ‘Did you harm her?’
‘They tried,’ said Geoffrey, when Agnes opened her mouth to lie. ‘And Walter provided the means. But they did not succeed, because they cannot read Italian.’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Agnes, too startled to deny the charge. She glanced at her son, who seemed equally bemused. ‘What does Italian have to do with it? Besides, Walter does read Italian.’
‘He knows some phrases, but he does not understand the language – no matter what he tells you.’
‘Lies!’ shouted Walter. He took a deep breath. ‘All cats love beautiful women when the moon is green.’ He reverted to Norman-French. ‘See? I speak it like a native.’
‘Then tell me what I am saying now,’ said Geoffrey, also in Italian. ‘And prove it.’
‘He is talking gibberish,’ said Walter, appealing to Giffard. ‘He is trying to make me look stupid when I am not. I speak Italian. He is just blathering with nonsense words.’
‘Actually, he is not,’ said Giffard. ‘I know Italian myself – I learnt with the Pope in Rome. Geoffrey made sense; you did not. I warned you against lying before, Walter: not only will it stain your soul, but now you have been caught out.’
‘I found this among your possessions,’ said Geoffrey, showing the box of mandrake to the seething boy and his mother. Both looked shocked. ‘Unlike most people on the night of the fire, you had time to gather your belongings, because you knew what was about to happen. It was a mistake: you should have left this to burn, so it would not be here to accuse you.’
‘It is dried mandrake fruit,’ said Agnes with a light, false laugh. ‘What is your point? Many people own them, and in Italy they are considered a rare treat.’
‘Eat one, then,’ suggested Geoffrey, offering her the box.
She stepped away from it. ‘I do not like the taste.’
‘Walter?’ said Geoffrey. Walter regarded him with sullen loathing, but made no move to take one.
‘I will,’ offered Giffard, reaching out to the box. ‘I am partial to these, but they are rarely seen in England.’ He swallowed it and took another.
‘Have them all,’ suggested Agnes eagerly. ‘They are the finest money can buy.’
‘Here,’ said Roger, looking from Giffard to Geoffrey in concern. ‘Should you be doing that? Mandrake is poisonous – even I know that.’
‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Geoffrey. ‘But not all the plant is toxic. There are times when mandrake fruit, which look like yellow plums, can be harvested and eaten with no ill effects – as you would know, had you read the label on this box, and as Giffard is aware. But Agnes did not know: she told me that all parts are poisonous. She was wrong.’
‘You gave Sibylla these, thinking to poison her?’ asked Giffard, incredu-lously. ‘Silly woman! Surely you know they are harmless when they are ripe? And even when they are unripe, they are not as toxic as the root. You cannot kill anyone with these!’
‘Margaret and Eleanor both saw Agnes give the Duchess yellow fruit,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Sibylla ate one, but did not like it. She gave the rest to her courtiers, who ate them with no ill effects. Agnes and Walter fully expected Sibylla to die from their gift, but that was not what killed her.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Roger uneasily.
Geoffrey nodded. ‘Mandrake poisoning is characterized by gripping pains in the gut and purging. I have spoken to people who saw the Duchess in the final stages of her illness, and they mentioned no such symptoms: she slipped away peacefully. Agnes and Walter wanted to murder the Duchess, and even executed their plan to kill her, but they did not succeed.’
Agnes shot Walter an accusing glare. ‘You told me-’ she began, before realizing she should hold her tongue.
‘He told you mandrake is poisonous,’ finished Geoffrey. He held up the phial Durand had seen fall from Walter’s bag after the fire. ‘And he had this, which contained juice of mandrake root. Mandrake root is very toxic. However, he grabbed an empty pot from somewhere, and it was never full when you were with the Duchess.’
‘You told me you tested mandrake and it worked,’ Agnes snapped imprudently.
‘I saw it work in Italy,’ said Walter defensively. ‘I stole the pot later, so I would remember its name.’
Agnes sighed angrily, before shooting Geoffrey a triumphant smirk. ‘So, you have learnt the truth, but it means nothing. Our fruit did not harm Sibylla – as you have just proved – so we have committed no crime. We are innocent.’
‘And Sibylla is still dead,’ said Walter, contemptuous of Geoffrey’s conclusions and their implications. ‘And my mother will be duchess in her place.’
‘She can try,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But the rumours that she is a killer – regardless of whether they are true – mean that will never happen. Despite his infidelity, the Duke loved his wife.’
‘He did,’ agreed Giffard. ‘So do not be surprised if he declines your offer of marriage, Agnes.’
‘Come, Mother,’ said Walter loftily. ‘We do not have to listen to this. We are leaving.’
‘It is not safe,’ warned Geoffrey. ‘You are not Isabel and fitzNorman, who know the area and evoke sympathy as a blind woman and an old man. You will be caught and treated as spies.’
‘Well, I will not stay here,’ said Walter defiantly. He glared at Roger. ‘He might try to stab me when Baderon attacks and pretend I was struck by the enemy.’
‘Aye, lad,’ said Roger. ‘I just might.’
‘Thank you,’ said Giffard, as he sat with Geoffrey at the midday meal. The knight had little appetite, his nerves stretched taut from the imminent attack.
‘For what?’ he asked. ‘Proving what you did not want to hear? That Agnes did try to kill the Duchess, and that Walter was not only party to the plan, but provided her with the means to do it?’
‘You showed they did not succeed,’ said Giffard.
‘But they wanted to, and only failed because they used the wrong poison. That is almost as bad.’
‘Perhaps,’ agreed Giffard. ‘But I feel happier now that I have the truth – living with uncertainty was far worse. I feel safe, too: they will not try to hurt me now. Not after what Roger said.’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘But if they send gifts of yellow plums, you should not eat them.’
‘I doubt they will send me presents,’ said Giffard. ‘I am going to ask the King to place Agnes in a convent, and Walter will not become a man of significance without her. Their brush with power is over.’
‘You should eat something, Geoff,’ advised Roger, who was himself enjoying a sizeable portion of meat. ‘It is unlike you to refuse food. What is wrong?’
‘This situation,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘God knows we have seen battles before, but there is something deeply wrong about this one. I barely know what it is for, other than that Corwenna wants it.’
‘Do not dwell on it, or it will sap your concentration,’ advised Roger. ‘If the enemy is as numerous as we fear, then we need all the resources we can muster – including your wits.’
Reluctantly, Geoffrey accepted the bread Roger shoved into his hands, but he had taken no more than a mouthful before there was a shout. Geoffrey was on his feet in an instant, running across the hall and clattering down the stairs to the bailey, Roger at his heels.
‘They are here!’ called the white-faced man from the main gate’s fighting platform. ‘And there are thousands of them, stretching as far as the eye can see.’