Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

‘Of course not! There are others you must ask about that.’ Agnes’ eyes slid towards Walter, but then returned to Giffard. ‘You must believe I had nothing to do with Hugh’s death!’

‘How do you know he is dead?’ asked Durand. His practical question calmed the buzz of speculation that had broken out among the crowd.

‘His body was at the river,’ replied Walter. ‘It is all bloody and wet.’

‘Was Eleanor there, too?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering whether there was a second nearby.

‘Eleanor!’ exclaimed Walter, grasping a ready-made solution with relief. ‘She killed Hugh! They went missing together, so it must have been her. She tired of him and stuck a dagger in his heart.’

Geoffrey watched Agnes consider the possibility, her small, delicate features hard and calculating. ‘Eleanor might be the culprit,’ she said slowly. ‘However, it was not us, and you must protect me if Baderon and his knights try to say it was. All we did was find the body.’

‘That is what happens when you have a reputation for murder,’ said Durand unfeelingly. ‘It comes back to haunt you at inconvenient times.’

It was obvious that a fear of comments like Durand’s was exactly what had thrown Agnes into such paroxysms of alarm. She grabbed Giffard’s hand, kissing his ecclesiastical ring.

‘Please, my Lord Bishop,’ she sobbed. ‘You must believe I am innocent of bringing about any death. Pray over me, then you will see I have God’s favour. He will strike me down if I am guilty. But when He does not, you will see I am telling the truth.’

‘Be careful, Mother,’ said Walter in alarm. ‘Think about what you are saying.’

Agnes shot him a look that might have killed him, too, if eyes had been weapons. ‘Join us,’ she ordered. ‘Come and prove your innocence.’

Walter swallowed hard and looked away, a reaction that did not escape Giffard. The Bishop’s hands shook when he rested them on Agnes’ head and began to pray. Geoffrey saw the look of triumph that flickered across her face, and, recalling the views she had expressed about religion, suspected that Giffard’s God held no terrors for her. Walter kicked at a stone, uncertain of what to do, and Durand backed away, pulling Geoffrey with him.

‘What are you doing?’ Geoffrey demanded.

‘She is committing a grievous sin,’ hissed Durand. ‘Surely you saw the looks that passed between her and Walter? Neither is innocent, and they are challenging God. I do not want to be close when divine lightning forks from the sky and strikes them.’

He spoke with such conviction that Geoffrey took another step away.

‘She is lying,’ Joan remarked as she passed Geoffrey on her way to the hall, disgusted with the entire spectacle. ‘She may have convinced Giffard that she had nothing to do with Sibylla’s death, but she does not fool me.’

‘Nor me,’ said Durand. ‘I do not like the fact that she flew here so quickly, protesting her innocence about Hugh, either. It smacks of a felon committing a crime then dashing to claim sanctuary.’

Geoffrey remembered his manners, aware that he ought to make some hospitable gesture, even to guests like Agnes, Walter and Ralph. He offered them wine and indicated that they should precede him into the hall.

‘That is a good idea,’ said Walter, pushing past him. ‘I have had a nasty shock and need something to calm my nerves. It is not every day I see a murdered man.’ He crossed himself, adding in Italian, ‘The fruits fall from the bushes like thunder.’

‘Murdered?’ queried Durand, following the party inside. ‘You said he was stabbed.’

Ralph took the best seat at the hearth and then waved a peremptory hand to indicate that he wanted a drink. Torva obliged in his own time, making sure he received the dregs. The others came to stand around him.

‘Stabbing generally means murder,’ Ralph said in surprising support of Walter. ‘It is not an outrageous conclusion to draw.’

‘My brother was stabbed,’ Joan pointed out. ‘But Olivier believes he did it himself. Being stabbed does not necessarily imply someone else struck the blow.’

‘It does in this case,’ said Ralph tartly. ‘The wound was in his back.’

‘Tell us from the beginning,’ ordered Geoffrey, ‘How did you come to find him?’

‘What authority do you have to question us?’ demanded Ralph.

Geoffrey hesitated. Ralph was right: he had no authority. But Durand stepped in.

‘You can tell Sir Geoffrey now, or you can tell the King when he arrives,’ he said coldly. ‘His Majesty dislikes vassals who allow murders to go unremarked, and if you interfere with Sir Geoffrey’s attempts to identify the culprit, I shall make sure he knows about it.’

‘My mother and I found Hugh when we were on our way from Bicanofre,’ said Walter sullenly, while Ralph fumed silently. ‘We left later than everyone else, because my mother had been enjoying Ralph’s company.’

‘He was showing me his collection of silk hats,’ elaborated Agnes smoothly, as more than one person shot her speculative looks.

‘Silk hats?’ asked Geoffrey in disbelief.

Agnes glared at him, and Ralph was on his feet. ‘You dishonour a good lady’s name with your suspicious tone!’ he snapped. ‘What do you infer?’

‘He was inferring nothing,’ said Joan, also standing. Ralph sank down again when she took a step towards him. ‘It is your hostile manner that makes us not want to believe her.’

Ralph became piqued, but continued the tale. ‘Agnes and I were longer than we intended with the hats, and only became aware of the time when Douce disturbed us.’

‘They did not appear at breakfast,’ added Walter. Geoffrey saw that he was jealous of the time his mother had spent with Ralph and was determined to make them suffer. ‘And this examination of headwear began the previous night, so Ralph must have a lot of hats.’

‘Where were you all that time?’ asked Geoffrey, supposing Ralph and Agnes had lingered under the blankets while the other guests had returned to Goodrich. Or had they? It was equally possible that one had slipped out and stuck a knife in the hapless Hugh, although he could not imagine why. Unless, of course, Hugh had witnessed something sensitive during the fire at Dene, and someone had decided to silence him for it.

‘I slept in Bicanofre’s hall,’ replied Walter sullenly. ‘But I kept myself to myself and spoke to no one. I was not in the mood for idle chatter.’

Geoffrey was sure he was not, while his mother frolicked in bed with Ralph. But his lack of an alibi was unfortunate nonetheless.

‘Why did you not accompany them?’ Giffard demanded of Ralph. ‘It sounds as though it was your fault they were delayed.’

‘Because Douce was fretting about Eleanor,’ said Ralph curtly. ‘And I was obliged to calm her. I followed as soon as I could.’

‘When we reached the ford, we spotted someone lying face-down in the shallows,’ continued Walter. ‘I thought it was a peasant at first, who had fallen in a drunken stupor and drowned. I dismounted to look and recognized Hugh. There was a great bloody wound between his shoulder blades. We started back for Bicanofre for help.’

‘We met on the road,’ finished Ralph. ‘I begged a cart from Walecford and arranged to have the body taken to the village church.’

Geoffrey was thoughtful. Others had returned earlier than Agnes and Walter, and if the body had been at the ford then, they would have seen it first. He concluded that Hugh had been killed not during the night, but some time that morning.

‘Who do you think is responsible for Hugh’s death?’ he asked.

Ralph’s expression was spiteful. ‘That is for you to find out, King’s man. All I can say is it was not me.’

‘It must have been Eleanor,’ said Agnes, ‘as Walter suggested. She is missing, too, and we all know the kind of thing she does when alone in the forest.’

There was a general murmur of agreement. ‘I am afraid it is true,’ said Ralph. ‘My sister is in the habit of disappearing into the woods on occasion, and she does have a penchant for un Christian activities.’

Geoffrey gazed at him with dislike. He felt sorry for Eleanor, having a brother who thought nothing of tossing her to the wolves on the whim of his latest lover. It was clear that he was besotted with Agnes, who no doubt intended to keep him that way until she no longer needed a protector.

‘But you can see why we are worried,’ Agnes was saying to Giffard. ‘I have been accused of murder ever since I arrived, so I am the obvious scapegoat here.’

‘Baderon will want someone hanged,’ agreed Ralph.

‘Baderon does not hang innocent people,’ declared Joan, casting an icy glance towards fitzNorman, to indicate the same could not be said of him. ‘If you have done nothing wrong, you have nothing to worry about.’

‘Hugh was his only son,’ said Ralph. ‘He will lash out at anyone available. And do not think you are immune from his wrath, Geoffrey. I shall point out that it is easy to kill a man on Goodrich land, then dump the body elsewhere.’

Geoffrey met his gaze evenly. ‘But it would not be true.’

Ralph shrugged. ‘Perhaps not, but it will make him think twice about accusing Agnes. Or me.’

‘So,’ Geoffrey surmised, treating Ralph with the contempt he deserved by ignoring him. ‘Hugh disappeared after the fire, only to appear stabbed at the ford. Eleanor is still missing, which may mean she is the culprit, but which may equally mean she is dead, too. We should look for her, if for no other reason than she might need help.’

‘I will go,’ offered Giffard. ‘I will ride that donkey to the forest and try to find her.’

‘I do not suppose the killer left his knife in Hugh, did he?’ asked Geoffrey hopefully. Knives were distinctive, and finding the murder weapon might result in an early solution.

‘Yes,’ came the unexpected reply from Walter. ‘It was still in his back when we found him – before we rushed back towards Bicanofre for help.’

‘It was a horrible thing,’ said Agnes with a shudder. ‘A long dagger with a ruby in its hilt.’

‘But someone stole it,’ finished Walter. ‘By the time we returned, it was gone. A greedy peasant must have grabbed it.’

Geoffrey was unconvinced by Walter’s claim – local people would recognize Hugh and would appreciate the danger of stealing a murder weapon. Even the greediest would think twice, since it would be distinctive and difficult to sell. It occurred to Geoffrey that the killer might have been nearby when Walter and Agnes had stumbled on the body, and had retrieved his dagger after they had gone. Or were they lying? It was no secret that Henry had been killed with a similar blade, so perhaps they had described it to create confusion, and thus divert suspicion from themselves.

Geoffrey travelled the short distance to Walecford to inspect the body himself. He took Durand with him, because Bale was helping Peter in the kitchens, using his sharp knives to slice onions. He tensed when he saw Corwenna and Seguin behind them, wondering if they intended to ambush him, but they turned left at the first fork in the road, while he went right.

‘She is going back to Llan Martin,’ explained Durand. ‘She has been telling everyone she will not wait at Goodrich to be stabbed by Mappestones. The King ordered her to stay here, but clearly she considers herself exempt from the commands of a king.’

Geoffrey was thoughtful. ‘I heard her tell Seguin that Henry will not reign for much longer.’

‘I heard her, too,’ said Durand. ‘The woman is mad to make such statements in the earshot of loyal subjects.’

Hugh was no more attractive in death than he had been in life, his jaw hanging open and his eyes glazed slits. Geoffrey asked Durand to stand guard at the church door, to tell him if anyone was coming, then began his examination. He quickly learnt that Hugh had been killed by a single stab wound to the back. The weapon had made an oval injury, with sharp V-shaped incisions at the top and bottom. It told Geoffrey that its blade was double-edged, a killing weapon rather than an everyday knife.

He inspected Hugh’s hands and arms, looking for marks to indicate that he had fought his attacker, but there was nothing. Then he examined Hugh’s head, to check whether he had first been subdued, and came across a lump. Finally, he assessed his neck, and was startled to see the clear imprint of fingers. Geoffrey sat back on his heels. It seemed to him that someone had hit Hugh on the head, hard enough to stun him, and then strangled him. The knife wound had merely been for show.

He frowned as he considered further. According to the King, the ruby-hilted dagger should be in Baderon’s possession. Did that mean Baderon had killed his own son? Or had someone in his household murdered Hugh, using the weapon Baderon had been to such pains to acquire? But who? One of his knights, on the grounds that their master would have more property to give away with the lawful heir dead? Or Hilde, so she would inherit all?

‘What are you doing?’

The appalled voice behind him made him jump violently. Unsure of how to reply, he said nothing. He glanced angrily at Durand for letting Hilde past in the first place, but Durand only shrugged, to convey that he had been unable to stop her. Geoffrey’s spirits plummeted further still when he saw that Hilde was not alone: Baderon and Lambert were with her.

‘No!’ groaned Baderon, dropping to his knees. ‘Not Hugh!’

‘Who did this?’ Hilde demanded coldly. ‘And what are you doing here? Joan sent word to tell us Hugh was found, but she did not warn us that ghouls would be poring over his poor corpse.’

‘Hugh is wet,’ said Baderon in a strangled whisper. ‘Why is he wet?’

‘Because he was found in the ford,’ explained Durand.

‘Stabbed,’ said Hilde. ‘Or so we were told. Where is the knife?’

‘Actually, he was strangled,’ said Geoffrey, pointing at the bruises. ‘He was probably subdued with a blow to the head and then had the life choked out of him. The stabbing seems to have been an afterthought.’

Hilde stared at him. ‘How do you know?’

Geoffrey took a deep breath. ‘Agnes and Walter claim they saw a ruby-hilted knife embedded in Hugh. It was stolen by the time they fetched help.’

Horror flickered briefly in Baderon’s eyes. ‘Ruby hilted?’

‘Like the one used to kill my brother,’ said Geoffrey, watching him. Alarm replaced the shock on Baderon’s face. Geoffrey glanced at Hilde, but could read only grief, while Lambert was impassive and watchful.

Baderon swallowed hard. ‘I did own such a weapon, but it was stolen months ago. I doubt that killed Henry or Hugh.’