Deadly Inheritance

‘I am not trying to mislead anyone,’ replied Geoffrey, stepping forward to prevent Bale from making good his threat. ‘However, I will find out what happened to Henry, no matter what it takes – and if that means talking to Baderon, Seguin and Lambert if I happen across them, then so be it.’

Torva indicated with a jerk of his head that Jervil and Bale were to leave them alone. Bale went to saddle his own horse, while Jervil, scowling, walked Geoffrey’s stallion a short distance away.

‘I am sorry if we seem rude,’ Torva began in a conciliatory voice. ‘But it really is better if you let Henry’s death lie.’

‘Better for whom?’ asked Geoffrey archly. ‘The killer?’

‘For all of us, including your sister. Henry was always vicious, but in the months before his death, he grew beyond control. He broke Sir Olivier’s arm, and beat a shepherd so badly that he died. He prowled the countryside picking fights, and it was only because Lady Joan is so respected that Goodrich was not razed to the ground.’

Geoffrey was not sure whether to believe him. ‘What precipitated Henry’s sudden wildness?’

‘Lady Joan made some wise investments, and Goodrich’s fortunes soared. It meant there was money for luxuries like wine. Henry could not keep from drinking. He started the moment he woke, and he continued until he slept.’

‘Did no one stop him? For his own good?’

‘Olivier tried – and had his arm snapped for his troubles. Joan locked Henry in the cellar for a week, hoping that forcing him to become sober would make him see the error of his ways. But he threatened to get a message to the King, and Joan did not want to attract royal attention. She was afraid the King might demand some favour from you, as payment for overlooking an unlawful imprisonment. From what I have heard, it was not an unreasonable fear.’

Geoffrey supposed it was not. ‘Then what happened?’

‘Henry was worse than ever. Ask anyone – they will all tell you the same.’

‘And that is why you want me to forget his murder? Because you think I will learn that someone here killed him? Jervil, for example.’

‘Jervil did not kill him,’ said Torva with absolute certainty. ‘He heard the scuffle, although he will never admit it to you. But he saw nothing.’

‘How do you know Jervil is not the killer?’

‘Because of the Black Knife that killed Henry,’ replied Torva. ‘It had a ruby in its hilt. Jervil could never afford such a valuable thing – and if he had, he would not have left it in a murdered corpse for everyone to identify. Jervil has light fingers where valuables are concerned, and nothing would have induced him to leave such a fine dagger in Henry.’

‘Whose was it, then?’

‘We do not know. But it belonged to a wealthy man, not a groom.’

‘FitzNorman?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Or Baderon?’

‘Not Baderon,’ replied Torva, again sounding certain. ‘But Seguin and Lambert are a dangerous pair. Baderon does not have them under his control, as he should vassal knights. I am not saying they are the killers, but they were the first ones who came into our minds when we saw the dagger.’

‘Where is this dagger now?’

‘Joan took it,’ replied Torva. ‘She has it locked away.’

Geoffrey donned full armour before he went to Dene: a mail tunic that reached his knees, his stained Crusader’s surcoat with its distinctive cross, a mail hood and his conical helmet. It was far in excess of what was required for a normal ride, but he did not want to meet Baderon or his knights unprotected.

He packed a bag with a few items he thought he might need for a day or two – a scroll to pass the time if Giffard could not see him immediately, a spare dagger and the needle and thread he used to repair damage to his armour. At the last moment, he included a tunic Joan had given him, which she said was the kind of thing worn when dining in polite company. It was green, and therefore a little bright for his liking, but it was smarter than the brown one he wore at Goodrich. He jammed it in and then buckled the sack closed. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walked down the stairs and into the bailey. Bale and Jervil were waiting with the horses, and even from a distance, Geoffrey could hear that they were arguing.

‘It is not wrong,’ Jervil was saying. ‘I am offering you a couple of pennies for doing nothing. I do not see why you are making such a fuss. It will be the easiest money you ever earn.’

‘No,’ said Bale, and Geoffrey could hear the stubbornness in his voice. ‘He is my master and I will not spy on him.’

‘You will not be spying,’ Jervil insisted, trying to press coins into the big man’s hand. ‘I only want to know if he meets Lord Baderon. Surely you can do that for two silver pennies?’

‘No,’ said Bale, pushing him away with considerable force.

Jervil replaced the coins in his purse. ‘Very well. It is your loss.’

He turned and walked away. Geoffrey rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Torva believed that Jervil had not murdered Henry, and had given reasons Geoffrey was prepared to accept. So, why was Jervil interested in whether Geoffrey met Baderon? Had Jervil left gates open and turned a blind eye while Henry was stabbed by someone from Baderon’s retinue? It made sense: Jervil should not have slept through the murder, no matter what he claimed, and was obviously protecting someone.

And what of Bale’s reaction to Jervil’s bribe? Was he really loyal to a man he had served for so short a time? Loyalty was earned, not bought overnight. So was Bale simply eager to serve his new master well, or was he already in someone else’s pay – someone more powerful than Jervil?

Geoffrey took the reins and set off with his squire behind him. He looked for his dog, but it was not to be seen, and he supposed it was just as well. It had bitten Lambert the last time, and he did not want another altercation. He was riding across the drawbridge when he met Joan.

‘Where are you going so heavily armed?’ she demanded.

Geoffrey smiled reassuringly. ‘Bishop Giffard is in Dene, and has asked me to visit. And it is a fine day for a ride.’

‘It is going to rain,’ countered Joan. ‘And Dene is not worth the journey – it is only a few miles distant, but the tracks are poor. You will not be able to travel there and back today.’

Geoffrey shrugged. It would not be the first time he had slept by the roadside.

‘Do not go,’ pleaded Joan. ‘Wait until Roger arrives. He will watch your back, and I will feel happier knowing he is with you.’

Geoffrey was surprised. ‘You think someone at Dene might try to harm me?’

‘FitzNorman might if you accuse him of killing Henry.’

‘Then I will not do it,’ promised Geoffrey, wondering why she had so little faith in him when his diplomatic skills had impressed kings and princes.

Joan sighed. ‘If you must go, then at least look at Margaret, Isabel and Hilde while you are there, and see if any meet your expectations. If they do, I can have you wed this week. And take this.’

‘I have knives,’ said Geoffrey, declining to accept the minuscule blade she proffered. It was no longer than his finger, and he wondered what she thought he could do with such a thing.

She tucked it into the cuff of his tunic, securing it there with a series of folds. ‘Your daggers are large and flagrant, but this is discreet.’

‘Speaking of daggers, I am told you have the one that killed Henry. Where is it?’

She gazed at him coolly. ‘Jervil wanted it, but I did not think it right that the blade that killed my brother should be used to remove stones from horses’ hoofs – although others thought it a suitable epitaph. I kept it in my bedchamber for a month, wrapped in cloth that had been soaked in holy water, but its presence disturbed me, so I gave it to Father Adrian. There was a ruby in its hilt, and I thought he could prise it out and sell it to buy bread for the poor. You must ask him what he did with it.’

‘It might help me identify his killer.’

‘How? None of us had seen it before and, if we do not know it, then how can you? You could look at it all day and it would tell you nothing.’

Without further ado, she reached up to touch his cheek, wished him God’s speed and returned to her business.

With Bale behind him, Geoffrey followed the path of the Wye as it meandered through the forest. The roots of