Deadly Inheritance

so these must be his men. We are on legitimate business; we have no reason to hide.’

The group that rounded the corner was astonished to see him. It comprised a knight, a monk and several soldiers, and all reached for their weapons. Geoffrey raised his hands to show he did not mean to fight, but that did not prevent them from spurring their way towards him with drawn swords. A pair of archers fumbled for bows and soon had arrows pointing in his direction.

‘I told you we should hide,’ whispered Bale accusingly. ‘Now it will be us with slit throats.’

‘Hold!’ shouted Geoffrey, wondering whether Bale had been right to be cautious. He had assumed that a lone traveller and his squire would present no threat, but saw he had been wrong. ‘I am here to see Bishop Giffard.’

‘You are poaching,’ said the knight. Short grey hair poked from under his helmet, and his cloak was blue with an ermine trim. There was embroidery around the hem, sewn to accentuate the presence of several semi-precious stones. His eyes were small and black, and he did not look friendly. ‘There are laws against poaching.’

‘We are not poaching,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I have come to-’

‘There is blood on your saddle,’ snapped the knight, riding forward to inspect it. ‘I can tell when a man has slaughtered an animal and carried it on his horse.’

Geoffrey tried to be patient. ‘I am here because Bishop Giffard summoned me.’

‘I know nothing about it,’ said the knight in a voice that suggested Geoffrey was lying.

‘I have a letter,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I can show you.’

The knight gave a curt nod, so Geoffrey retrieved Giffard’s letter and handed it to the monk. The Benedictine was a small, wiry man in his sixties, and his habit was made from good wool. He was vaguely familiar, although Geoffrey was more concerned with the knight.

‘It is true, fitzNorman,’ said the monk. ‘This is a message from Giffard asking him to come to Dene as a matter of urgency.’

FitzNorman laughed in an unpleasant manner, while Geoffrey regarded him with renewed interest. Here was the man who controlled the forest and was father to Isabel. He was large and fit, and his advanced age had apparently not reduced his readiness to fight. He also looked like the kind of man who would stop at nothing to have his own way – including murdering drunken neighbours.

‘I suppose Giffard summoned him over the Duke and his harlot,’ he said.

Geoffrey regarded him uneasily. He did not like the sound of it, and hoped Giffard did not intend to drag him into intrigues involving nobles and their lovers.

‘I met Hilde Baderon near the Angel Springs,’ Geoffrey said, remembering his mission. ‘With Hugh and Eleanor de Bicanofre. Hugh has hurt his foot and they need a cart to-’

FitzNorman spat. ‘A likely story! Hilde would not seek out Eleanor’s company, while Eleanor would have climbed on the back of your horse and insisted on riding with you. You lie!’

The monk spoke before Geoffrey could reply. ‘The letter is addressed to Sir Geoffrey Mappestone.’

FitzNorman’s eyes settled on Geoffrey. ‘The man whose brother despoiled my daughter?’

Geoffrey was not sure how to reply. ‘Henry is dead these last six months, my Lord.’

FitzNorman continued to stare. ‘He wanted to force my hand, so I would let him have Isabel. She loves Ralph de Bicanofre, and wanted him. So, Henry came one night, pretending to be Ralph. She is blind, and could not tell the difference. Now Henry is dead, but Ralph will not have her. Between them they have broken her heart.’

Geoffrey had met other blind people, and they had developed other senses to make up for their lack of vision. He did not see why Isabel should be any different, and if she loved Ralph, she would recognize his smell, his voice and the feel of his body. Isabel mistaking Henry for Ralph seemed an odd tale, and not one he was ready to believe. But he could hardly say so to a doting father.

‘I am sorry he used such tactics,’ he said, seeing fitzNorman expected a reply and feeling uncomfortable with the men-at-arms clustering around him.

FitzNorman seemed lost in thought. Then he suddenly hissed, ‘I swore no Mappestone would ever set foot on my lands again,’ and swung his sword at Geoffrey’s head.

Four

Geoffrey had sensed fitzNorman’s pent-up rage, so had been on guard. He raised his shield to fend off a blow so hard that splinters flew.

‘I have no quarrel with you!’ he cried.

‘I have a quarrel with you!’ yelled fitzNorman. ‘Your brother ruined my daughter’s reputation.’

Seeing the futility of trying to reason, Geoffrey went on the offensive. It was not long before he had the older man backing away, although the archers stood ready, should Geoffrey pursue his advantage. Bale rode quickly to Geoffrey’s side, awaiting orders.

‘All right!’ fitzNorman finally shouted. ‘You have proved your point.’

Geoffrey lowered his weapon, keeping a wary eye on the man and his companions.

‘You should be ashamed of yourself, attacking a man without provocation,’ said the monk to fitzNorman. He turned to Geoffrey. ‘I am Serlo, Abbot of Gloucester.’

Serlo’s face clicked into place in Geoffrey’s mind. They had met before, although he hoped the monk would not remember. His mother had taken him to Gloucester Abbey when he was eleven, intending him to remain there. It took six months for Geoffrey to convince Serlo that he was unsuitable. Serlo had aged, and his brown hair had turned white, although his eyes were still filled with humour.

‘I hear your new church was consecrated two years ago,’ said Geoffrey politely.

A wry gleam showed in Serlo’s eye. ‘Many things have changed since you were last there.’

Meanwhile, fitzNorman gazed with hostility at Geoffrey. ‘Have you come to take up where your brother left off, to secure Isabel?’ he asked. ‘She will not have you, but I have a sister-’

‘No,’ interrupted Geoffrey. ‘I have come to see Giffard.’

‘And see him, you shall, for we should return to Dene for Vespers,’ said Serlo. His voice was commanding, and the soldiers immediately obeyed. He indicated Geoffrey was to come, too, but the knight hesitated, loath to travel with fitzNorman. Serlo sighed. ‘Come on!’

FitzNorman led the way along a winding valley, and it was not long before the castle at Dene came into sight. It stood at the heart of the royal forest, with steep slopes on three sides and a gentler one on the fourth. It was a large complex, with a tower-topped motte and fenced bailey, but it was primarily an administrative and residential structure, not a military one.

The largest building was the manor house, comprising a hall on the ground floor with five chambers above. To its left was a handsome stone edifice – newer, cleaner and containing real glass in its windows. Serlo told Geoffrey it was used when the King came to hunt in the forest, which he owned. Other buildings included a kitchen range, placed at the far end of the bailey to avoid fires, and stables, pantries, storerooms and a brewery.

‘I do not like it here,’ whispered Bale. He glared at fitzNorman’s back. ‘And I do not trust him.’

Geoffrey agreed. ‘We will see Giffard, then be on our way. Will you make sure someone sends a cart for Hugh? I do not want Hilde accusing me of failing to keep my promises.’

‘You do not,’ agreed Bale. ‘Especially if they force you to marry her. I will see to it now.’

Geoffrey caught his arm as he started to leave. ‘Thank you for standing with me.’ It made a pleasant change: Durand would have fled.

Bale grinned, and bashfully rubbed a hand over his bald head. ‘You are welcome,’ he murmured, blushing. ‘It is what squires are for, is it not?’

Geoffrey had never had a squire who had thought so. When Bale had gone, Geoffrey followed a servant to the room he was to sleep in that night. It was one of the five chambers on the upper floor of the main house, and the man said he would have to share with Bishop Giffard, because space was limited. Geoffrey was not entirely pleased to learn that the King was expected at Dene within the next few weeks, and local dignitaries were beginning to