Deadly Inheritance

‘I will come to the point,’ said Baderon, standing closer and lowering his voice. ‘Goodrich and its estates are small, but they command the ford over the Wye. You do not need me to tell you that the alliance your family will forge when you marry is important to the security of the area.’

‘No,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I do not need you to tell me that.’

Baderon pursed his lips. ‘The King wants peace. Therefore, I must want it, too, and I am willing to offer Hilde and a large dowry to secure it. She is a fine woman and will bear strong sons. I find haggling distasteful – as must you – but we have no choice. Your brother was prepared to listen.’

‘Was he?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I thought he wanted Isabel.’

Baderon nodded. ‘But he and I had other irons in the fire.’

Geoffrey was intrigued. ‘What irons?’

But Baderon was not to be drawn. ‘They are irrelevant now. Will you consider my offer?’

‘Will Hilde?’

‘She is a practical woman.’

‘Do you have land in Normandy?’ asked Geoffrey, wanting to bring the subject around to Giffard’s problem, and to ask Baderon what he knew about Agnes and the Duchess.

Baderon scratched his head. ‘Well, there is a manor near Rouen you could have, I suppose, but I am not sure it would be worth your trouble. Normandy is unsettled, and you would find yourself obliged to be there more than it warrants.’

Geoffrey laughed, amused that his attempt to change the subject had led Baderon to think he was angling for a better bargain. ‘I was not asking for land – I barely know how to manage what I have. I wondered whether you were in Normandy when the Duchess died.’

Baderon was transparently relieved that Geoffrey’s enquiry was only about distant politics. ‘It was a dreadful day when Sibylla passed away. She was sensible and courageous.’

‘How did she die?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I heard it was a sickness following the birth of her son.’

‘Her physicians say so, but there is a rumour she was poisoned. Yet such tales always circulate when a good person dies young.’

‘I have heard the Duke had a mistress,’ said Geoffrey, heartily cursing Giffard for making him assume the role of gossip. ‘Could she have harmed Sibylla?’

‘Agnes?’ asked Baderon, startled. ‘I would not think so. She was all care and concern when the Duchess took a turn for the worse. She even ordered dried plums, at great expense, to tempt Sibylla’s appetite and make her stronger. I doubt Agnes would have harmed Sibylla. But we are moving away from my original question: will you consider my offer of Hilde?’

‘I will mention it to Joan,’ hedged Geoffrey.

Baderon smiled and patted his shoulder. ‘That is all I ask.’

He moved away, leaving Geoffrey contemplating, while absently staring at the pigs. Margaret thought the dried plums were sinister, while Baderon proffered an innocent interpretation. When he glanced away from his porcine companions, he saw Eleanor emerging from the kitchen, her veil and gloves in place. She carried a pot.

‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘Did you manage to sleep after I removed those splinters?’

He nodded. ‘And you?’

‘I rest during the day, when I have the room to myself. Can I test this ointment on you? I need to know whether you can detect a warming sensation, or whether it needs to be stronger. As I said last night, I am not good with medicines. My talents lie in other directions.’

‘What is it?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Nothing that will do you any harm. Hold out your arm.’

Geoffrey tucked both hands in his surcoat. ‘My mother told me never to accept potions from strange women.’

‘You think I am strange, do you?’ Eleanor laughed. ‘Well, perhaps you are right: everyone else seems to think so, too. However, I devised this salve for the pigs. There is something wrong with them, and I do not like seeing animals suffer.’

‘Then test it on them.’

‘Yes,’ she said caustically. ‘But they will not tell me whether they feel a tingling sensation that means it is working, will they?’

‘Try it on yourself. Surely, you are the best one to judge its potency?’

‘I have an aversion to mandrake root. It makes my skin blister.’

He regarded her uneasily. ‘Mandrake root? I thought that was poisonous.’

‘Only when applied improperly. That is why I use so little, and why I need a person to tell me if there is warmth. I may have been too careful, and the pigs will not have any benefit.’

‘A simple wash would do them more good than potions. Or a clean sty.’

He left Eleanor looking for another victim, and was crossing the crowded hall when he met Durand. The clerk was wearing yet another outfit, this one a glorious deep red, cut so closely that it looked to be part of his skin. Geoffrey would never have worn such a revealing costume, especially if he had Durand’s paunch.

‘The King is here,’ said Durand, dancing a jig that had Seguin and Lambert gaping in astonishment. ‘My rescue is at hand. You cannot imagine how I yearn to be back in Westminster.’

Geoffrey was grateful he would not be the one to break the news of the sojourn with Giffard, and sincerely hoped Henry would not disclose the idea’s origin. ‘Have you considered Normandy? Its turbulence gives it much potential for a man who enjoys intrigue.’

Durand nodded. ‘I have, but it is safer here.’ He leant close to Geoffrey, who resisted the urge to move away when he was treated to a waft of flower water. ‘I hear tales of terrible happenings. And some of them include women you have been talking to.’

‘Isabel?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Or do you mean Margaret?’

‘Neither,’ said Durand dismissively. ‘I was referring to Eleanor. She has a way with poisons, and there is a suggestion that the Duchess died by foul means. What do you conclude from that?’

‘That you should ask yourself why Eleanor would want to murder Sibylla before spreading nasty stories about her,’ said Geoffrey tartly. ‘She has no reason to-’

‘She is friends with Walter Giffard,’ interrupted Durand. ‘And Walter’s mother was the Duke’s mistress. Of course, Eleanor helped him with a potion or two.’

He gave a smirk and minced away, leaving Geoffrey staring. Had Eleanor supplied poison to Walter, who had encouraged his mother to use it? Or was it Agnes who had asked Walter to procure the poison?

‘You were in the right place earlier,’ came an unpleasant voice at his side. Geoffrey jumped; so deep in his thoughts, he had not heard Corwenna approach. Seguin and Lambert were behind her. ‘Were you attracted to kindred spirits?’

‘Pigs,’ said Seguin, in case Geoffrey had not understood. ‘You were looking at the pigs.’

‘Enjoy them while you can,’ said Corwenna. The tone of her voice implied it was a threat.

It was not one Geoffrey understood. ‘Why? Are you planning to steal them when you go home?’

She glowered at him, and answered in Welsh. ‘Because your days are numbered. Soon my people will pit themselves against England.’

Geoffrey answered in the same tongue. ‘Baderon is trying to promote peace. That is what the King wants – and what his knights should want, too.’

She shrugged. ‘What the King wants is unimportant. We are interested in our own welfare. You will soon be crushed by a great enemy – we have not forgotten last summer.’

‘Last summer?’ asked Geoffrey, bewildered. ‘You mean when my brother was killed?’

‘Your brother is nothing,’ spat Corwenna. ‘Last summer we were ready to fight for Belleme, but Prince Iorwerth changed sides and we went home empty-handed. Since then, the English have chipped away at our lands, taking a manor here, a church there. Well, we have had enough, and will rise against you. You grain and cattle will be ours, and your lands will burn.’

Geoffrey was appalled at the prospect of a war along the Marches, and hoped Corwenna was exaggerating. But he had the feeling she was not. ‘Fighting will damage all our peoples, and-’