Deadly Inheritance

heat drove them back before their water could touch the flames. It was hopeless.

Bale dumped Giffard, then raced towards the stables to save their horses. Geoffrey marvelled at his dedication to duty; Durand would not have thought of the animals. Geoffrey hauled Giffard to his feet and half- carried, half-dragged him to a hedge outside the main gate, where he would be safe and untrampled if the fire spread. He leant close and heard a snore that suggested Giffard was still drunk rather than overcome with fumes, so he rolled him on to his stomach, tucked his cloak around him and trotted back to the yard.

He tried to locate Isabel and Margaret – he did not want them roasted for lack of a guiding hand – but he could not see them, so pushed his way into a confused throng. The first people he recognized were Seguin, Corwenna and Lambert. All three had smoke-blackened faces.

‘Have you see Isabel?’ he asked urgently. ‘Or Margaret?’

Seguin barely looked at him as he hurried away. ‘I am more interested in my horse.’

‘Heroics will not win you Isabel,’ said Lambert. ‘She loves only Ralph. I paid her court myself – I am by far the richest of Baderon’s knights – but she was not interested. If she will not have me, she certainly will not have you.’

Geoffrey broke away from Lambert and moved through the survivors, peering into smoke-streaked faces. But Isabel was not there. He wondered if she had fallen, or been knocked down in the panic, and was disorientated and unable to find a way out. He recalled his own experience in the collapsed tunnel – especially vivid because of his dream – and thought it would be an awful way to die. He redoubled his efforts to find her.

‘Is Isabel safe?’ he shouted when he saw fitzNorman. The Constable was bellowing orders, clearly under the impression that he could still save his home.

‘I saw Margaret, and I assumed they were together,’ fitzNorman replied. He looked numb with shock. ‘What have I done to deserve this? And when the King is visiting, too!’

‘Where is the King?’ asked Geoffrey. If Henry had not escaped, fitzNorman would have to contend with far more serious issues than the loss of his manor – some people would conclude that the blaze was deliberately set to deprive England of her monarch.

FitzNorman’s face grew whiter still. ‘I do not know.’

‘We should find him,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You go that way; I will look near the stable.’

FitzNorman lumbered away, leaving Geoffrey to scan the faces of those still flooding from the buildings. Smoke swirled thick across the yard, and he raised an arm to protect his eyes, then collided heavily with someone doing the same. It was Serlo, holding Hugh by the hand. Baderon’s heir was sobbing helplessly.

The Abbot responded to Geoffrey’s question about the King by gesturing vaguely towards the guest hall. Geoffrey moved on again, as another familiar figure approached, hacking and staggering.

‘I have been burnt!’ cried Durand, cradling a bloodied hand to his chest. ‘And my hair caught fire!’ His golden locks had been singed and, combined with the dirty water he had used to extinguish them, were a sorry mess.

‘Have you seen Isabel or the King?’ Geoffrey asked urgently.

‘I saw nothing,’ said Durand, coughing hard. ‘But I heard yells coming from the guest house. It sounded like Henry’s voice, but I think his servants are seeing to him.’

‘You think?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily. ‘You do not know?’

‘Several men ran in that direction, but the flames were fierce and the smoke too thick to see. I did not want to be in the way, so I left them to it.’

He staggered and almost fell, so Geoffrey took his arm and bundled him along until he was sure that he could make his own way. When they parted, Durand shoved something at him. It was a pair of gloves, which he said would protect his hands, should he need to touch anything. Geoffrey tugged them on. He rounded a corner and saw Agnes and Walter together, hurrying along under a wet cloak. They were loaded down with bags that were inadequately buckled and Walter was struggling to keep their contents from spilling out.

‘I hope he is dead,’ Agnes muttered venomously.

‘Mother,’ said Walter sharply; he had seen Geoffrey. He smiled affably. ‘Have you seen my uncle? We are anxious for his safety.’

Geoffrey sent them in the wrong direction. Walter carried a knife, and Geoffrey did not like what Agnes had said. He dashed on, trying to orientate himself in the smoke.

Suddenly, someone grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. It was Ralph, and Geoffrey only just evaded the dagger that was thrust at him.

Ralph’s face was twisted into a grimace. ‘It is time you paid for your brother’s deeds.’

Geoffrey gazed at Ralph in astonishment, scarcely believing he would choose such a time for a brawl. Ralph lunged again, and Geoffrey knocked his blow out of the way. The man fought with no skill, and his attack was more a nuisance than a threat.

‘I do not want to fight you,’ snapped Geoffrey, sidestepping Ralph’s next move.

‘I do not want to fight you, either,’ hissed Ralph. ‘I want to kill you.’

He launched himself at Geoffrey, but suddenly halted mid-move. Geoffrey’s mouth dropped as he saw Hilde holding his assailant in her burly arms. Ralph screamed his fury and frustration as he tried in vain to struggle free.

‘Have you seen Hugh?’ she asked, pinioning Ralph with effortless ease.

‘I hope he is with the Devil!’ shrieked Ralph, rather unwisely given his situation. But Hilde kept her eyes on Geoffrey as she waited for an answer.

‘He is safe,’ said Geoffrey.

Hilde closed her eyes in relief, but opened them as Geoffrey moved away. ‘You are going the wrong way. The flames are fiercer in that direction.’

‘Isabel is missing, and so is the King.’

‘It would serve Isabel right,’ said Ralph spitefully. ‘She is a whore, who-’

The diatribe stopped when Hilde tossed him away as though he were made of rags. Whether by accident or design, he landed in a slippery pile of compost.

‘I will help you look,’ she said. ‘But we will not waste time with vermin.’

Curses and threats followed them both. Smoke swirled, stinging Geoffrey’s eyes to the point where he could barely open them – not that it mattered, because he could not see anyway. Nor could he breathe easily, and his armour and surcoat were not garments he could pull over his face, as Hilde was doing. He buried his nose in his sleeve and staggered on, following the line of a wall.

As he reached a corner, the smoke thinned, and he felt a waft of clean air. The wind was blowing from the north, and they were finally upwind of the choking fumes. Geoffrey opened his smarting eyes and saw others had gathered there, gazing at the devastation. He headed towards them, and dropped to one knee beside Margaret, who sat weeping.

‘Where is Isabel?’

‘She was behind me one moment, and gone the next,’ cried Margaret. ‘I think she has gone to the guest house to find Ralph.’

‘Stay here,’ ordered Hilde. ‘Sir Geoffrey and I will find her.’

Geoffrey followed Hilde towards the thickest pall of smoke, not sure anyone would still be alive within. He saw Baderon and some courtiers standing with a tiny mound of salvaged possessions.

‘What caused this?’ demanded Baderon hoarsely. ‘How could it have taken hold so fast?’

‘It started in the manor house,’ replied a servant. ‘I assumed it was the kitchens – that is where fires usually begin – but they are still intact. It is very suspicious.’

Geoffrey’s thoughts whirled. Was the fire started deliberately? If so, was it directed against the King? Or did Agnes and her son want to make sure that gossip about the two of them and Sibylla did not spread? Or was it aimed at fitzNorman, to shame him before the King? Or Baderon, because his knights were too strong for him and he was forming alliances that were uniting the Welsh against the English?

Geoffrey tripped over a bucket of water, abandoned by someone who had fled. He grabbed Hilde’s arm and brought her to an abrupt stop, indicating she was to dip her cloak in it and put it over her head. She did not need to be told twice. Muscles bulging, she ripped the garment in two, jammed it in the bucket and then handed half to Geoffrey. With the material wrapped turban-like around their faces, they hurried on. When they reached the guest