and some gossips were insisting that he and Eleanor were enjoying each other’s company elsewhere.
Geoffrey decided to leave for Goodrich immediately, desperate to be away from the grief-stricken servants. They reminded him of people in villages he had seen put to the torch after battles. He was on his way to tell Giffard when there was a howl from the stables.
‘What has happened?’ he asked, as Lambert emerged from the building.
‘Margaret,’ replied Lambert, ashen-faced. ‘She must have staggered from the fire and died – the grooms just found her when they came to saddle the King’s horses. His Majesty rides to Gloucester today.’
‘
Lambert touched his shoulder in a rough gesture of sympathy. ‘We all liked Margaret, motherly soul that she was, and I understand you were considering her as a wife. She was old, but she would have made a kindly and affable partner.’
Geoffrey eased his way through the onlookers, and saw the King standing with fitzNorman, while Isabel knelt next to a prostrate form, crying. Henry was talking, and Geoffrey noticed the Constable was not too shocked to nod and bow obsequiously to whatever suggestions the monarch was making. Isabel was far more distressed than the hard-hearted old warrior.
‘This is a sorry way to begin the day,’ said Durand to Geoffrey. ‘Poor Margaret.’
‘Take her to the church and say a mass for her soul,’ Henry ordered Durand. ‘Make sure it is done properly; she was a good woman.’
‘She was, Sire,’ agreed Durand. ‘She will be in Heaven soon.’
Henry nodded, but everyone could see that he was chafing at the delay. He patted the stunned fitzNorman on the arm, muttered a few more words of sympathy and left. Most people were more interested in helping him mount up than in Margaret’s death, including fitzNorman. Geoffrey heard him apologizing for the blaze and assuring him that the castle would be rebuilt by the time His Royal Highness next visited. It was not long before the stable emptied, leaving only Geoffrey, Isabel, Bale and Durand.
‘Cover her face if it is not,’ said Isabel. ‘I do not want people staring. Does she look frightened or in pain?’
‘Neither,’ said Geoffrey. He had nothing appropriate to cover her, but Margaret had worn a veil that comprised a large square of clean linen. He started to unwrap it, intending to wind it around her head. When it fell from her neck, he gazed in shock. Dark bruises lay in an even line down both sides of her throat, and he saw that she had not died from smoke. Someone had strangled her, and the evidence was in eight fingers and two thumbs that had pressed into her pale skin.
‘She looks as though she is sleeping,’ said Durand, for Isabel’s benefit. He, too, had seen the marks and his face expressed horror. ‘She is peaceful.’
‘God help us, Sir!’ breathed Bale from the adjoining stall. ‘Margaret is not the only corpse here. So is Jervil, our groom!’
Shocked, Geoffrey saw that Bale was right. Why was Jervil in the Dene stables? Had he come to check on Geoffrey? Or had he carried a message from Joan and died in the smoke while looking for someone to give it to? Geoffrey searched Jervil’s clothes but could find no letter.
‘Jervil?’ asked Isabel, confused. ‘Goodrich’s stable-hand? Why would he be here?’
It was a good question, but she was more concerned with her aunt than the answer, and began to cry afresh. Durand took her hands in his, crooning gentle words to calm her.
Uncertain what prompted him to do so, Geoffrey moved the tunic around Jervil’s throat, where he saw that Margaret was not the only one to have been strangled: marks indicated that strong fingers had gripped Jervil’s neck, too. Geoffrey sat back on his heels, perplexed. How had Goodrich’s groom come to be killed in the same place and manner as fitzNorman’s sister? Had Jervil seen Margaret slain, and been murdered to ensure that he did not tell? Or was it the other way around? Or had Jervil killed Margaret, and then been dispatched in turn?
‘There is a knife in Jervil’s hand,’ said Durand.
Geoffrey moved straw away from the body and saw that Durand was right.
‘Was he attacking, or protecting himself?’ asked Bale.
Geoffrey frowned. ‘It is unusual to see a man wielding a knife in his left hand. Did he fight left-handed?’
Bale closed his eyes and went through an elaborate mime of some previous fight he had enjoyed with the groom. He jigged for so long that Geoffrey began to wonder whether the proximity of violent death had finally turned his mind.
‘No,’ he said eventually, opening his eyes. ‘He fought right-handed, like me.’
In the yard the King was issuing orders. Some people were instructed to remain at Dene, while others were to travel to Gloucester. Since a large area of virgin forest lay between Dene and Gloucester, Henry intended to hunt along the way, and a few courtiers were invited to accompany him in search of a large stag that had recently been seen. People hurried to collect their horses; among them were Baderon, his knights and fitzNorman.
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Lambert, peering over Geoffrey’s shoulder. ‘Is that Goodrich’s groom? What is he doing here?’
‘He must have been carrying a message from Lady Joan,’ said Bale, before Geoffrey could reply. ‘He died of smoke, just like poor Margaret.’
‘Dangerous stuff, smoke,’ said Baderon, in a way that made Geoffrey glance at him sharply. Evidently, the Lord of Monmouth suspected something odd, too, and Geoffrey wondered why.
‘That makes six dead,’ said fitzNorman, standing behind him and staring sadly at his sister’s remains. ‘Five servants and one noblewoman.’
‘And my son and Eleanor are missing,’ added Baderon. Geoffrey studied him closely and saw lines of worry etched into his face.
‘Eleanor will look after Hugh,’ said Seguin, exchanging a lewd grin with his brother.
Baderon frowned. ‘I hope you are right. Hilde is looking for him, but he might be anywhere.’
‘Will someone fetch Ralph?’ asked Isabel tearfully. ‘I need his comfort.’
Ralph was standing near the door with an unreadable expression on his face. He heard his former lover’s pathetic appeal, but turned and strode away.
‘I think he is looking for Eleanor,’ lied Durand.
‘Why would he do that?’ cried Isabel. ‘
‘He thinks you have Margaret,’ said fitzNorman gruffly. ‘If only he knew.’
It was an odd thing to say, and Geoffrey wondered what he meant. He glanced at the Constable’s impassive features, and thought there was a good deal strange about the previous night’s events. However, sad though he was about the kindly woman who had wanted to be his friend, it was not his business to investigate her murder. He left the stable and walked towards Giffard. He stopped abruptly when he saw the King regarding him thoughtfully.
Baderon was burbling about the stag and Abbot Serlo talked simultaneously about a writ that required approval, but Henry raised a royal hand and they both faltered into silence.
‘We shall look for the stag as we ride, and I shall ratify the advowson at Gloucester,’ the King said, indicating that he was capable of listening to two monologues at the same time. But now he ignored both, as he edged his horse towards Geoffrey and Giffard.
‘There is something very wrong here,’ he said, after looking around to make sure that no one else could hear. ‘There was a lot of confusion during the fire, and I find myself puzzled as to what actually happened. Do you have any ideas, Giffard?’
‘None, Sire. I was overcome by smoke and recall nothing at all.’
Geoffrey regarded him with surprise. It was the first time he had ever heard Giffard lie. Unfortunately, the prelate immediately grasped the cross around his neck in a gesture that bespoke wretched guilt at the falsehood. Henry saw it and smothered a smile.
‘I have been told smoke can do strange things to a man’s wits. What about you, Geoffrey? We discussed the matter briefly last night. You told me it was not aimed at me. Well, then, who?’
Geoffrey shook his head slowly. ‘There is a lot I do not understand about the men who own these lands, and I cannot begin to imagine a solution, Sire.’
