Lambert had disappeared along the forest track, and Geoffrey saw that there was no more he could do. Defeated, he turned towards Goodrich.
‘Damn!’ Hilde muttered when Geoffrey dismounted outside the priest’s house and shook his head despondently. ‘Now there will be trouble. We must leave immediately.’
‘You cannot. The archers will shoot you – they are under orders from Corwenna.’
‘They will not harm us,’ said Hilde. ‘But we cannot travel quickly carrying Seguin, so we must leave him here. I trust you will treat him with respect.’
‘Of course,’ said Joan stiffly, offended she should ask. ‘But wait until he is laid out decently, so you can tell Lambert. Then he may change his mind.’
‘You really think there will be a war?’ asked Isabel in a low voice. ‘Over Seguin?’
‘Not over Seguin,’ replied Hilde. ‘Over our Welsh neighbours not having enough to eat, and the alliances my father has forged having brought them together to air their grievances. That and Corwenna’s poisonous tongue. We must prepare ourselves for the worst.’
Joan ushered everyone out until only she, Geoffrey, Father Adrian, Baderon and Hilde remained. Geoffrey took a blanket and laid it on the floor so that he could lift Seguin’s body into it but, as he bent, he saw something shiny. He reached under the table and picked it up. It was a long dagger with a ruby in its hilt. Baderon sank on to a bench when he saw it.
‘Is that what killed Seguin?’ he asked weakly. ‘The knife he gave me as a sign of his fealty?’
Geoffrey measured the size of the blade against the wound in Seguin’s back and nodded.
‘What can we do with it?’ asked Baderon. ‘It claimed the life of my son, and now my friend.’
‘We cannot throw it in the river,’ said Joan. ‘Olivier did that, and it came back.’
‘Take it to the blacksmith in Rosse and pay him to melt it,’ suggested Hilde. ‘Do it today.’
‘I cannot,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Not with a skirmish brewing.’
Baderon closed his eyes. ‘Do I stay here, and show my allegiance to England? Or do I ride to Llan Martin and stand with the Welsh, so they know I am in earnest when I offer the hand of friendship? Damn Lambert! He has done immeasurable damage.’
‘The security of an entire region is at stake,’ said Hilde practically. ‘So we have no choice but to side with the Welsh. It is only Goodrich that Corwenna wants to see in flames. When that is done, her fury will abate, and we will be able to prevent her inciting any further attacks.’ She glanced at Geoffrey and Joan. ‘I do not want to fight you, but I do not see what else we can do.’
‘Talk to Caerdig,’ urged Geoffrey. ‘He will see reason.’
‘His hands are tied, too,’ said Hilde grimly. ‘The other lords are desperate for food and will rally to Corwenna’s battle cry – especially if she claims Seguin was murdered by you. Caerdig will not be heard. Besides, he is no longer a power. Corwenna’s fiery speeches are more popular than his pleas for peace, and she has a greater following.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Joan. ‘I do not want our people to die because Corwenna hated Henry – and that is really what all this is about. You
Baderon’s face was ashen, and Geoffrey did not think he had ever seen a more broken specimen. No proud Welsh prince would listen to such a man – they would look to Lambert’s strong sword and Corwenna’s flashing eyes and promises of grain. As Baderon walked towards his horse, Geoffrey could almost see the power draining from him. The Lord of Monmouth climbed slowly into his saddle and rode away without another word.
‘You cannot let them leave!’ cried Father Adrian, aghast as Baderon and Hilde cantered away. ‘They will lead the Welsh against us! You heard Hilde – she plans to sacrifice Goodrich to save the rest of the region.’
‘What do you want us to do?’ demanded Joan. ‘Lock them in our dungeons? That would incite an attack for certain!’
‘I told Seguin that Hugh’s body was at Walecford, but he did not believe me,’ said Geoffrey, watching Hilde and Baderon disappear from sight. ‘If he had, none of this would have happened.’
‘He did not believe me, either,’ said Father Adrian tiredly. ‘I had to show him the empty church before he did. Then he said someone had intentionally misled him.’
Geoffrey stared at him. ‘It sounds as though he were deliberately lured here. Why?’
Father Adrian had no answer. ‘Take it with you,’ he ordered, pointing to the knife.
Geoffrey did not want it, either, but wrapped it in a piece of cloth, sprinkled generously with holy water, and set off towards the castle, to see what kind of troops he had at his command. He doubted they would be much, and only hoped they would not run away at the first sight of an enemy.
First he went to Helbye. The old soldier was appalled that his peaceful retirement was being shattered, and his wife gave Geoffrey a piece of her mind, as her man collected his weapons and went to muster those who would fight.
On his way to the castle Geoffrey met Durand, and handed him the cloth containing the dagger. ‘You know about holy matters. Will you dispose of this for me?’
‘What is it?’ asked Durand, unwrapping it. When he saw the stained weapon, he gave a shriek and dropped it. ‘It is covered in blood!’
‘It was used to kill Seguin,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Everyone else thinks it is cursed, but I know you are above such superstition. Will you take it to a blacksmith and have it destroyed?’
Durand backed away. ‘I am not touching it. It is a Black Knife. You can destroy it yourself.’
‘How?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I will be organizing our defences. I could drop it down the well . . .’
‘It would put itself in a bucket and come back,’ said Durand. ‘That is the nature of Black Knives. They must be
Geoffrey sighed. ‘Then lock it in a chest in my bedchamber, to melt down later.’
‘No,’ said Durand, backing even farther away. ‘I am having nothing to do with it – and no good will come of having it in your castle, either. All I can do is pray for you.’
He turned and strode towards the church, leaving Geoffrey shaking his head, astonished that even Durand was affected by superstition.
Olivier and Joan were already mustering their soldiers, so Geoffrey ran up the stairs to his bedchamber, shoved the Black Knife in the bottom of a chest, hastily donned full armour and set out for the bailey, to test the resources at his disposal.
He was not impressed. The men knew the basics, but were ill equipped for hand-to-hand combat, and their armour and weapons were in poor repair. He saw that he would have to train them hard if he did not want them slaughtered. He did so for the rest of the day, and when the sun set, he took them through night manoeuvres. In the small hours he drew up plans of the estate and considered his natural defences, then woke the garrison before dawn for more drills. By sunset of the second day, they had improved, although he reserved judgement.
That evening, when it was too dark to do more and his body ached from fatigue, Geoffrey went to the hall. Giffard and Walter were there, and he could tell by the sullen expression on the boy’s face that Giffard was lecturing him. Not wanting to interrupt, he sat with Joan. She reminded him about the passageway in his bedchamber – which might be used as an escape route, but could also render the castle vulnerable. Geoffrey’s first instinct was to block it off, but then what would happen if the invaders gained access to the bailey and the keep was set alight?
Ralph, Douce and Wulfric were also there, evidently considering Goodrich safer than their undefended manor. Douce was with Bale, who was trying, without success, to show her how to use a catapult, while Olivier strummed his harp, mostly for the benefit of the nervous servants.
Isabel sat on her own, head to one side as she listened. At one point Ralph walked past her and whispered something that made her face light up. She gestured that she wanted him to sit next to her, but he murmured some excuse that made her smile slip, and returned to Agnes. It seemed inordinately cruel to Geoffrey.
‘You look exhausted,’ said Giffard, abandoning his efforts with Walter. The lad immediately went to Olivier and ordered him to play something livelier. When Olivier declined, he snatched the instrument and began to plonk out a melody he claimed was popular in Italy. The servants promptly dispersed.
Geoffrey stared into the flames. ‘I should never haver returned to England. Goodrich would be quieter and calmer if I were not here.’
‘Not so,’ countered Giffard. ‘Dene would still have caught fire – only the King, Isabel and I may not have
