neck.
‘Thank you,’ she said, darting away too fast for him to stop her. She glanced at her men. ‘Well? What are you waiting for? Kill him while I fire the castle and rid us of Joan. Durand may have killed Seguin, but Henry killed Rhys, and his kin will pay the price.’
All Geoffrey could hear was Durand’s mocking laughter as Corwenna left the room and her men moved forward. Other sounds began to pervade his consciousness – the roar of desperate battle as the defenders of Goodrich gave way inch by inch. Through the open door he could see arrows raining down from the battlements, and the ground was thick with dead and wounded men. He was so tired, he could barely raise his arms, let alone fight six fresh swordsmen, but his anger against Durand renewed his strength.
He launched a wild attack that took them by surprise and momentarily pushed them back, but they rallied quickly, and then it was he who was retreating.
‘Is it true?’ asked one of them – the captain. ‘All you said? Remember you are about to die, and you will go to Hell for eternity if you do so with a lie on your lips.’
‘It is true,’ said Geoffrey, darting behind a table and waiting to see whether he should duck right or left to avoid the next foray.
‘You said you know Henry’s murderer,’ said the captain, indicating that his men should hold back. ‘Who?’
‘Someone from Goodrich,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘Not Baderon, and not a Welshman.’
‘Durand?’ asked the captain.
‘I never even met Henry!’ cried Durand indignantly, snatching up a bag he had brought in with him.
‘Caerdig is my cousin,’ said the captain, ignoring him. ‘He has always spoken well of you, and I believe you are telling the truth. You may go.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Durand, watching aghast as the captain sheathed his sword. ‘And what will you tell Corwenna when she asks you whether you obeyed her orders?’
‘And you can take him with you,’ said the captain, eyeing Durand with distaste. ‘I would kill him, but I do not want to soil my blade with the blood of a snake. Go.’
He stood aside, and gestured for the others to do the same. They hesitated, but did as he ordered. Geoffrey edged past them, anticipating a trick, but they allowed him to walk unharmed across the kitchen and into the bailey. What he saw there sickened him. Everywhere lay the dead and injured, some in silent agony, others screaming for friends, water or God. It was a sight he had seen many times before, but not in his own home. He swung round, a blind rage gripping him, but Durand was already running away, hugging his bag as he went.
‘Save your sister,’ said the captain, nodding towards the hall. ‘Corwenna will kill her otherwise.’
‘What will you do?’ asked Geoffrey uneasily, inclined to resist the advice of an enemy.
The captain indicated his sheathed sword. ‘Go home and take my men with me. My name is Rhodri of Llangarron, and you can remember it if you win this fight and have grain to spare.’
Geoffrey took a deep breath and raised his bloodied sword to battle through the mass of men at the foot of the keep. The staircase had been removed, but the invaders had piled ladders against the wall and some were already inside. Roger and his men were still mounted, striking furiously at anyone entering the bailey gate, but Geoffrey could see none of his own horsemen, except for Bale, who was trying to keep raiders out of the stables.
Geoffrey’s armour and surcoat attracted the attention of many hoping to claim a knight among their kills, and it was some time before he reached the ladders. He was weak with fatigue, and one inferior swordsman came closer to skewering him than he should have. Finally, Geoffrey grasped the ladder and climbed, kicking out when someone grabbed his leg.
With sweat stinging his eyes, he reached the door. Joan’s once-pristine hall was stained with blood, and there were bodies everywhere, suggesting that it had not been taken easily. Giffard was in a corner wielding his stave against two attackers, while Olivier crouched behind him, hands raised to protect his head. Geoffrey moved quickly, and made short work of both invaders.
‘Joan?’ he gasped.
Giffard pointed to the opposite side of the hall, then braced himself as another man launched an attack with a war-like screech. The howl ended abruptly when Giffard’s stave met the man’s skull. Seeing the Bishop could fend for himself, Geoffrey fought his way across the room. At the centre of a tight knot of skirmishers was Joan, meeting Corwenna’s axe blows with a shield, while Baderon exchanged half-hearted swipes with Torva and Peter. Hilde, hair flying wildly about her face, was screaming at Corwenna.
‘They will surrender now!’ she howled. ‘Put up your weapon!’
‘Not until Joan is dead,’ hissed Corwenna.
‘Our fight is not with her!’ shouted Hilde, trying to pull Corwenna away.
Corwenna spun round and turned on Hilde, swinging the axe towards her unprotected head. Hilde ducked, and Joan struck Corwenna hard with the shield, but the blow had little impact. She raised her axe again, and Geoffrey saw her smile as Hilde backed up against a wall with no way to defend herself.
Hilde met Corwenna’s eyes without fear. The axe started to fall. Geoffrey snatched a shield from a corpse and hurled himself between them, feeling the force of the blow send agonizing tremors through his arm.
‘You!’ screamed Corwenna in fury, turning on him. Geoffrey lifted his sword, but before he could close with her, Joan stepped forward and brought down her shield on Corwenna’s head with all the force she could muster. Corwenna dropped to the floor and jerked convulsively before going limp.
‘Is she dead?’ asked Giffard uneasily. ‘God knows I am not a man to wish death on another human being, but the world will be a safer place without Corwenna in it.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Hilde, looking at the distorted shape of Corwenna’s skull. ‘She is dead.’
‘I think enough of us have died for one day,’ said Baderon loudly, dropping his sword and raising his hand to indicate Torva and Peter should desist their attack. ‘This fight is over.’
Those inside lowered their weapons, and Baderon and a trembling Olivier went together to end the skirmishes outside. Word spread quickly, and the sound of fighting petered out until only the groans of the wounded could be heard. Inside, Geoffrey looked at his broken home. He removed his helmet and scrubbed hard at his face. His arms were so sore from wielding his sword that he felt he might never raise them again. The faces of the others showed they felt the same.
‘Who won?’ asked Torva. ‘Them, because they managed to get into the hall? Or us, because we fended them off?’
‘I do not think there are any winners here,’ said Giffard soberly.
The silence that followed was broken by an urgent call.
‘Geoff!’ shouted Roger from the door. ‘Come quickly!’
Afraid there was a pocket where the fighting continued, Geoffrey forced his weary legs into a run. He caught up with Roger – beckoning urgently – near the stables. When they rounded a corner, there was Durand, sitting against a wall and clutching his bag to his chest.
‘Our traitor,’ Geoffrey said coldly. ‘What did you call me for? I want nothing to do with him.’
‘He was asking for you,’ said Roger. ‘He is dying.’
Geoffrey crouched to examine the clerk and was startled to see blood pooling in his lap. Durand’s face was ghastly white, although Geoffrey could see no injury. He tried to move the sack, but Durand clutched it tighter against him.
‘No,’ he whispered. ‘You cannot have it while I am still alive.’
‘I am looking for your wound, to stem the bleeding,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I do not want your silver.’
‘You can have it after I have gone,’ croaked Durand. ‘I bequeath it to you, but only on condition that you buy masses for my immortal soul.’
Geoffrey thought Durand’s sins were far too great to be tempered by prayers. ‘Let go of the bag,’ he ordered. ‘I may be able to save you.’
‘No,’ said Durand, fiercely clutching the sack. ‘You will steal it and leave me to die alone. I want you to hear what I have to say first.’
Feeling that he was betraying himself even being in Durand’s presence, Geoffrey sighed. ‘What? There are wounded men all over my bailey who need tending. I do not have time to chat.’
‘Everything you said is true. I killed Jervil, I killed Hugh and I killed Seguin. And I twice tried to kill you. I did it because it is not fair that you have fine lands and a loving family, and I do not.’
