Deadly Inheritance

Lambert fingered the weapon in a way that indicated he was ready to use it. ‘What will you do to compensate me? Silver? Or a sister to entertain me for a night when I happen to be passing?’

‘I doubt you will want to be entertained by Joan,’ said Seguin. ‘She is the dragon who keeps Goodrich from hostile invasions. If you interfere with her, it will be the last thing you will do!’

Geoffrey was not prepared to stand by and hear Joan abused by the likes of Seguin. ‘Do you want to fight me?’ he asked coldly. ‘Is that why you insult my sister?’

Lambert stood at Seguin’s side; weapon ready to join him in any skirmish. Geoffrey regarded them with disdain, thinking the brothers had little honour if they were prepared to pitch two men against one in a private quarrel. He drew his own sword and waited to see who would attack first.

‘Put up your weapons!’ ordered Caerdig, stepping between them. ‘There will be no fighting in my house.’

‘What did you expect, father?’ demanded Corwenna acidly. ‘You invited a Mappestone into our home, which meant it was only a matter of time before someone died.’

Baderon raised his hands to appeal for calm. ‘Seguin should not have insulted Joan, but Sir Geoffrey’s dog should not have bitten Lambert. So we are even. Let us put an end to this nonsense.’

Lambert complied willingly enough, but Seguin only sheathed his weapon when Lambert muttered something in his ear. Satisfied, Baderon went to the hearth. The feeble blaze did little to warm the house, however, nor did it do much for the atmosphere of frigid resentment that hung over Caerdig’s guests. Geoffrey saw that he was a fool to create enemies of Baderon’s knights, and knew he should make amends. He sat where Baderon indicated, and tried to be polite.

‘Lord Baderon wants to form alliances with his Welsh neighbours,’ said Lambert, addressing Geoffrey with equally forced amiability. ‘He has offered my brother a manor if he takes a Celtic bride. We both have lands in Normandy, but they are in an area ruled by Belleme, and he keeps attacking them. It is safer for us to be here.’

‘You leave your people to fend off Belleme alone?’ asked Geoffrey, startled. Belleme was a cruel and vicious tyrant, and the knights’ place should have been with their villagers.

Seguin bristled, but Lambert did not take offence. ‘He is less likely to raid if we are away – there is no one to seize and hold to ransom, you see.’

‘A marriage here will suit me nicely,’ said Seguin. ‘And Lord Baderon is prepared to be very generous if I take Corwenna.’

‘I am,’ agreed Baderon. ‘The King ordered me to pacify this region, and marriage between my knights and our Welsh neighbours is an excellent way to achieve a lasting truce.’

Geoffrey nodded, although it occurred to him that such marriages might unite the Welsh against the English. He wondered how quickly he could leave without offending anyone – he did not want to be near Baderon’s fiery knights, or Corwenna.

Caerdig beamed at his guests, relieved that they appeared to have put the spat behind them. ‘We must celebrate the upcoming match between Corwenna and Sir Seguin.’

A man afflicted by a serious squint approached Caerdig and whispered in his ear. Geoffrey recalled his name was Hywel, and that he was Caerdig’s steward. ‘Celebrate with what? We have no ale, and we can hardly offer them water.’

‘I have some French claret in my saddlebag,’ said Geoffrey to Baderon, hoping the man was not a good judge of such things – it was a miserable brew from the south of England that he kept for medicinal purposes. ‘Shall we share a cup?’

Hywel went to look for it, while Seguin talked about how the marriage would benefit him, although Geoffrey could not see what Caerdig would get out of the arrangement.

‘Seguin comes with a small herd of cows,’ replied Caerdig when Geoffrey asked him. He reverted automatically to Welsh. ‘Personally, I wanted a Mappestone to take her, but you are the only one left, and I suspect Joan has her eyes set on a bigger prize than Llan Martin.’

‘I would not wed him anyway,’ said Corwenna icily, also speaking Welsh. ‘I will not share my bed with a man who slaughtered his way to the Holy Land. I heard what those Crusaders did on their way to “liberate” Jerusalem.’

‘You played together as children,’ said Caerdig, trying to silence his daughter by gripping her knee in a painful pinch.

‘Stop babbling in that infernal tongue,’ ordered Seguin testily. ‘I will have no Welsh spoken in my home once we are married.’

‘Geoffrey speaks it badly anyway,’ said Corwenna venomously. ‘It hurts the ears when it comes from the mouth of a Norman. There should be a law against it.’

‘Corwenna!’ exclaimed Caerdig, aghast. ‘That is no way to speak to an honoured guest!’

‘He is not an honoured guest,’ retorted Corwenna hotly. ‘He is Henry’s brother – the man who slaughtered our cattle, burnt our granaries and murdered Rhys.’

Seguin roared with laughter, while his brother grinned. Both evidently considered Corwenna’s bold temper a fine thing. Geoffrey wondered how amusing Seguin would find Corwenna’s sour moods when they were directed against him, and suspected it would only be a matter of time before they fell out.

The tension eased when Hywel returned with the wine, and measured it into wooden cups. Maliciously, Geoffrey hoped it was acidic enough to make the Normans and Corwenna sick, although he bore Caerdig no ill will. When everyone held a goblet, Caerdig spoke.

‘To future liaisons,’ he said ambiguously, and everyone other than Geoffrey upended their cups, only to spit the contents out again.

‘God in Heaven!’ exclaimed Baderon, gagging. ‘Is this what you drink in the Holy Land?’

‘No,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘That is saddle oil. Hywel used the wrong flask.’

Corwenna rubbed her lips with a cloth. ‘Why did you wait until we had swallowed it? Are you trying to poison us?’

‘It was a mistake,’ said Caerdig, although he had noticed that Geoffrey had not touched his own cup.

Seguin spat into the fire and then stood. ‘It is time to go home. It will be dark soon, and not even knights are immune from outlaws in Wales.’

Caerdig followed his guests outside. ‘It will not be pleasant having such a man in the family,’ he whispered to Geoffrey, ‘but Corwenna likes him, and the cattle he brings will be useful.’

‘He is a bag of air,’ declared Geoffrey, also in Welsh. He refrained from adding that Seguin and Corwenna deserved each other.

‘He is, but everyone seems happy about the union. It is only I who has reservations. I wish she was marrying you instead.’

Geoffrey did not, much as he liked Caerdig. He did not care whether marriage brought him riches, and did not even mind if his wife was plain – he would settle for one capable of intelligent conversation. However, he certainly did not want one who hated him.

‘God’s blood!’ exclaimed Seguin, stalking towards Geoffrey’s horse. ‘That is a deer! And you killed it with a sword.’

‘It was caught in a trap,’ explained Geoffrey.

‘Where?’ demanded Baderon, suddenly angry. ‘Where precisely?’

‘In a clearing about three miles from here,’ said Geoffrey, wondering what was upsetting them. ‘It was on my land.’

‘How do you know?’ demanded Baderon hotly. ‘You have been away for two decades. How can you know your boundaries when they twist and turn so tortuously?’

Seguin took a step towards Geoffrey. ‘FitzNorman enforces forest law vigorously on the lands under his control, and we do the same for Lord Baderon. No one kills his venison. It is a hanging offence.’

‘It is as well the venison is mine, then,’ said Geoffrey mildly. ‘I found the trap on a hill just south of the river, and even someone who has been away for twenty years cannot be mistaken about which side of the river he is on. It was Goodrich land.’

‘Then I shall believe you,’ said Baderon. ‘But I will not suffer thieves on my land, no matter who they are.’