Deadly Inheritance Read online

  ‘You have a long walk ahead of you,’ she said smugly. ‘You had better start, if you do not want to be alone in the forest after dark. It is dangerous for those who are not welcome.’

  Geoffrey had never before experienced such a strong urge to put his hands around someone’s throat and choke the life out of them. But an enemy camp, where he was surrounded by hostile forces, was not the place for it. He allowed Hilde to tug him away.

  ‘Take my horse,’ she said. ‘You can give him back when all this is over.’

  Geoffrey did not trust himself to speak. He shot Corwenna a glare filled with loathing, then turned away, half-expecting her to launch another attack while his back was turned. He followed Hilde to where Lambert was already saddling up a sturdy pony, snatched the reins and rode out of the camp. He did not look back.

  Bitterly, he saw that Roger, Joan and Olivier had been right: he had risked his life for nothing – and lost a good horse in the bargain. He had learnt of Henry’s plans for Joan, but they seemed unimportant now. How many men would die because Henry had been a brute and Corwenna hated him for it? And could Goodrich hold out against such a huge horde, even if the Welsh captains did see sense and go home?

  He was so engrossed in his thoughts that it was some time before he realized he had ridden farther than he should have, and the sun was on the wrong side – it was behind him, meaning he had travelled east instead of south. He was angry with himself as he wheeled around and rode back the way he had come. Then he reached a fork and turned westward, but the track soon doubled back on itself, and it was not long before he was lost.

  While the sun was up, he knew which way to go, but with dusk came clouds and rain, and it was soon too dark to see. He was furious that he had been so careless and desperately hoped Corwenna would not attack Goodrich that night. Visions of Joan battling against the hordes drove him on, but the night was pitch-black, and he had no idea which way he was travelling. He knew he should stop and find shelter until dawn, but he could not rid himself of the notion that he would be needed. He dismounted when the pony stumbled a second time and continued on foot.

  By now he was hopelessly lost, no longer even on a path. He stood still for a moment with his eyes closed, trying to let his innate sense of direction take over. It did not work, leaving him to move blindly through wet branches that scratched at his face, knowing he would not see a path if he walked across it. Then the ground suddenly disappeared from beneath his feet. He managed to release the bridle before he fell, so the horse was not dragged down with him, and slid down a slope thick with dead leaves. He started to skid faster, and then he was airborne, landing with a splash in agonizingly cold water.

  Weighed down by full armour, with water soaking into his surcoat, his first thought was that he was going to drown, but his feet touched the bottom and he was able to stand. He saw that he should not have been impatient, and that finding shelter had been the right thing to do. Now, not only was he hopelessly lost, he did not even have the pony.

  However, the place seemed familiar, and he suddenly realized it was the Angel Springs. He could just make out the flat stone altar. He eased towards it, but the objects that had been there on his previous visit had gone. Then his feet skidded on the rain-slicked rocks and he fell again. Cold, disgusted and with a nasty ache from a wrenched knee, he released a litany of oaths of the kind he never used in company, comprising a lot of Anglo-Saxon and a bit of very expressive Arabic.

  ‘That is fine language for a knight,’ came a mocking voice from the darkness. ‘It is a good thing I do not understand any of it, or we would both be heartily embarrassed.’

  Thirteen

  The voice made Geoffrey jump so violently that he almost lost his balance again. He fumbled for his dagger, cursing fingers that were numb from the cold. ‘Who is there?’

  ‘Eleanor, of course. Can you not see me? I am right above you.’

  Geoffrey strained his eyes, and could just make out a figure standing on the bank. There was a sudden flare of light as she removed whatever had been covering her torch.

  ‘Well?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to stand in the stream all night, or would you like to sit by my fire?’

  Geoffrey scrambled after her, noting that she wore her red cloak and the veil still covered her face. He struggled to catch up, eager to accept her offer of warmth.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he asked breathlessly.

  ‘I like to be alone,’ she replied enigmatically. ‘I thought I would have some peace when I returned from Normandy without being married off like some prize sow. But people started talking about weddings and alliances again, and it was worse than ever.’

  ‘I know how you feel,’ muttered Geoffrey. They reached the top of the hill and she led him to the little shepherd’s hut, indicating that he should precede her inside. Reluctantly, he held back. ‘My horse. I should—’

  ‘I tethered it and removed its saddle,’ said Eleanor. ‘It is quite comfortable. Sit by the fire and drink this – and do not look suspicious! It is only a little concoction of my own devising.’

  ‘That is what I am worried about,’ said Geoffrey ungraciously, so she took the first sip behind her veil and handed him the rest. It tasted fairly pleasant, and he felt warmer after finishing it. He removed his sopping surcoat, which she placed near the fire, but he kept his armour on. He glanced at the ceiling and saw that the dead birds had been removed from the rafters.

  ‘I heard Hugh is dead,’ Eleanor said, following his look. ‘So, I thought I had better hide any evidence that indicates I am still alive. I do not want to be accused of his murder.’

  Geoffrey did not blame her. ‘You have been here all the time?’

  ‘Here or nearby. Few people linger at the Angel Springs, which is how I like it. Hugh followed me occasionally, but he was no trouble – and no one listened to him, anyway.’

  Geoffrey remembered what Bale had said about the Angel Springs. ‘You sharpen knives. My squire leaves them with a coin and thinks spirits hone them.’

  She laughed. ‘A number of folk have been obliging in that way, and a little money does not go amiss. I have none of my own, and neither does my lover.’

  ‘Your lover? Is that why you ran away after the fire? To be with him?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘We did not see each other for months when I was in Normandy, so I escaped as soon as I could – the fire provided a useful diversion. However, I did not know murders had been taking place.’

  Geoffrey thought about the woman kissed by the red-cloaked figure as they fled the fire. He reached out and tugged off the veil, revealing a face that was impish in its prettiness, and certainly not missing a jaw.

  ‘Your lover is not a man, but a woman,’ he surmised. ‘That is why you have refused to marry – and have been to such pains to pretend you are disfigured. You do not want men to pester you.’

  ‘You guessed that rather easily,’ she said, frowning. ‘How?’

  ‘You do not speak as though you were minus a mandible, but it is certainly a disfigurement that would make most men think twice. Who is she?’

  ‘She is Welsh, of noble birth – from one of the villages that declines to join Corwenna’s assault on Goodrich. That wretched woman has destabilized the entire region, so I am removing any evidence of me being here, lest I am accused of causing the war by witchcraft. You know how people are – regardless of the victor, someone will look for a scapegoat.’

  ‘And who better than a sorceress?’ agreed Geoffrey. ‘Do you know what happened to Hugh?’

  ‘When he followed me after the fire, I went north and lost him. I thought he would find his own way home, but I was wrong. I am sorry he is dead. He was a stupid lump, but he did no harm – unlike those with more wits. Your brother, for a start.’

  ‘Tell me about the dagger that killed Henry,’ said Geoffrey, remembering what Olivier had seen. ‘I know you cursed it, but who asked you for such a spell?’

  ‘That I shall never reveal, because he know
s the identity of my lover. If I tell, so will he.’

  ‘But it is a man,’ said Geoffrey, supposing he could cross Hilde off his list of suspects. ‘Do you really believe that putting a spell on an object can imbue it with an evil life of its own?’

  She nodded earnestly. ‘Of course. And so do many others.’

  ‘The Black Knife has killed both Seguin and Hugh since it dispatched Henry,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I locked it in my room, and the next night someone tried to set me alight.’

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘That is what Black Knives do. You must take it deep into the forest and bury it under an old oak – as old as you can find – with mistletoe growing on it. That should stop it in its tracks.’

  ‘Lord!’ muttered Geoffrey. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It would be even better if the person who ordered the curse were to do it, but I doubt that will happen.’ Eleanor rummaged in a sack and handed Geoffrey a tiny pouch with a piece of twine attached. ‘Wear this amulet. It will protect you while you do it. Bury it near the oak at the same time.’

  Geoffrey was tempted to decline, thinking a Crusader should have more faith in his own God, but he was unsettled by the self-confessed witch, and decided to err on the side of caution. He put it around his neck, tucking it inside his surcoat.

  ‘I wish you knew a spell to bring an end to this ridiculous fighting,’ he said.

  She gave a sad smile. ‘You must pray to your God for something of that magnitude. I work on a much more modest level.’

  Geoffrey and Eleanor sat in silence for a long time, listening to the rain and the crackle of the fire. His thoughts were of Goodrich, and his fears of a night attack. Hoping to distract himself, he decided to interrogate Eleanor about the murders he had been ordered to solve.

  ‘I would like to ask you some questions,’ he said. ‘With your permission.’

  Eleanor smirked, amused. ‘How could I refuse such a politely worded request? Would that all men were so well mannered – then I might not have felt the need to secure a female lover.’

  ‘Did Agnes ask you for poison while you were in Normandy? Mandrake, for example?’

  Eleanor knew exactly why he asked. ‘If she had, I would not tell you. It would make me an accomplice to the murder of the Duchess. But, as it happens, she did not need poison from me, because Walter had some mandrake of his own.’

  ‘His phial has been empty for a long time. It was so dusty inside that I could barely smell what was once in it – and a book Mother Elgiva gave me said mandrake has a powerful aroma. I imagine Walter found an empty container and carried it for show.’

  ‘He is a silly boy. I watched them carefully once I realized the Duchess’ death would suit Agnes, but I never saw anything untoward. The only thing they ever gave her was a dish of dried yellow plums. Sibylla ate one, but declared it too sweet and passed the rest to her courtiers. The poison was not in the fruit, or they would have died, too.’

  ‘You spied on Agnes and Walter? I thought they were your friends.’

  ‘No, they were just after my spells: Agnes wanted the Duke to love her, and Walter wanted a charm to attract women. I told him to speak Italian, and he has been doing it ever since. He even tried to bed me with his nonsensical phrases. I clouted his ears.’

  ‘So neither Walter nor Agnes asked you for mandrake?’

  ‘They asked about it, but it is not a plant I use because it irritates my skin. Look what happened when I touched my lover’s hand after she had sliced some.’ Eleanor removed her glove to reveal a rash. It had healed somewhat since when Geoffrey had seen it at Dene, but it still looked sore. ‘Mandrake does not grow readily in this part of the world, so I am not often exposed to it. However, my sensitivity exonerates me from giving any to Agnes – if Sybilla was poisoned, that is.’

  ‘You think she may not have been?’

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘Her physicians say she died of childbirth fever – it happens to duchesses and paupers alike, so perhaps they are right.’

  ‘What about the fire at Dene?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Did your curses bring that about? I saw a picture of a burning house at the Angel Springs just hours after the blaze.’

  Eleanor’s face hardened. ‘Agnes drew that. I was delighted when it started, because it gave me the chance to escape from my father and brother, but I am sorry people died.’

  Geoffrey was thoughtful. The solution to at least one part of the mystery snapped into place as he thought about the people allocated rooms in the corridor where the fire had started. He just needed one or two more details.

  ‘How well had the fire taken hold before you became aware of it?’ he asked.

  ‘Agnes had warned me that a fire might break out, so I was alert that night. However, she is full of talk and I was surprised when it really happened. Had I known the entire manor would go up, I would have tried to stop her.’

  ‘It started at your end of the corridor, not near Giffard and me. In fact, I suspect it began in Isabel’s room.’

  ‘How did you guess that?’ asked Eleanor, startled.

  ‘Because Isabel started it. I imagine Agnes told her to.’

  Eleanor gave a wry smile. ‘You are right: Agnes wanted the fire, and when her drawings at the Angel Springs did not work, she adopted another approach. She encouraged Isabel to start it, lest she herself was caught.’

  ‘I suppose she contrived some nonsense about Ralph realizing his true feelings if Isabel were in danger – and poor Isabel was desperate enough to believe it. Meanwhile, Agnes would be rid of Giffard, who is keeping her from the Duke.’

  ‘You are right in every detail. Nasty, is it not?’

  ‘So why did you not expose them? Several servants died – and it very nearly claimed the King and Isabel herself.’

  ‘Agnes made me promise to say nothing. I agreed because I did not think Isabel would have the courage to go through with it anyway, and also because Agnes agreed to stop trying to learn the identity of my lover if I complied. By the time I realized Isabel had not set a little fire but a raging inferno, it was too late. And the irony is that the whole ghastly business achieved none of its objectives.’

  Geoffrey recalled seeing Agnes at the Angel Springs after the fire, doubtless destroying evidence of her involvement. The plan had failed spectacularly: Isabel had lost her house and several servants, Ralph had discovered an attraction to Agnes, and Giffard had escaped.

  ‘It is a pity you have seen me,’ said Eleanor eventually. ‘It was more convenient for people to assume I died in the fire.’

  ‘Leave your veil in the rubble, then,’ Geoffrey suggested. ‘You are never seen without it, so it may convince them.’

  ‘But you know I am alive.’

  ‘I will never reveal your secret.’ Geoffrey studied her pretty face uneasily. ‘You do not want me to drip my blood on chicken entrails to prove my sincerity, do you?’

  Eleanor laughed. ‘Do not be ridiculous! I do not have a chicken to hand, and it would be a terrible waste to kill one when I know you are a man of your word. To repay your understanding, at first light I shall lead you to your castle by a quicker route than you would find on your own. Until then, keep yourself warm by the fire.’

  Despite sharing the hut with a witch, Geoffrey was so fatigued, he soon fell asleep. He woke at one point to find himself alone, but Eleanor glided back in and shot him a mysterious smile. He was ready to leave long before dawn and fretted impatiently until she deemed it light enough to travel. He urged her to move as fast as possible, sitting her on the pony and running behind it in his desire to reach Goodrich. They parted south of the castle, he to follow the main road to his home, and she to head west to her lover. She slid off the horse and gave it a pat.

  ‘Be careful, Geoffrey. You have a turbulent time ahead. Do not be fooled by fair eyes filled with tears, and remember that women are just as ruthless as men. And do not forget the Black Knife, either. Get rid of it as soon as you can. Do you still have the amulet I gave you?’

  Geoffrey finge
red the bundle around his neck, his thoughts on Joan, Roger and the others.

  ‘All is well at Goodrich,’ she said kindly, seeing his concern. ‘The wind is from the north, and we would smell smoke if it were burning. You will find your home still standing. And thank you for agreeing to be discreet – you have earned a friend.’

  ‘So have you,’ said Geoffrey.

  Eleanor laughed, and Geoffrey was glad she would no longer wear her veil, thinking hers was a face that should be seen. ‘But I mean it, Geoffrey. If you ever have need of a witch, just leave two sticks tied together by the well at Llangarron, and I will come.’

  They parted, and when Geoffrey glanced behind him, Eleanor was already lost among the trees. He doubted he would ever see her again, suspecting he was unlikely to need the services of a witch. He urged the pony into a gallop, wanting to be home as soon as he could. He was reassured when he was challenged by one of the patrols he had organized, and soon found himself trotting into the bailey.

  Roger rushed to meet him, sombre-faced and anxious, Olivier and Joan behind. Joan looked angry, and Geoffrey suspected his absence had given her an uneasy night.

  ‘Where is Giffard?’ he asked as they approached.

  ‘In the hall,’ snapped Joan. ‘Where have you been? You promised you would return by dusk, and we were worried.’

  ‘Where is Dun?’ cried Olivier. ‘If you traded him for this beast, you have been cheated.’

  ‘Corwenna shot him,’ said Geoffrey sadly. ‘I am sorry, Olivier. God knows where I will find the funds to replace him.’

  ‘Do not worry about that,’ said Roger, while Olivier gaped at Geoffrey in dismay. ‘We shall loot Baderon’s estates when this is over, and then you will have enough.’

  ‘If we win,’ said Geoffrey soberly. ‘There are at least five hundred men in Baderon’s camp. We are heavily outnumbered.’