Deadly Inheritance (6 page)

Caerdig was thoughtful. ‘I sense he is a better man than his two knights.’

‘He barely controls them – they act more as equals than vassals. Do you want this deer? It will compensate you for the embarrassment of having served saddle oil to your guests.’

Caerdig chuckled as he tugged the corpse from Geoffrey’s horse. ‘You can embarrass me any time, if you bribe me so handsomely. Stay here tonight and share it with us.’

‘Corwenna would have a knife in me,’ said Geoffrey. ‘The others are waiting, so I should go.’

He followed Baderon, Lambert and Seguin, knowing they would take the same road for about half a mile before their paths diverged. Daylight was fading, and his horse skittered as old leaves blew in the wind. At first, Seguin and Baderon talked about poachers, while Lambert told Geoffrey about his own marriage prospects, naming women from three villages Geoffrey had never heard of. Then the path narrowed, so they were obliged to ride in single file. Conversation waned.

Geoffrey allowed his mind to wander, wondering whether Corwenna had killed Henry. It took little strength to push a blade into a drunken man. His thoughts were interrupted when Baderon spoke.

‘Seguin’s union with Corwenna is an integral part of my plans for peace – to enhance the stability of the region,’ he said. ‘Caerdig is poor but respected, and the Welsh lords listen to him. Obviously, you appreciate that a good marriage is vital for good relations, because you are looking for a wife yourself. My daughter Hilde is—’

‘I do not want to marry,’ replied Geoffrey, with more heat than intended.

‘Marriage is a good thing: it saves you having to look for a whore,’ declared Seguin. ‘I am looking forward to having a ready wench in my bedchamber whenever I feel like her.’

Geoffrey thought Seguin was deluded if he imagined Corwenna would be there whenever he ‘felt like her’.

‘I offered Hilde to your brother,’ Baderon went on. ‘He refused her rather cruelly. Still, it did not matter, because Hilde said she would not have Henry if he was the last man on Earth, and I could never force her to do what she does not want. No man could.’

‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, filing the information away: Hilde was fierce and ungovernable, which would not make for a peaceful domestic environment.

‘There are other ways, though,’ said Baderon enigmatically. Geoffrey had no idea what he meant. ‘But this is where our pathways part. Goodnight, Sir Geoffrey. Beware of outlaws.’

Geoffrey nodded, then touched his heels to his horse’s flanks and rode away. He had not gone far before he spotted someone else. When the man saw him, he gave a yelp and turned to flee. It was Goodrich land, and the grim fate of the deer was still fresh in Geoffrey’s mind. With his dog barking furiously, he galloped after the shadow and quickly had the fellow by the scruff of the neck.

‘What do you want?’ the felon cried with rather more indignation than was warranted. ‘I have no money to give you.’

The voice was instantly familiar – high and irritable. It sounded exactly like his old squire, Durand, although Geoffrey did not see how that was possible: Durand was currently enjoying a successful career as a royal clerk, revelling in the luxuries of courtly life. Geoffrey peered down at him, and was astonished to see flowing golden locks. There was only one person he knew who sported such glorious tresses.

‘Durand?’ he asked in disbelief. ‘It
is
you!’

Relief broke over Durand’s face. ‘Sir Geoffrey? Thank God! I thought you were an outlaw!’

‘This is a Godforsaken part of the country,’ said Durand, while Geoffrey dismounted. His old squire had changed little, and was still small and slender, although regal dining had added a layer of lard around his middle. The beautiful yellow curls tumbled around his shoulders, and his clothes were exquisite, as befitted a man from the King’s court. They were grubby, however, and there were leaves in his hair.

‘It is my land,’ said Geoffrey, rather coolly. ‘What are you doing here?’

Durand did not care that he might have offended; he never had. He grinned. ‘I heard you lived near here, and intended to pay you a visit. However, I did not anticipate enjoying our reunion in the depths of a wilderness at dusk.’

Geoffrey was surprised that Durand should think to favour him with a visit. They had seldom seen eye to eye in the past: Durand had deplored Geoffrey’s military lifestyle and Geoffrey had despised Durand’s cowardice and brazen self-interest. But, for all their differences, Durand had a keen mind that Geoffrey missed, and he smiled at seeing the man again.

‘You have not answered my question. Why are you
here
– it is unlike you to be alone in a place that might be dangerous.’

‘
Dangerous
?’ squeaked Durand in alarm. ‘Abbot Serlo said all the outlaws around here had been driven off, and that it is safe. I would not have accompanied him otherwise.’

‘There are wild animals,’ said Geoffrey wickedly. ‘And this part of the woods is haunted.’

‘Then what are
you
doing here? No, do not tell me. It will be something to do with whores and strong drink. I remember what it was like to be in your service.’

It was an unfair accusation, given that Geoffrey was generally well behaved for a knight. He felt his pleasure at meeting an old acquaintance diminish somewhat. Durand had once wanted a career in the Church, and his monkish ways had remained with him long after his expulsion from a monastery for dallying with a butcher’s son.

‘My predicament is Abbot Serlo’s fault,’ Durand went on when Geoffrey did not reply. ‘I told him it was impossible to ride from Gloucester to Dene in one day, but he insisted it could be done. Then a horse went lame, we were delayed, and now here we are, lost in a dangerous forest with brutal Crusader knights riding us down from dark places.’

‘Abbot Serlo?’

‘The principal of the abbey at Gloucester,’ replied Durand impatiently. ‘I thought you would know that: you told me you were a novice there for six months.’

Geoffrey had forgotten the name of the man who had ruled Gloucester Abbey for the past thirty years, because his mercifully brief noviciate had been a long time before. ‘But why are you with him? Have you annoyed the King?’

‘That is an unpleasant thing to say,’ said Durand. ‘And if you had bothered to read my letters, you would know that I have become indispensable.’

‘I did read your letters, but . . .’ Geoffrey was about to say that Durand was not always honest, but did not want to offend him further. ‘. . . but nothing you wrote led me to expect to see you here.’

‘The King left me with Serlo for a while, since he is in the area, and—’

‘The King is nearby?’ interrupted Geoffrey uneasily. Geoffrey held His Majesty partly responsible for his dismissal by Tancred, and did not want to meet him, lest he was unable to stop himself from saying so.

‘He has business at Hereford – to do with consecrating its bishop. He brought me with him to investigate various taxation issues. Serlo offered to accompany me to Dene, but I would have been better off hiring soldiers. He insists on travelling like a peasant – on mules and with no guards.’

‘Where is he?’ asked Geoffrey. He knew Serlo was not in the woods, because his dog would have barked or growled. An uneasy thought occurred to him. ‘You have not strangled him, have you, like you did that monk near Westminster last year?’

Durand glared. ‘I did that to save our lives – yours as well as mine – as you know perfectly well. I am not in the habit of killing people. I leave that to the likes of you.’ He stared at the small arsenal Geoffrey carried, even in civilian clothes.

‘Serlo?’ prompted Geoffrey.

Durand waved a hand behind him, and Geoffrey saw the outline of a shepherd’s shelter. It was poor and dirty, but Geoffrey recalled that its roof was sound, its walls strong, and it had straw pallets to sleep on. It was not the most comfortable accommodation, but he had used far worse.

‘He is already asleep,’ said Durand resentfully. ‘He declared we would be safe, then lay down and started snoring as though he had not a care in the world. He did not even wait until I had finished my supper, and then I had to . . . you know.’

Geoffrey did not. ‘What?’

‘Slip outside to water the trees,’ whispered Durand primly, although there was no one to overhear. ‘He might have stayed awake to ensure I got back in once piece.’

Geoffrey shrugged. ‘Serlo has nothing to fear in these woods.’

‘It is not Serlo I am worried about,’ said Durand fervently. ‘
He
wears a Benedictine habit.
I
am the one who will be slaughtered if we meet robbers.’

Geoffrey took pity on him. ‘Do you want to come to Goodrich tonight?’

‘There is nothing I would like more, but Serlo does not like being woken once he is sleeping. I would rather let the old bear rest than have him grumbling.’

‘Then visit me tomorrow,’ suggested Geoffrey. ‘But how did you escape the charge of theft levelled against you in Winchester? Your letters outlined your rise in fortunes, but they did not mention that.’

Durand gave one of his superior smiles. ‘I was accused of stealing equipment from a mint and trying to sell it. However, I proved myself innocent. The man who reported me identified me by my hair. So, I bundled it inside a cap and challenged him to pick me out of a crowd. He could not, and I was exonerated. Then I heard about a series of thefts from the royal kitchens, so I decided to look into them. I watched you enough to know how to go about it, and had the riddle solved in a week.’

‘I have never investigated thefts.’

‘You have looked into murders, and one crime is much like another. The King was delighted when I presented him with the culprits. He was so pleased that he agreed to employ me as an agent. He is trusting me with more and more important matters.’

‘Do you like the work?’

Durand grimaced. ‘It is good to own the favour of the King, but I am obliged to deal with some very unsavoury characters – mainly powerful nobles who try to cheat him. I am often in danger. At least when I was with you, I knew you would protect me. These days I have no one.’

‘You can always hire guards.’

Durand raised his eyebrows hopefully. ‘Will you oblige? I do not want
any
unmannerly lout at my heels when I interview these barons – I would sooner have one I know.’

Geoffrey laughed at the man’s audacity. ‘You expect
me
to work for
you
?’

Durand’s face was earnest. ‘I was thinking more of a partnership – I would do the thinking, while you manage the dangerous parts. Between us, we would be a formidable team.’

‘It is a tempting offer,’ said Geoffrey, still laughing. ‘But I must decline.’

‘Why?’ demanded Durand. ‘Because you do not want to be in the King’s service? You are deluding yourself if you think you will resist him forever. Tancred no longer wants you, and you will turn to King Henry sooner or later, simply out of desperation.’

Was that true? It was possible, given that Geoffrey was already restless. Like Durand, he had developed a talent for investigating crimes and, although the cases he explored had been perilous, there had been something exhilarating about them.

‘Well?’ demanded Durand. ‘Come work with me. We will make a fortune.’

Geoffrey mounted his horse. Neither withering away at Goodrich nor working for the King held any appeal, but combining forces with the devious Durand was an appalling prospect, and not one he would consider in a hundred years. ‘It is a generous offer, but I must refuse.’

‘You are leaving?’ asked Durand in horror.

‘What do you expect me to do?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Stand guard outside your hut while you sleep?’

‘That is an excellent idea,’ said Durand gratefully. ‘No one will dare attack when there is a ruffian like you lurking outside.’

‘Good night, Durand,’ said Geoffrey, laughing.

‘Please!’ cried Durand, agitated. ‘Will you abandon an old friend in the middle of a hostile forest? I am no longer a servant; I am an important man. I own several manors in Suffolk – the King gave them to me as a mark of his esteem.’

Geoffrey raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘The King gave you land?’

Durand nodded. ‘My estates are almost as large as Goodrich. I am your equal now.’

Geoffrey was impressed that his old squire had made his fortune so quickly, and saw that he should not have been sceptical of Durand’s letters. He had indeed risen rapidly, and, if he was trusted to explore issues pertaining to taxation, it meant the King liked him. It would not be long before Durand was a force to be reckoned with.

‘Then I wish you well of it,’ he said. ‘But Serlo is right: there are no outlaws in this part of the forest. You are perfectly safe.’

Durand did not look convinced, but Geoffrey had no intention of spending the night away from the fire and warm bed at Goodrich. He raised his hand in salute and rode away. When he glanced behind him, he saw Durand standing alone and unhappy, and suspected he would sleep poorly. But Durand would survive. He always did.

Three

Geoffrey spent another restless day at Goodrich, as Olivier pored over accounts and Joan issued orders. He offered to help Olivier – he was good with figures – but his brother-in-law pointedly suggested that Geoffrey might like to exercise his horse. With nothing else to do, Geoffrey tried to gain information about Henry from the servants, but they were wary and uncommunicative, and his attempts failed miserably. He had been a popular leader in Tancred’s service, and his amiable, easy temper meant people usually liked him. But at Goodrich, only Joan and Olivier seemed pleased he was there. He wondered why. Was it because the servants thought he might be like Henry? Or because they were afraid he might find his brother’s killer among them?

In the afternoon he splashed across the Wye ford, his dog at his side, and rode through the woods until he saw Bicanofre in the distance. Its little church huddled into the hillside, and its motte and bailey dominated the cluster of houses around it. Two women whom Joan had identified as potential wives lived there – Eleanor and Douce – and since he did not want to seem to be paying them court, he turned back, following the way he had come.