“Well done, Geoffrey!” said Walter scathingly. “You have a God-given chance to rid us of one of our most bitter enemies, and you throw it away.”
“Why did you not tell us about it?” asked Stephen. “I am not questioning your decision to spare Caerdig’s life, only that you did not inform us of an ambush so close to our home.”
“Perhaps I was wrong,” said Geoffrey. “But I did not want to arrive here after twenty years claiming that I had been attacked by one of your neighbours.”
“What kind of excuse is that?” yelled Henry, incensed. “I could have had Lann Martin, to add to Goodrich when it is mine.”
“Goodrich will never be yours,” shouted Walter hotly. He lurched suddenly, and Geoffrey realised he was well on the way to being drunk. Doubtless being intoxicated was the best way to deal with an unexpected and wholly unwelcome guest like the Earl.
Stephen sighed as they began to argue again. “I have had enough of this. I have a bitch in the village that is about to pup, and I would like to check all goes well. Good night, brothers.”
He turned on his heel and walked away. Not wanting to be left with Walter and Henry, who had made no effort to stop squabbling, Geoffrey followed him outside. The gate between the inner and outer wards stood wide open, and Stephen strolled through it, whistling as he went. There were no guards at the barbican gate, and Geoffrey could hear him shouting to be let out. Geoffrey swung round suddenly at a noise behind him, and did not relax much when he saw Malger standing in the shadows.
Malger frowned when he saw Stephen calling for the sergeant on duty to wake so that he could leave. “I do not feel the Earl is particularly safe here. I think I will post my own guards for as long as he stays.”
“That is probably wise,” agreed Geoffrey. “I could take this so-called fortress single-handed.”
He decided not to add to Malger’s concerns by saying that he almost had-when he had blustered his way into the castle on his first night home, and the only resistance he had encountered was an aborted challenge from Sir Olivier and a few surly questions from the guards.
Malger strode away, shouting to men who lounged in the bailey, and set about establishing his watches. It would probably be the first time Goodrich had been in secure hands since Godric had taken to his bed, Geoffrey thought.
It was cold wearing only his father’s tatty shirt and patched hose, and he was glad to go back inside. He reached the door just as the first heavy spots of rain began to fall. Stephen would get wet. Walter and Henry were still arguing bitterly, unaware that they were providing entertainment for the Earl’s retinue who listened with undisguised amusement to the increasingly furious exchange.
Geoffrey left them to it, and went to his father’s room, taking a candle from a sconce on the stairs so that he could see where he was going. The dog slunk from under a table, and went with him, uncharacteristically subdued. Geoffrey wondered whether the Earl had kicked it.
He started back as someone emerged on the stairs above him, and cursed yet again for allowing himself to be caught weaponless within the treacherous walls of Goodrich Castle. A young woman stepped out of the shadows, her face tear-stained.
“I thought you were Sir Olivier,” she said unsteadily.
“Do I look like a peacock-all feathers and no courage?” he demanded, and was immediately sorry. He had no right to take out his residual anger at the Earl on someone he had never met.
The girl gazed at him with large, troubled eyes. “I am Rohese. You must be Sir Godfrey.”
“Geoffrey. And you are my father’s …” He had been about to say whore.
“Chambermaid, yes. But Godric will not be able to save me!” She began to cry.
“Save you from whom?” asked Geoffrey, confused. “Sir Olivier? I cannot see that he would present much of a threat to anyone.”
“Not Olivier. Him. The Earl!” Her voiced faded to a horrified whisper.
“Ah.”
“Will you help me?” she pleaded, clutching his arm, and gazing up at him with wide eyes that leaked tears. “Do not let him take me, Sir Godfrey. Joan says that if he wants me, I have no choice but to go to his bedchamber.”
Geoffrey studied her. She was tiny, and had a delicate heart-shaped face with large blue eyes. Tendrils of golden hair escaped from the veil she wore over her head, and his heart softened when he saw she was only about sixteen.
“But what can I do?” he asked. “The Earl, it seems, is a law unto himself-what the Earl wants, the Earl takes.”
“I will die rather than let him have me!” she said, with a frail attempt at courage. “Give me your dagger. I will kill myself here and now!”
“You would be better justified in using it on the Earl,” said Geoffrey. “Is he expecting you?”
“He is in his chamber, and Joan said she would send Sir Olivier for me if I did not go to him of my own accord.” She swallowed noisily as footsteps sounded on the stairs below.
“Rohese?” called Sir Olivier softly. “The Earl is waiting.”
Rohese gave a noise halfway between a groan and a sob, and almost swooned against the wall. Geoffrey took her by the wrist and hauled her into Godric’s room, closing the door behind them. Now what? he thought, looking around and wondering what he had let himself in for. Godric’s chamber was likely to be the first room that would be searched if the Earl’s amorous intentions were serious. There were few places Rohese could hide-unless she could fit down the garderobe shaft-a desperate option, but one that Geoffrey had employed himself on occasion before he had grown too large. But Godric’s chamber was on the top floor, and even if Rohese survived the fall, she was likely to drown in the foul, sucking mud that comprised much of the castle moat.
Olivier’s footsteps were coming closer, and Rohese gazed at the door in mute terror. Geoffrey hauled open the chest at the foot of the bed and bundled her inside. He was sitting on it and buckling to his waist the Arabian dagger that the Earl had rejected when Olivier entered.
“Have you seen Rohese the whore?” Olivier asked, lifting the covers of Godric’s bed to peer underneath it.
“Is she back then?” Geoffrey asked. “That is good news. My father has missed her.”
“Well, he can have her tomorrow,” said Olivier, going to the tiny room at the far end of Godric’s chamber to look down the garderobe shaft. “But tonight, the Earl would like her. Damn it all! Where can she have gone?”
“I take it the opportunity to revel in the pleasure of the Earl’s company is less than appealing to her?”
“What nonsense are you talking?” mumbled Olivier. “If you are asking whether she wants to go to him, that is wholly irrelevant. Do you mind standing? I want to look in that chest.”
“I have been sitting on it,” said Geoffrey. “How could she have climbed inside without my noticing?”
“I had not thought of that,” said Olivier, scratching his head. “Help me look for her, Geoffrey. The Earl will be wanting me to stand in, if I cannot find her!”
Geoffrey gazed at him, and wondered what kind of man the Earl was.
“I meant by supplying Joan,” said Olivier hastily. “And she will not approve of that!”
“I doubt the Earl would make much progress with Joan if she were not willing,” said Geoffrey, certain that his assertive sister would not stand for any nonsense-unless she viewed the arrangement positively, of course. He stood, and looked under Godric’s bed, and then went to check the garderobe shaft.
“She is not here,” said Olivier, slumping down on the chest. I wonder where she could have gone.”
“Perhaps she has hurled herself off the battlements,” suggested Geoffrey. “I might, if the alternative was a night with the Earl of Shrewsbury.”
“You would not last a night with him,” said Olivier with conviction. “You would be unable to keep a civil tongue in your head, and he would run you through long before dawn.”
“I had noticed that the Earl seems to prefer sycophants over people with independent minds,” said Geoffrey, smiling as Olivier looked blankly at him. “But you had better go and find Rohese, or you will have to answer to Joan.”