“Thank you,” said Geoffrey again.
Stephen prepared to leave. “Enjoy the wine, Geoffrey,” he said. “But do not touch that foul brew father likes. It will poison you.”
Geoffrey glanced at him sharply, but Stephen’s attention was caught by the way the lamplight shone through Hedwise’s nightshift, and he could not tell whether his brother’s words had a deeper meaning or not.
“You should not have let everyone know that you came home lootless,” said Hedwise, laughing down at Geoffrey. “Then you would not have been so neglected in favour of the Earl.”
That, Geoffrey thought, was probably true. He returned her smile, and sipped the broth. Not surprisingly, it smelled strongly of fish, and Geoffrey had to force himself not to show his distaste. It had been kind of her to think of him, and Geoffrey had no wish to alienate yet another member of his family by declining a gift brought out of consideration for him. He took a mouthful of the wine to mask the flavour, but either the wine also had the taint of fish about it, or the broth had done irreparable damage to his sense of taste.
Stephen gave him an odd salute and left, flinging his cloak around his shoulders as he went. Hedwise closed the door behind him and came to sit next to Geoffrey.
“Finish the broth, Geoffrey,” she said. “Or you will be wasting away.” She smiled at him, her eyes dark in the candle-light, and edged a little closer. Pretending to reach for the wine, Geoffrey moved away, but it was not long before her leg was rubbing against his.
“Hedwise …” he began.
“Hush,” she said, putting a finger on his lips to prevent him from speaking. “Let us enjoy these few moments together without words. Drink the broth.”
Geoffrey took a second tentative sip, fighting not to gag at the unpleasant, almost bitter taste, and washed it down with a swallow of wine. Hedwise moved closer yet, squashing Geoffrey against the wall. He wondered whether her attraction to him was a case of simple lust, or whether she was working to put him in some dreadfully compromising position in which Henry would certainly attempt to kill him for adultery.
He was in the process of extricating himself from her encircling legs, when the door opened yet again, and Walter lurched in, supported by Stephen. Hedwise sprang away guiltily, and Walter eyed them blearily for a moment, while Stephen gave a knowing smile and said nothing.
“I am dispossessed,” slurred Walter gloomily. “First, my manor is about to go to another man on the basis of some trumped-up claim of illegitimacy, and second, I have even been ousted from my own bedchamber.”
He dropped a blanket on the floor next to Geoffrey, and slumped on it, wafting wine fumes all over the chamber.
“Move over, little brother. There is enough room near this fire for two. Or should I say three?” He leered at Hedwise. “But I am not sleeping while that thing is in the room,” he added, indicating Geoffrey’s dog with a sideways toss of his head that almost toppled him over.
The dog, sensing it was the focus of attention, rose, and walked towards Walter, wagging its tail hopefully. Walter made a sudden movement with his hand to repel it, and it jerked backwards, knocking into Geoffrey. Fishy soup and wine alike spilled onto Geoffrey’s shirt sleeve.
“I will take him,” said Stephen, flicking his fingers at the dog as he had seen Geoffrey do. “And this time, I really am going to visit my pupping hound, Your dog can come with me.”
“He will not go out in the rain,” said Geoffrey, shaking his arm to remove the worst of the spillage from his sleeve. “He-”
Without so much as a backwards glance, the dog followed Stephen from the room, wagging its tail and snuffling around him in a friendly manner never bestowed upon Geoffrey. Geoffrey could only suppose that Stephen must have something edible secreted on his person.
“Good,” said Walter, as Hedwise went too, closing the door behind her and leaving them with the light from the flickering fire. “I am exhausted. Finish that broth or Hedwise will be mortally offended. She is quite justifiably proud of that fish soup.”
He watched Geoffrey take another sip, screwing up his face against the strong, fishy flavour. Hedwise’s mortal offence was just too bad, Geoffrey decided. He made a pretence at draining the bowl to satisfy Walter, and then tipped the remainder down the garderobe shaft as soon as Walter’s eyelids began to droop. As soon as Walter was asleep, he began some impressive snoring that had their father tossing and turning restlessly.
Geoffrey placed the empty bowl on the hearth and tucked the blanket around his oldest brother, although he could see that Walter was a far beyond caring about any such tender ministrations. Geoffrey took a sip of wine to rid his mouth of the taste of fish, but, if anything, Stephen’s brew was worse. Since the bottle suggested it was wine of some quality, Geoffrey could only assume that it must have gone sour on its long journey from France. He set it virtually untouched back on the hearth by the bowl, and sat next to Walter, watching the flames flickering in the fire. He felt sick and his stomach hurt, and the mere thought of fish broth almost brought it all back up again.
He pulled his surcoat tighter around him against the cold, and listened to the sounds of Olivier’s noisy search for Rohese in all manner of improbable places. A picture of the Earl’s face swam before him, the dark face twisted with loathing, so that Geoffrey felt disinclined to sleep, although he was bone weary. In the end, he rose and moved the chest from the end of the bed against the door, reeling from a sudden wave of dizziness as he did so. Satisfied that anyone trying to enter the room would now make sufficient noise to waken him, he slipped into a deep sleep.
‘What have you done? How could you? Are you some kind of monster to do such a vile thing under your father’s own roof?”
Geoffrey was vaguely aware of strident voices, and of someone prodding him hard with the toe of a boot. The shouting seemed very distant, and he was certain it could have nothing to do with him. He settled back to sleep again.
“Oh, no you don’t! Come on! Wake up!”
The voices became more insistent, and Geoffrey felt himself being pulled upright. Then he was jolted awake with a start as a bucket of icy water was dashed over him. He gasped in shock, trying to force his eyes to focus on the people who surrounded him.
“That did the trick!” announced Henry grimly, flinging the bucket into a corner. “He is all yours.”
He stepped back to reveal the Earl of Shrewsbury behind him. Geoffrey squinted up at them, wondering why the light was lancing so painfully into his eyes. He tried to stand, but his legs were like rubber, and would not hold him up.
“Stay where you are,” said the Earl sharply. “Now. Tell me why you saw fit to murder your own father. He was dying anyway. You only had to wait a short while longer.”
Geoffrey thought he was in the depth of some dreadful nightmare, and tried to force himself awake. But a vicious kick from Henry when he did not answer convinced him that he was indeed awake, but that he might be better dreaming.
“Do not just sit there!” yelled Henry. “The Earl asked you a question and is expecting a reply.”
Geoffrey tried to speak, but his tongue felt as though it belonged to someone else and the sounds he managed to produce made no sense to anyone, least of all to himself.
“What is the matter with him?” demanded the Earl, glaring at Henry. “He was not so inarticulate when he bandied words with me last night. Has he been at the wine?”
“I should say,” said Stephen from his father’s bedside, hefting up the enormous jug. “This flagon was filled to the brim with the strong red wine Godric likes only yesterday, and it is now completely empty.” He used both hands to tip it upside down, lest anyone did not believe him.
Their voices buzzed in Geoffrey’s head, and he began to feel sick. He took a deep breath, and tried to speak a second time.