Geoffrey swallowed hard, not liking the image of his sister sawing the head from a body.
“And then we had news that you had survived the Crusade, and might even pay us a visit-twenty years too late for me to care, but a visit nevertheless. We tried to prevent you from arriving at all. But I thought my Crusader brother would be the more richly dressed knight of the pair who wandered into the ambush at Lann Martin. I told Malger as much, and he concentrated his efforts on the wrong man. I should not have been so easily misled-you always were scruffy and uninterested in appearances. I should have known that the taller, more practically attired knight was you.”
“So Aumary was killed because you thought he was me?” asked Geoffrey.
“Yes and no,” said Malger, eager to join in and show off his own cleverness. “It would have been an excellent opportunity to get rid of you-and Caerdig’s pathetic little ambush provided a perfect cover. But whether we shot you, or Aumary, or both, it would have worked to our advantage.”
“How?” asked Geoffrey, puzzled.
“Because of these arrows,” said Malger, raising his bow again. “They were made by the same fletcher who made the arrow that killed King William Rufus. And King Henry would recognise them anywhere. You did what we could not: you took one of them right into Chepstow Castle and presented it to the King himself. And you can be assured he recognised it for what it was.”
Geoffrey recalled the King’s reaction to the arrow. He had studied it long and hard, but had refused to touch it. Eventually, he had ordered Geoffrey to throw it in the fire.
“So it was a warning to the King that an attempt would be made on his life?” asked Geoffrey. “But why bother with that if you planned to kill him anyway?”
“It was part warning and part message,” said Enide. “It was a warning that the King’s life could be taken as easily as had his brother’s; and it was a message that Rufus’s death was by no means the accident that everyone seems to have accepted.”
“You mean that Rufus really was murdered that day, even though your own plot failed?” asked Geoffrey. “That is no great revelation. Tirel is claiming that he did not fire the arrow.”
“Hmm,” said Enide, eyeing him critically. “Perhaps you are not so quick-witted after all. Of course Rufus was killed deliberately, but it was not by Tirel. Kings do not die in silly accidents like that! Do you think Tirel would have loosed his arrow had he thought that the King was anywhere near where it might have landed?”
Geoffrey was silent. So, Enide and Malger had used him to deliver their message to the King. It explained why the King had pretended that the recipe for horse liniment was so important, too. He did not want to tell Geoffrey that the real message lay in the corpse of Aumary, slain by a distinctive arrow; so he had snatched the scrap of parchment the constable had found and made a show that it was something vital. Since few men in Henry’s court could read, Henry had assumed-erroneously-that Geoffrey was also illiterate. Geoffrey was fortunate that the King had realised that he was innocent of all this treachery, or he might well now be languishing in the dungeons of Chepstow Castle. Or not languishing anywhere at all.
“And you robbed me later,” he said. “You stole my scrolls.”
“And that lovely chalice, yes,” she replied. “Although I was not there, personally. Fortunately, you left Ingram with your horses while you went dashing off to jump in the river after that other lout. Malger was all for slaying the whole lot of you, but Ingram virtually unbuckled your saddle for him, so keen was he to save himself from Malger’s sword. In the event, it was simpler to have Ingram hand us your ‘treasure’ and leave peacefully.”
“Ingram told me he was attacked by thirty outlaws,” said Geoffrey. “And all along it was merely two of the Earl of Shrewsbury’s hirelings?”
Drogo growled at the back of his throat, and Malger’s arrow came up. Enide pushed it down irritably. Remarkably, Malger made no move to disobey her, despite the sounds of the King’s party coming closer. Had Geoffrey been Malger, he would have ignored Enide, fired his arrow, and been away.
“I had expected your saddlebags to be loaded with plunder,” she said to Geoffrey, moving so that she stood in Malger’s line of fire. “Malger was most disappointed when he found only books.”
“I will bear that in mind next time,” said Geoffrey. “But why did he take the scrolls?”
“We knew you had been to see the King, and Malger thought they might be important messages. He cannot read, so did not know what they were. But I could see that they were just some worthless decorated manuscripts, probably in Arabic or Hebrew. Am I correct?”
Geoffrey nodded. “I was going to translate them.”
“Too late for that,” said Malger, raising his bow and stepping round Enide for a clear shot.
“Really, Malger,” said Enide reproachfully. “At least grant me a few moments with my favourite brother before you kill him.”
“Why did you shoot Norbert?” asked Geoffrey quickly, hoping to prolong the discussion long enough to allow the King’s men to find them. “I thought he was on your side.”
“He was,” said Enide. “But we will need to travel quickly now he has failed to kill the King, and Norbert, although an excellent shot, is not a good rider. He would be caught in no time at all-and then he would reveal our identities to the first person who asked, to save his own miserable neck. He has not been himself since his marriage to Helbye’s wife was dissolved.”
Geoffrey knew from personal experience that Norbert was not a fast mover. He had almost caught the scribe once before-when Norbert had loosed an arrow at Geoffrey as he had looked for Rohese in the woods near the river. The glimpse of the scribe’s face as he had glanced back after Geoffrey had collided with Adrian’s cart had not been sufficient to identify him, but the archer had worn the same dark clothes and had run with the same distinctive gait as Norbert. Geoffrey was surprised that he had not associated Norbert’s penchant for bows-which Geoffrey had discovered when he had followed him into his outhouse in the castle bailey one night-with the mysterious archer before.
“Who else was involved in this plot?” he asked. “I now know about Malger, Drogo, Norbert, Stephen’s wife, the physician, Father, and Adrian.”
“Not Adrian,” said Enide. “I could never trust him with business like this. It was bad enough persuading him to help me feign my death. I had to cry all night to achieve that. But you are right about the others.”
“And you killed Pernel?”
“Malger did. He is good at that sort of thing. He should have gone on Crusade; he would have been a hero.”
Malger blushed modestly.
“Pernel was a silly, empty-headed woman,” said Enide. “She was so proud to be part of a plot to kill Rufus that she wanted to tell everyone about it. She was, quite simply, too dangerous for us. Malger had some concoction that he fed to her in a sweetmeat during mass-serve her right for eating in church-and it brought on the ‘falling sickness’ that the whole village witnessed.”
“I do not understand why you are doing this,” said Geoffrey. “You can scarcely rule Goodrich if you are thought to be dead.”
“I do not have to stay dead,” said Enide. “The Earl of Shrewsbury will sort it all out. We will have Goodrich yet.”
“You trust the Earl to pay you for all this?” asked Geoffrey doubtfully.
Drogo stiffened angrily at the insult to his liege lord, wielding his sword dangerously. Enide raised her hand imperiously, and the heavy knight stayed his hand.
“Why not?” she asked. “He is no more and no less honest than the next man.”
Geoffrey suspected that the Earl was a good deal less honest than the next man, assuming of course that the next man was not a Mappestone or King Henry.
“And who else is involved in this plot, if not Adrian?”
“There is one other person-”
“Enough!” snapped Drogo, striding forwards. “Listen-they are searching for us. Kill him, and let us be gone.”