King Henry stood over Geoffrey, graciously accepting the accolades of his fellow huntsmen for his excellent shot. Geoffrey sat on the ground trying to make sense out of what had happened.
“My brother the Duke of Normandy did not train you very well if he taught you to fight boar with your bare hands, Geoffrey Mappestone,” said the King when his courtiers had finally finished with their praises.
“I seem to have lost my dagger,” said Geoffrey, dazed and climbing slowly to his feet.
“My point is proven,” said the King, turning to his retinue in amusement. “Most of us would hunt the boar with a bow or, if we were feeling exceptionally vigorous, a lance. None of us would consider taking one on with a dagger. Or even a sword!”
His entourage laughed politely. Well, not all of them, Geoffrey noticed. The Earl of Shrewsbury was not smiling.
“So we are even,” said the King. “I shot the boar that was mauling you, and you thwarted the archer who tried to kill me. His body is there, I see. I suppose you do not know his name, do you?”
“Norbert,” said Geoffrey. “He was my father’s scribe, but became embroiled in a plot to kill first your brother Rufus and now you.”
The King’s eyes narrowed. “Plot?”
Geoffrey took a deep breath to try to control the tremble of exhaustion in his voice. “Last year, a small group of fanatics planned to kill Rufus because they considered him an inappropriate ruler. The murder was to take place in the New Forest, it was to be a hunting accident, and it was to occur this coming summer when the Duke of Normandy would be well placed to take advantage of the vacant throne. But Rufus died of a hunting accident quite by chance before these people had the opportunity to put their plan into action.”
Geoffrey paused, aware that he had not only the King’s complete attention but that of his entire retinue.
“Pray continue,” said the King, his expression unreadable.
“Rufus’s death did not achieve what these plotters intended, however. He died too soon for the Duke of Normandy to take advantage of the situation, and they found themselves not with the Duke as King, but with you. Rather than abandon a plan that had promised to be so rewarding, they simply put it into action again, the only difference being that this time, you were to be the victim.”
“I see,” said the King. His eyes were dark, and Geoffrey was not sure whether the King believed a word he had said. “And who are these plotters?”
“I am not sure of all of them, my lord,” said Geoffrey. “But Norbert was one, Malger who lies dead over there, another-”
“Malger of Caen?” asked the King, taking a few steps to examine the body Geoffrey had indicated. He looked from it to the Earl of Shrewsbury. “He was in your service, Shrewsbury. Am I correct?”
“I do not think so, my lord,” said the Earl, striding forward and poking at Malger with his foot. “He does not seem familiar.”
“Really?” asked Geoffrey, his astonishment at the Earl’s blatant falsehood making him incautious. “Malger was under the impression that he was one of your most valued henchmen.”
“Then that was probably just wishful thinking on his part,” said the Earl, bringing his cold, reptilian eyes to bear on Geoffrey. “I do not know this man. But you have only recently returned to the country after an absence of many years, so it is not surprising that you cannot recall whom you saw where.”
Geoffrey saw that, short of calling the Earl a liar, he was not going to win this argument. He wondered who the King’s retinue was more likely to believe-an impoverished Crusader knight, or the great Earl of Shrewsbury.
“The other plotters include …” He paused, uncertain how to proceed. Would it be prudent to claim that one of them was another knight in the service of the Earl of Shrewsbury, while the others included his sister and father?
“These alleged plotters,” said the King, as Geoffrey hesitated. “Are they alive or dead?”
“Mostly dead,” replied Geoffrey, disconcerted by the King’s abrupt loss of interest in the plotters” identities. “Only two remain alive that I know.”
“My chief huntsman will track them down and kill them,” said the King.
He snapped his fingers, and a burly man in forest greens slipped out of the ranks and disappeared into the trees, several similarly clad men on his heels.
“Of course,” the King continued, “if they cannot find this pair, I shall expect you to ferret them out and dispatch them yourself. And then we will say no more about this business. You have done well, Sir Geoffrey. Now, I understand you have recently lost your father?”
Geoffrey nodded uncertainly, at a loss at how to react to the King’s sudden changes of subject.
“My condolences. He was a loyal man, and you have followed in his footsteps. I always reward loyalty.”
Here he paused, and beamed around at his retinue, allowing his eyes to remain a little longer on the Earl of Shrewsbury than the others.
“I would like to assure you that I will apply to my Archbishop to ask him to honour the marriage made in faith by your father and mother. This means that Goodrich will stay in your family, because all Godric’s offspring will be legitimate once more. I am sure Shrewsbury will not object to my rewarding you for saving my life?”
The Earl gave the King an elegant bow. “Loyalty should always be repaid, my liege.”
He fixed his beady eyes on Geoffrey, leaving the knight in no doubt that the manor of Goodrich was certainly not what he had in mind.
The King smiled and moved away, pausing to inspect Norbert’s body once more, and to work out where his would-be murderers had stood. His courtiers followed, keen to miss nothing of the excitement.
“Really, Geoffrey,” said the Earl, reproachfully. “What have I done to make you hate me so? I was looking forward to adding Goodrich to my estates, and now you have deprived me of it.”
“Not intentionally,” said Geoffrey. “And I have good cause to hate you, as well you know. You took my sister, and allowed her to be drawn into this foolish plot to kill King Henry.”
“Actually, I did nothing of the kind,” said the Earl. “It was Enide who came to me with the plot. I told her to wait. The time is not yet ripe-the Duke needs to be properly warned, or he will miss his opportunity once again; and I am not yet as powerful as I would like, to assure our success. There is little point risking all in an invasion to place the Duke on the throne if we cannot be certain of victory. I urged her to do nothing, but she defied me.”
“But you denied that Malger was in your service-”
“A game, Geoffrey. The King knows as well as I do that Malger was one of my most trusted knights. I denied it and he did not contradict me. The King also knows perfectly well who is responsible for the attempt on his life. Why do you think he did not press you for the names of these plotters? It is because he already knows who they are. In fact, he has known for some time: I told him myself, you see.”
“You?” cried Geoffrey, bewildered. “But why?”
“Because I knew it would fail when Enide refused to wait. I did not want to be associated with a doomed plot, so I told the King about it. Thus, I gain credit for my loyalty to him, but yet I am still in a position to reap the benefits from any attempt on the King’s life should Enide have succeeded. Do not look so shocked, my fine knight! This is called politics. If you do not like the stakes, do not play the game.”
“Would that I had not,” said Geoffrey bitterly. “I hate this sort of thing.”
“Most knights do,” agreed the Earl. “They prefer straightforward slaughter. But I expected more of you, Geoffrey. I thought you were a cut above the rest of the rabble.”
“Who else is involved, other than Enide and Malger?” asked Geoffrey, rubbing his head with a shaking hand. “And Drogo. Whom I suppose you also do not know.”
“Good. You are learning,” said the Earl appreciatively. “Aside from those three and that pathetic little clerk, there was a physician and the wife of one of your brothers-Petrella?”