“What proof do you have for these accusations?” demanded Henry, rising abruptly and standing over Geoffrey with clenched fists. “You come prancing back from the Holy Land, without so much as a silver goblet to show for it and accuse your own family of committing terrible crimes!”
Geoffrey was silent. He had very little to support his guess that Stephen was the last of the conspirators, although Stephen had denied nothing. Was Enide telling him the truth when she had said there was one other? Or was she simply trying to confuse him?
“Well?” asked Geoffrey of his dying brother. “Am I right? Did you conspire to kill the King?”
Stephen closed his eyes, and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Because Pernel was so deeply involved in the plot to kill Rufus, others have assumed that I shared her passion. I did not. I never plotted to kill Rufus, and I most certainly did not conspire to kill King Henry. In fact, I tried hard to dissuade Pernel from getting involved at all. She would not listen. I did not even know that Enide was still alive until the night Godric died. I met her then.”
“You were locked out of the castle,” said Geoffrey, thinking fast. “Malger had replaced our guards on the gates with his own, because he thought ours were inadequate. By the time you returned from seeing the dog that was about to pup, the guards would not let you in again. So, you used the secret tunnel to gain entry instead.”
“What tunnel?” demanded Henry.
Stephen nodded. “I met Enide in the chamber at the bottom of the stairs. I cannot tell you which of us suffered the greater shock! She told me of her plan to kill King Henry. I tried to dissuade her, as I had Pernel, but she was beyond reason.”
Then that must have been while Rohese was still sleeping under Godric’s mattresses, Geoffrey thought, or they would all have bumped into each other. “And she let you leave unscathed?” he asked. “That does not sound like Enide.”
“She let me go because I offered to inform Godric of what was afoot,” said Stephen. “She could not: she was supposed to be dead. Godric and I argued about it-or rather, he yelled at me about it. I wondered then how you could sleep through it, but assumed you simply wanted to listen without becoming involved. I had no idea you were drugged. I am guilty of concealing Enide’s resurrection from you all; I am guilty of concealing the fact that I suspected Enide of killing Torva; I am guilty of not forcing Pernel to give up her foolish notions of regicide. But I have not killed, and I have not plotted to murder any kings.”
His eyes closed in exhaustion. Geoffrey rubbed his temples, sighed, and tipped his head back, looking at the low, grey-bellied clouds that scudded above him.
“I told you it would be too late to fetch Father Adrian,” said Henry in a low voice.
Stephen was dead.
It was a sombre procession that wound its way along the path that led from Lann Martin to Goodrich bearing the body of Stephen across Geoffrey’s destrier. The path was grassy and overgrown from lack of use. Geoffrey remembered that it had been well trodden when he was a boy, and was angry that Enide’s plotting and intrigue had spread not only to devastate her own family but had even touched the innocent villagers of Lann Martin, too. The route to the market town of Walecford through the Goodrich estate had been a convenient and useful short-cut from Lann Martin in former, happier days.
“Caerdig?” Geoffrey yelled to the silent trees.
Henry regarded him askance. “Caerdig is not here. And less of this unseemly shouting. We are bearing the corpse of our brother here. Have you no respect for the dead?”
To one side of them, the trees parted and Caerdig stepped out, followed by several of his villagers. All carried the sticks and staves that they had been using to beat the game through the forest for the King and his hunting party.
“God’s blood, Geoffrey!” muttered Henry, snatching his sword from his saddle. “What did you call him for? Now we will all be slain!”
“Put your sword away,” said Geoffrey, not taking his eyes from Caerdig. “You have nothing to fear. We have been trailed ever since we left the forest clearing, and if Caerdig had wanted us killed, we would be dead already.”
“And we might kill you yet,” said Daffydd, the man who wore the strange cap, as he fingered a sword with a broken tip.
“Hush, Daffydd,” said Caerdig. “This might be our chance for peace.”
“Peace?” thundered Henry. “Peace? Why should I make peace with you?”
“Less of this unseemly shouting,” said Geoffrey to Henry. “Have you no respect for the dead?”
“We need peace because too much evil has been perpetrated here already,” said Caerdig. “And who among us would not like to walk these paths without expecting a knife between the shoulder-blades at every step? It is time this nonsense ended.”
“Why now?” demanded Henry. “Do you think the Mappestones are weak because Stephen is dead?” He spat in derision.
“I tried for peace before, if you recall,” said Caerdig. “I offered to marry Joan or Enide, so that our estates would live in harmony.”
“But you have stolen my inheritance!” snarled Henry. “Lann Martin is mine, left to me by my mother.”
“It was not hers to leave,” said Caerdig firmly. “It belonged to Ynys, and Ynys wanted me to succeed him.”
“You are not Ynys’s legitimate heir,” shouted Henry, furious. “And so the estate should have passed back to us.”
“And that is why you killed Ynys!” yelled Caerdig back. “You struck a coward’s blow in the dark, so that you could inherit! Well, Lann Martin stands on Welsh soil, and by Welsh law, it belongs to me, as his named successor.”
“I did not kill Ynys-”
“Enide arranged for Drogo to kill Ynys,” said Geoffrey quietly. Despite his low voice, the other two turned and regarded him with disbelief.
“Henry’s belligerence is all the proof I need of his guilt,” said Caerdig. “I was prepared to let Ynys’s slaying go unavenged-he would not have wanted it to have caused continued bloodshed-but I will not do so if Henry is not man enough even to admit to his crime.”
“Enide arranged Ynys’s death,” persisted Geoffrey. “She wanted Henry accused of the murder, so that no one would raise questions when Henry was stabbed in the back one dark night. And then, doubtless, it would have been your turn, Caerdig-you would have been the prime suspect for Henry’s murder, and either hanged or slain by an act of revenge by some unidentified member of the Mappestone household. Then Enide would have had not only Goodrich but Lann Martin, too.”
“My God!” breathed Caerdig. “And this was the woman I offered to take as my wife?”
“Enide fooled many people,” said Geoffrey. “But the real issue is will you agree to a truce? If you two continue to fight, Enide will have won a small victory, and I am loath to see her win any at all. The people on both estates are suffering-you should stop wasting funds on this silly squabble and put them into the welfare of the people you need to make your lands profitable.”
Henry pursed his lips and folded his arms across his barrel chest. Caerdig scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“We can try, I suppose,” said Henry eventually. “I have never liked Lann Martin much anyway. It is full of Welshmen. And anyway I have Goodrich now. Take Lann Martin, Caerdig. It is yours.”
Caerdig gave him a look of dislike. “Then we will start our peace by allowing you to pass unmolested through our lands. And as an act of faith, we will not follow you to ensure you leave. Go home, and bury your dead.”
Geoffrey supposed it was as good a start as he was likely to accomplish. Henry took the reins of his horse and led the small procession on. Geoffrey lingered as the others left, and caught Caerdig’s arm as he made to stride away.
“I saw who drove the boar forward when Enide was about to kill me,” he said.
“It did not go quite according to plan,” said Caerdig ruefully. “I was almost too late for a start, and I did not intend for the wretched thing to attack you. A deer would have been a better animal to use, but time was short and the boar was the only beast available to me.” He grinned suddenly. “You should have seen Enide run when she saw it coming!”