“I do not think they will get far,” said Geoffrey. “Where could they go?”
“Well, they will not stay around here,” said Henry. “It is far too dangerous. But what of Walter, Joan? Shall I ride for a physician? There is a good one in Walecford.”
“It is too late,” said Geoffrey. “Walter is already dead.”
Bertrada bit back a sob.
“No,” said Joan. “He is just stunned. He will awaken given time.”
“He will not,” said Geoffrey gently. “The blow probably killed him instantly. He needs Father Adrian, not a physician.”
“But there is no blood!” protested Joan. “And the wound is only slight.”
“His head is flattened,” said Father Adrian, peering closer. “He is dead, Joan. Let him go.”
Geoffrey leaned down and helped Bertrada to her feet, while Olivier solicitously helped Joan, fussing about her and smoothing wrinkles from her gown.
“Is it true?” Joan asked of the small knight. “Is Walter really dead?”
Olivier nodded, and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “You did all you could for him. Come away now. You, too, Bertrada. We should let the priest see to him.
Bertrada allowed herself to be assisted to a chair near the fire, while Adrian knelt and began intoning prayers for the dead.
“Now what?” asked Henry in an undertone to Geoffrey. “It seems that Enide is intent on wiping out everyone connected with Goodrich. Who will be next, I wonder. You or me?”
That night, Geoffrey sat in Godric’s chamber, staring into the flames that licked at the damp logs. The window shutters stood wide open so that the poisonous fumes from Godric’s paintings might be dissipated, and the wind that gusted in chilled the room and made the flames dance and roar.
Geoffrey rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and glanced at the hour candle that stood in a protected corner of the room. He sighed, and then stood to pace for a while to prevent himself from falling asleep. It was well past midnight, and still she had not come. Perhaps Henry was right after all. When Geoffrey had stated his intention to wait for Enide to come through the secret tunnel, Henry had sneered in derision, maintaining that Enide was no fool, and would be well on her way to the coast to avoid being hanged for treason by the King. Olivier had agreed, while Joan had seemed too confused to think anything.
Hedwise had wept bitterly when she had learned of Stephen’s death, and Geoffrey asked himself whether their relationship had been all it should. Joan and Olivier had retired to their chamber, and Geoffrey had heard them talking in low voices behind the door he was certain had been barred.
Bertrada had seen her husband laid out in the chapel next to his father and brother, and announced that she would be leaving Goodrich as soon as Walter was buried. Geoffrey had studied her sharp, hard features in the flickering light from the sconce. Her mouth was drawn in a bitter, bloodless line, and her eyes were cold and calculating. Was she fleeing the scene of her crime, he wondered, now that Enide had ensured that Walter would never inherit Goodrich? Was it Bertrada who had stabbed Godric, so that Walter could have the estates and the uncertainty would be over? Seeing him staring at her, she gave a mirthless smile, and offered him mulled wine that he refused.
He had taken nothing to eat and drink that evening, a precaution he felt justified in taking when even the dog declined to eat the various titbits offered by the others. Stephen was dead, and so would not be bringing Geoffrey wine doctored with ergot to drink, but there was still Henry, Olivier, Joan, Hedwise, and Bertrada who might harbour murderous intentions towards him.
Sitting alone in Godric’s chamber, Geoffrey began to think that Henry was right to have scoffed at his belief that Enide would come that night. It would be a rash thing to do-she would be a fool not to guess that the household would be on the alert for her, and Enide was certainly no fool. Adrian had offered to wait with him, but Geoffrey had no intention of being stabbed at a vital moment by a lovelorn priest, and had asked Olivier to see Adrian away from the castle altogether.
The hour candle burned lower still. Geoffrey opened the door to the spiral stairs and listened. The castle was still, but not silent. Joan and Olivier still muttered in their room, and somewhere, someone snored at a volume loud enough to wake the dead. Geoffrey closed the door again, and went to the window, leaning out to take deep breaths of cold, crisp air. Joan and Olivier seemed to be finding a good deal to discuss. Were they talking about how they had murdered Godric, and how they might still turn his death to their advantage? And Henry and Hedwise-now the likely heirs to Goodrich Castle-were they sitting somewhere plotting and mixing their ergot and poppy powders?
He rubbed his eyes and looked at the candle. It was probably around two or three in the morning. The inhabitants of Goodrich had not been much interested in knowing the time, and all the hour candles that Geoffrey had managed to find were old and cheap. Geoffrey was not at all certain whether the wicks would burn at the correct rate. He turned back to the window again, looking at the pale glint of the river in the moonlight, and the dark mass of the tree-shrouded hills beyond. He entertained the notion that he might be better going to find a safe bed with Helbye than pacing in the castle all night.
Yet Geoffrey was convinced that Enide would come. Henry was right in that she would certainly flee-to Normandy probably, where the Duke would welcome her at the recommendation of his friend and ally the Earl of Shrewsbury-but he could not see her leaving unfinished business. Henry was still alive and stood to inherit Goodrich and, according to her reasoning, Geoffrey had slain her lover of many years” standing. She would not leave without having her revenge.
But as the darkness faded to pale grey, Geoffrey realised he had been wrong. He slumped against the wall and stared at the white embers of the dead fire. Enide must have decided to leave revenge until later. He hauled off his surcoat, and then tugged at the buckles on his hauberk with cold fingers. Divested of his armour, he went to a bowl of water on the chest and splashed some of it over his face, wincing at the chill. As he dried his face on his shirt-sleeve, he heard a faint tap on the door.
“Yes?” he called, striding across the room to where his sword lay under his pile of chain-mail. He relaxed when he saw it was only Hedwise carrying a tray. She balanced it on her knee, and turned to close the door, so that their voices would not disturb others who still slept.
“She did not come?” she asked unnecessarily, glancing around the empty room.
Geoffrey shook his head. “I was wrong and Henry was right. She will be well on her way to the coast by now. Then she will board a ship for France, and will not return until the Earl of Shrewsbury has determined that England is ripe for an invasion by the Duke of Normandy.”
“You look tired,” said Hedwise, sympathetic to his frustration. “Come and sit down. I have brought you some of my broth. I will build up the fire, and then you should rest. Your father and brothers will not be buried until mid-morning, and you should try to snatch some sleep before then.”
She set her tray on the table, and pulled out a stool for Geoffrey to sit on. He flopped down and rested his head in his hands.
“I was certain she would come tonight,” he said. “But it seems I am seldom right when it comes to Enide. She is not the person I once knew.”
“I really could not say,” said Hedwise. “I have known her only as she is now. Your hands are frozen. Here, drink some of this broth.”
She pushed a steaming bowl into Geoffrey’s hands, and stood behind him. A strong smell of fish rose into his face, and his stomach rebelled.
“What is it, ergot flavour?” he asked, somewhat discourteously, given that she had just been kind to him.
“Well, yes, actually,” said Hedwise, as, simultaneously, Geoffrey felt the sharp prick of a dagger through his shirt. “And you have a choice: drink the soup, or have me run you through. Which will it be?”