“It was you?” asked Geoffrey, startled. He started to turn, but Hedwise dug the dagger into him in a way that made him certain she was in earnest. “You poisoned me last time?”
“I put ergot in the broth, but I miscalculated and you survived. I suppose you did not finish it. There were only so many times that I could urge you to drink without arousing your suspicion. Afterwards, I guessed it would only be a matter of time before you worked out that the ergot was in my broth, not Stephen’s wine-”
“So you came back later, and added ergot to the wine, too-which is why the physician found ergot and poppy powder in both.”
“Correct,” said Hedwise.
“But why?” asked Geoffrey. “I was not a danger to Henry and his inheritance. Even if the will naming Godfrey as his heir had been approved in court, I would not have taken Goodrich.”
“So you say,” said Hedwise. “But as it happened, it was Walter I was after-your death was just part of my plan to get him out of the way. Walter had had a good deal to drink, and is a heavy sleeper anyway. My notion was for you and Godric to be found dead, and Walter blamed. But you survived, and that ridiculous Henry started claiming that you were responsible for Godric’s death! It was so ludicrous that I almost laughed. I tried several times to dissuade him and shift the blame to Walter, but you heard how he would have none of it.”
Geoffrey was angry with himself. He had assumed that because the ergot had not killed him and because his dagger had been used to stab Godric, the would-be poisoner had wanted him accused of the murder. That the whole elaborate situation had been devised to place Walter in a dreadfully compromising position had not crossed his mind.
“But why Walter? What has he done to deserve all this?”
“He was simply the first on my list. Getting rid of you was a bonus, but not really an important one because you are younger than Henry and so do not present a threat. Stephen was to be next.”
“I take it that Henry is unaware of all the pains you are taking to secure his inheritance?”
She laughed. “Do not ask stupid questions! Of course he does not know what I am doing-he has neither the brains nor the capacity for the discretion that is necessary for a successful outcome. But I do not have all day. Drink the broth or I will stab you. I recommend the broth, because it will kill you without too much discomfort. I cannot say the same for the knife, since I have not done it before. It might take more than one attempt.”
Geoffrey took a tentative sip at the broth, pretending to take more than he had. He grimaced at the strong flavour and the way the poison burned his mouth-even from the tiny amount he had taken.
“What is wrong?” asked Hedwise. “Do you not like it?”
“Not especially,” said Geoffrey. “It is too hot.”
He set the bowl on the table and Hedwise gave him a poke with the dagger.
“Broth is meant to be drunk hot. Pick it up.”
Geoffrey lifted it. “But you did not kill Father, did you? You might have intended to, but you did not actually do it.”
He could hear her breathing behind him. “No. He was already dead when I came for him. He often calls out in the night, and so would have thought nothing odd about me bringing him fish soup around dawn. But, as you seem to know, he was already dead. Now I realise that Enide must have killed him.”
“She did not,” said Geoffrey. “In fact, she was one of the very few for whom Father’s murder would have been impossible. Rohese heard him alive and arguing with Stephen, and then stayed with him until he died. At father’s insistence, Rohese fled to the tunnel after he was dead. No one used it after that, so while Enide might well have come up it to kill him, she could not have left that way. And any other way would have been difficult, since everyone but Stephen thought she was dead. It would have caused a stir to say the least.”
“Well, who did kill him then?” asked Hedwise. “Do you know?”
“Actually, no one killed him,” said Geoffrey. “I think he killed himself.”
There was a pause, and then Hedwise laughed. “I know what you are trying to do. You think you can distract me by spinning wild tales. Drink the broth, Geoffrey, or it will be cold. Then it will not be nice at all.” The dagger pricked again, adding venom to her words.
Geoffrey pretended to take another sip from the dish, almost gagging as the smell of fish long past its best wafted into his face. He had no intention of drinking the stuff, and Hedwise was right: Geoffrey intended to talk to her and tell her what he had reasoned until an opportunity arose that would allow him to overpower her.
“Stephen met Enide, and he learned from her that she planned to kill King Henry in Monmouth. Stephen then told Father, who was appalled and started to shout his objections to the plot. Rohese heard him carrying on, but I did not because I was drugged. Walter had already left by then. Father knew that he would be implicated in the plot, guilty or not, and rather than risk the shame and inevitable punishment that such an accusation would bring in the last few days of his life, he decided to take his own life, so that his reputation could never be so besmirched.”
“He killed himself to avoid a scandal?” asked Hedwise in disbelief.
“More or less. The King had overlooked Father’s part in the plot to kill Rufus, but he would not overlook one to kill himself. Father had been given his chance, and so could not expect to evade justice a second time. He decided to kill himself, so that no one could accuse him of anything. I have seen men kill themselves with daggers before. The way he died was very typical of a self-inflicted stroke.”
“But you have no evidence! This is all supposition.”
“Not all,” said Geoffrey. “Father was killed with the dagger that William the Conqueror gave him-I found it bloodstained in the moat a couple of days ago. You had all been hunting around for it when you thought he was dead-just after I arrived-and he told me he had hidden it where no one would find it. It was clear that none of you knew where it was-and therefore none of you could have killed him with it. He retrieved it from wherever it was secreted, and stabbed himself.”
“But he would go to Hell for suicide,” said Hedwise, unconvinced.
“I do not think he saw it as suicide,” said Geoffrey. “Rohese said he blamed us for killing him-he believed that his children had murdered him because he saw us as responsible for putting him in the situation where he was forced to take his own life. Anyway, he always maintained that as long as he confessed his sins before he died, he would go more or less straight to the pearly gates. Shrewsbury’s fat priest had heard his confession that very night, and had given him last rites. What better a time?”
She was silent. Geoffrey swirled the contents of the bowl around absently.
“And then you came in,” he continued. “You found that I was still alive, but that Father was dead. You took my dagger and plunged it into his chest in the hope that one of us-Walter or me-would be accused of his murder. You tipped the wine out of the window to make it appear as though I had been drinking heavily, and then you threw his precious dagger after it.”
“Very good,” said Hedwise. “But enough of all this speculation. Drink the damn broth!”
Geoffrey half lowered the broth, and then with a sudden, abrupt movement, he hurled it over his head directly into her face. She gagged and choked and staggered backwards. At the same time, he heard a sound from the garderobe passage.
He leapt towards his armour and snatched up his sword, just as Enide emerged into the chamber. She smiled when she saw the sword and stepped aside. Drogo entered, carrying a bow with an arrow already nocked and his right hand ready to draw back the bowstring and fire.
“Good God, Geoffrey. What have you done to Hedwise?” said Enide, suddenly aware of the gagging figure crawling on hands and knees on the floor.