“You have discounted revenge for the death of the Welshman then?” Thomas asked with some hesitancy.
“I have, brother.” Adam sipped at his wine. “Although someone might have killed Henry for that, none would have had reason to attack Geoffrey. Indeed it was he that gave the widow a fat purse filled with coin for the orphaned babes. It was accepted as a fair blood price so I do not believe anyone killed Henry for revenge either.”
“Blood price?” Thomas asked.
“A Welsh custom. Perhaps I should say ‘law’, although we do not accept such and find the practice barbaric. The Welsh take money in payment for the death of a loved one.”
Thomas shook his head in amazement.
“That aside, we did question the Welsh just as we did the English and all were elsewhere, with witnesses enough to prove it, at the time of Henry’s death. Nay, I have no reason to think it was a killing for revenge. We may find the customs of the Welsh strange, brother, but they follow them as honorably as do other men. Once the blood price was accepted, the widow and orphans most certainly continue to grieve, but they would demand nothing further.”
“Then we are back to considering why wife or daughter might have killed Henry and if Sir Geoffrey would be willing to kill a man of God to protect either or both. The murder of a priest is not the act of a man who would later turn against either woman, telling what he knew to the king’s justicular. Thus I ask why these women would kill a man who was protecting them, a man who is husband to one and father to the other. In this you are more knowledgeable than I, Father, for I am long away from the days when Isabelle, Juliana, and I frolicked amongst the summer flowers.”
“Not so far, Eleanor. To begin, you know the reason why his daughter might as well as I. She wishes to enter a convent and her father wants her to marry.”
“A woman who is called to become a nun usually does not commit violence to obtain her way.”
“Then I ask this: what would you have done if I had not granted your request to leave the world and, instead, ordered you to marry George?”
Eleanor bent across the table and touched the back of her father’s hand. “Your wisdom, my lord, is known by all in this land, and you are wise as well in your kindness. For this I have always loved and honored you. Had you rejected my plea to become a nun, I would have grieved, but I would have respected your choice. I might have thrown a wine cup against the wall in anger, but I would not have tried to kill you.”
Adam turned his head away, but not before Eleanor saw the flush of pleasure on his cheeks at her words. “I am most pleased to hear that.”
“What say you about his wife then?” Eleanor continued, her hand still resting on her father’s.
“As I promised you, I will be blunt. Sir Geoffrey has had problems with potency in this marriage. I had heard rumors that his wife has been less than understanding. Her youth may be blamed, perhaps, but there is tension between them.”
“Has he told you as much?”
This time, Adam did not bother to hide the flush of embarrassment. “He did confirm those rumors. In his cups one night at court, he told me that he has been unable to sustain his manhood with her. She has continued to share his bed but does nothing to help him as some wives…”
“I understand, father, but has she mocked him?”
“That she does not. As he has told me, she waits until it is clear he is impotent, then turns away from him and falls quickly to sleep, leaving him to suffer his humiliation alone.”
“Has she taken other men to her bed?”
“Sir Geoffrey feared such. He saw her tantalize other men in front of him as if he were not her husband. He confronted her. She claimed she meant nothing by it but youthful good spirits and gaiety, but he remained troubled. When he first arrived here for the marriage negotiations between our children, he suggested to me that he feared she had finally taken a lover, but he would not name him even when I pressed him to do so in confidence.”
Eleanor thought back to her own discussion with Isabelle. “Might he have thought Henry was the one? They were of an age and once believed they would marry.”
“That I doubt,” Adam replied instantly. “Even before you told me of the rape, it was obvious to all that she wished to avoid Henry. It was Henry who was pushing his attentions on her. I saw it, as did Robert. She had taken a dislike to her old playmate after her marriage.”
Eleanor said nothing but wondered once more if the rape might be good reason for Isabelle to have killed Henry. Had he tried to force her again? Might he have told her of some plan he had to void her marriage to his father? Had Sir Geoffrey found out and tried to protect her, overprotection perhaps for a woman he could not pleasure but whom he did seem to love for his own reasons. After all, he did believe that he had been potent with her once.
“We seem to be wandering in circles, child. You have presented good reasons for reducing the number of suspects to three. Now I wonder where you would have us go from here?” Adam asked, looking over at his daughter.
Eleanor sat back, then turned to Sister Anne. “Before I answer, I must first ask: how does my lord of Lavenham?”
“Weak but gaining strength, my lady. He is a strong man and I rather think he will recover from his wound unless gangrene appears.”
“In that case,” Eleanor said, turning to her father, “hear my plan.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Bright dots of red splotched Sir Geoffrey’s cheeks, a macabre contrast to the almost luminous pallor of the rest of his face. Sitting next to his bed on a stool was Isabelle. Juliana stood just behind her stepmother, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Behind the baron was Anne. Eleanor stood to one side of her father. They all faced the knight.
“I know how you love your grandson, Adam, but the boy lies.” Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed in anger as he looked at his old friend.
Adam now flushed an angry color. “After all these years, you must surely know that indulgence in blind emotion has never been one of my flaws. Nor have I become such an old fool that I cannot see the flaws in those I love. It was I who assumed Robert’s guilt in your attack.”
“It was I who said he could not have done it. I have always believed in your son’s innocence, but your grandson is a child with a child’s imagination. Perhaps he did not mean to lie. Perhaps he believes he saw something he only made up. Or perhaps he saw someone he did not know and thought he had seen me.”
“I will not argue with you, my friend. Let us go on to what is most important here. Who did this deed to you?”
“I do not know.”
“You were stabbed in the chest, not from behind. You must have seen who did it.”
“It happened so quickly, Adam! I was walking behind the stables where I could find some solitude, deep in thought about the plight of your good son, when I heard a sound. I looked up. I saw something move toward me from the shadows. There was little light, as surely you noted yourself. Before I could react, I felt the pain and remember nothing more. If my son had enemies, they were not mine. Why should I fear an attack on me at Wynethorpe Castle? I was surprised, ambushed as we would have said in the old days when we were comrades-in-arms.” Sir Geoffrey smiled weakly but with fondness at Adam. “I never saw the face or even the figure of the man who did it.”
There was a knock at the wooden door. Sister Anne went to open it and Thomas entered the room. He whispered something in her ear and she beckoned to Eleanor.
Adam turned and looked angrily at the three. “What is it? I will have no whispering here!”