‘You do it,’ said Geoffrey in distaste. ‘And why do you keep such a thing in here anyway?’
‘Because people are always dropping things, and we often need to fetch them up,’ explained Joan impatiently. ‘Stand aside, then.’
‘No, allow me,’ said Sear, stepping forward and taking the stick. ‘I will not see a lady perform such a distasteful task.’
Geoffrey left abruptly, unwilling to witness such an operation – and hating the smile of startled gratitude Joan shot at the man he loathed. Sear was right – he should not have let his sister do something so ghastly – and it was shame that made Geoffrey angry. The pair appeared within moments, Joan holding a cloth in which lay a small phial.
‘Here,’ she said, holding it aloft. ‘The poison must have come from this.’
‘It is Mabon’s tonic!’ cried Delwyn, surging forward. ‘He kept a pot of it with him at all times. He said it kept him vigorous.’
Adrian took it and smelled it tentatively. ‘The contents of this would not have kept him vigorous. I am no alchemist, but it appears to have held wolf-tooth. I recognize the fishy stench.’
‘Wolf-tooth?’ asked Geoffrey, bemused.
Adrian shrugged. ‘I know nothing about it, other than that it is poisonous.’
Cornald stepped forward and held out a smooth, plump white hand for the bottle. Adrian dropped it into his palm, and all watched the butterer take a careful sniff.
‘Definitely wolf-tooth,’ he declared. ‘But there are other mysterious odours, too.’
‘It is difficult to be certain,’ said Gwgan, taking Cornald’s wrist and using it to raise the bottle to his own nose. ‘But I think there may be henbane, too – and that is certainly poisonous. I wish Isabella were here; she is very good at identifying scents.’
‘Give it to me,’ ordered Richard. He snatched the pot from Cornald and sniffed it hard. ‘This is not the tonic that Mabon and I enjoyed. The priest, Cornald and Gwgan are right: it has been changed.’
Delwyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Someone stole the bottle and replaced Mabon’s remedy with poison. He was murdered, just as I thought!’
‘What do you think about this Mabon business, Geoff?’ Roger asked later that morning. The two were sitting at the far end of the hall, honing their weapons. The guests were clustered around the hearth, but Geoffrey had preferred to keep his distance.
Olivier was strumming his lute, and Sear was singing; Geoffrey was surprised that such a pleasant voice should emanate from so surly an individual. Edward and Leah were sitting together, clearly enjoying the music, although Richard only scowled at the flames. Delwyn was writing at the table, and Cornald and Joan were enjoying a good-natured discussion about cheese. Pulchria was making a play for Alberic, who did not mind at all, while Gwgan watched her antics.
‘Someone definitely poisoned his tonic,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And the killer dropped the bottle down the pit afterwards, in the hope that his death might be passed off as natural.’
‘But you thwarted that by looking in Mabon’s mouth.’
‘If I had not done it, Delwyn would have done. The killer stood no chance of masking his crime.’
‘It is a pity,’ said Roger. ‘I rather liked Mabon. So who did it?’
Geoffrey gestured at the hearth. ‘Everyone here had the opportunity. Mabon died at or near dawn, but the poison could have been added to his tonic at any time. Alibis mean nothing, because everyone spent a moment or two alone.’
‘Then what about motive?’ asked Roger. ‘Who had a reason for wanting Mabon dead?’
‘Who knows? Perhaps Delwyn was right, and someone did not like that he was more warrior than monastic. Mabon was unusual, and someone may have felt his antics were bringing Kermerdyn into disrepute – I cannot imagine he went unremarked at the oath-taking ceremony, for example.’
‘And there were a lot of important people at that,’ nodded Roger. ‘So, can we narrow our suspects to those who were there?’
Geoffrey shook his head. ‘We could be on the wrong track entirely, and Mabon’s outspoken manners may have earned him enemies long before he came here. Sear and Alberic, for example, are easily offended.’
‘Edward was fond of him, though,’ said Roger. ‘I saw the kiss they exchanged. But looking at motive and opportunity is getting us nowhere. We shall have to assess everyone individually. I hate to say it, but Sear cannot be the culprit, because he would not have fished the incriminating phial out of the latrine if he were – he would have left it there.’
‘Not necessarily. Joan said he made a splash, which drove her back, and it was while she was distracted that he picked the bottle from the pit. It may have been coincidence; equally, he may have decided the phial was better “found” in the pit than among his own possessions.’
Roger grinned. ‘Good! I would like him to swing for murder. But why would he kill Mabon?’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘Perhaps he disapproves of Mabon squabbling with Bishop Wilfred. Or perhaps Mabon is in the habit of giving him unwanted advice about his troops. Sear is sensitive to criticism.’
‘What about Delwyn as a suspect?’ asked Roger. ‘I cannot abide that dirty little snake.’
‘I am inclined to think he is innocent, because of his insistence that Mabon was murdered. If he were the killer, I think he would have stayed quiet. Of course, he certainly has a motive – Mabon made no effort to disguise his dislike of him.’
‘I do not like Richard, either,’ said Roger. ‘Can you make a case against him?’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘Yes – he asked for some of Mabon’s tonic, but was refused. He may have taken the real tonic and exchanged it for wolf-tooth out of spite. And, as we are concentrating on men you do not like, we can include Alberic because Sear may have ordered him to do it.’
Roger rubbed his hands together, pleased. ‘We can discount the ladies, though. Pulchria is more interested in seducing men than dispatching them, and Leah is too much of a mouse to contemplate doing something bold.’
‘There may be more to Leah than you think, and Pulchria cannot be eliminated because I am sure she counted Mabon among her conquests. Perhaps he rejected her and she did not like it.’
‘He did reject her.’ Geoffrey regarded him in surprise. ‘He told her that he could not oblige with Delwyn watching his every move. She was bitterly disappointed, so I showed her what real men are about, to take her mind off him.’
‘Then perhaps Mabon was indiscreet about Pulchria’s talents, and Cornald objected,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Cornald seems amiable, but no man likes the villain who seduces his wife.’
‘It is her doing the seducing,’ Roger pointed out. ‘It is difficult to say no.’
‘I managed,’ said Geoffrey dryly. ‘Several times.’
‘You should,’ said Roger primly. ‘You are a married man, and I doubt Hilde would approve. However, if Pulchria is a poisoner, perhaps you should risk Hilde’s ire and give in to her demands. We do not want you killed in a latrine, just for the sake of a few moments’ work.’
‘And finally, there is Gwgan,’ said Geoffrey, ignoring the advice. ‘He seems personable, but I cannot gain his measure at all.’
‘Neither can I,’ said Roger. ‘But you should give him the benefit of the doubt, because he is a member of your family.’
‘Unfortunately,’ said Geoffrey soberly, ‘that means nothing at all.’
Joan’s eyes were hard when Geoffrey saw her in the kitchen, overseeing preparations for the next meal.
‘You cannot leave today, Geoffrey,’ she said curtly. ‘Arrangements must be made to remove Mabon. That will take time, although I shall do my best to expedite matters, because I am not keen on entertaining murderers. Goodrich is a decent place, and now its reputation has been sullied.’
‘I will leave – with Mabon – tomorrow,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And I will insist that everyone comes with me, so you and Olivier will be left in peace.’
Joan grimaced. ‘Unfortunately, that brings its own set of anxi
eties – you being in company with a poisoner. I hope you do not intend to pry into such a dangerous matter.’
‘That would not be as dangerous as pretending it did not happen,’ said Geoffrey soberly. ‘The best way to stay safe is to understand it.’
‘No,’ said Joan forcefully. ‘An investigation will turn everyone against you. These are prickly people, and no one will appreciate you asking questions.’
‘My diplomatic skills have been admired by kings and princes,’ said Geoffrey flippantly. ‘You need not worry about me. Besides, after more than two decades of fighting, I should be able to hold my own.’
‘That is probably what Mabon thought,’ said Joan soberly. ‘But a sword is no use against poison. However, I see you have made up your mind, so I suppose I shall have to be content with a promise that you will be careful.’
‘I am always careful.’ That was certainly true: Geoffrey would have perished long ago if he had been reckless. ‘What will you do with your guests today to keep them occupied? Do you want me to arrange a joust? Or sword practice?’
Joan gaped at him. ‘No, I do not! Whoever shot at you last night might use it as an opportunity to finish the job, and the inevitable injuries would prevent half the competitors from leaving with you tomorrow. However, Gwgan suggested an archery contest, which should be safe enough. I will tell Father Adrian to officiate – a killer is unlikely to strike with a priest looking on.’
Geoffrey was not so sure about that, but he conceded that it would be difficult to stage an ‘accident’ if the competition was properly policed – and Adrian, with his visceral dislike of anything remotely martial, was the perfect man for the task.
‘It will be a good opportunity for questions, too,’ he said, more to himself than Joan.
‘Geoffrey!’ she cried, aghast. ‘How can you think it is sensible to interrogate people when they are armed with bows?’
‘They cannot shoot me in front of witnesses.’
‘That depends on what you ask. I doubt Richard will stop to consider the consequences.’
‘You think he is the culprit?’
‘He is one of my suspects, certainly. You may think he is more likely to kill with a sword, but he is sly and dangerous.’
‘Who are your other suspects?’
‘Gwgan, because he has been here for days, and I still do not know him – he is an enigma. Besides, he is an extremely able politician, and we all know politicians are not to be trusted. The same goes for Edward. Then Sear and Alberic were out a lot last night, and so was Delwyn – possibly frolicking with Pulchria once Cornald was asleep, but possibly up to no good.’
‘What about Cornald himself?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Could he be a killer?’
‘No. I have known him for years, and there is not a malicious bone in his body. Of course, I would not say the same about his wife. She would stop at nothing to have her own way.’
Seven
The Marches were an uneasy place, and border skirmishes were frequent and unpredictable. Geoffrey had left instructions that all Goodrich’s tenants were regularly to practise their skills with the bow and crossbow, so permanent butts had been set up outside the bailey. Because Father Adrian was to be in attendance, Joan ordered the human-shaped targets to be replaced with simple bull’s-eyes.
Word spread quickly, and people from the village came to watch, as did most of Goodrich’s servants, many of whom intended to compete themselves. The prize was several gold pieces donated by Cornald, and guests and residents alike were determined to have them. Joan provided warm wine and cakes for the spectators, and there was a celebratory atmosphere in the air. If Mabon’s death had cast a pall over the castle, it was not in evidence.
Richard was the first guest to compete and gained the highest score by a considerable margin. There was a sigh of disappointment from the servants, and Geoffrey saw the man’s sullen manners had made him unpopular. Richard left the field scowling, just as he had entered it, taking no pleasure in his achievement.
‘You did well,’ said Geoffrey pleasantly. ‘You may win.’
‘Not with the crossbow you provided,’ growled Richard. ‘It is not fit for a peasant.’
‘It was my father’s,’ said Geoffrey coolly. ‘He used it at Hastinges.’
Neither statement was true, but they had the desired effect.
‘My apologies,’ said Richard stiffly. ‘I did not mean to insult a family heirloom. And I should also say that I am sorry your house has been sullied by murder. Your sister and her husband have been hospitable, and if I learn who poisoned the abbot, I will kill him – to satisfy their honour.’
‘But that would mean two murders under their roof,’ Geoffrey pointed out. He saw Richard’s puzzled look and decided nothing was to be gained by pursuing the matter. ‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt Mabon?’
‘Anyone,’ replied Richard. ‘I do not like anyone here, except Joan, Olivier and your wife. I am not very keen on you, either.’
‘Why?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘Crusaders in general are—’
‘I mean, why do you not like everyone else?’
‘Because they are all vermin, and if I ever attain a position of power, I shall either execute them or throw them in my dungeons.’
Geoffrey raised his eyebrows and supposed the good people of Kermerdyn had better hope he was never promoted. ‘Did you dislike Mabon?’
‘Intensely – he was always trying to tell me how to run my garrison. But I did not kill him – I had hopes that he would relent and give me some of his tonic.’
‘But now he is dead, you can take it all – you do not need to rely on his generosity.’
‘Now he is poisoned, I shall eat and drink only what I am sure is safe – and nothing belonging to him will be. I did not kill Mabon, and if you accuse me, I will kill you.’
He could try, thought Geoffrey, regarding him with dislike. He turned to another matter. ‘I understand you delivered some butter to your brother William just before he—’
Richard surged forward and took a handful of Geoffrey’s surcoat, before slamming him against the palisade. He was strong and fast, but Geoffrey punched him away, sending him reeling, then whipped out his dagger, and it was Richard who found himself pressed against the fence.
‘How dare you infer that I would harm my brother,’ snarled Richard, uncaring of the blade that pricked his skin. ‘I loved him and would give my life in an instant to see him alive again.’
‘What are you doing?’ came the querulous tones of Father Adrian from behind them. ‘Sir Geoffrey! Put him down at once, or I shall have you doing penance for a week!’
Geoffrey released Richard, who took the opportunity to land a sly kick before stalking away.
‘You deserved that,’ said Adrian.
‘A monk was poisoned last night,’ snapped Geoffrey, rubbing his leg. ‘And a good man was probably poisoned seven years ago, too. I was trying to bring them justice.’
‘You mean William fitz Baldwin?’ asked Adrian. He shrugged at Geoffrey’s surprise. ‘It was the talk of the country when he died, because he was rumoured to be a saint. However, Richard did not kill him. I have heard his confessions, and his sins are not of that magnitude.’
‘What are they, then?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘They are confidential, as you well know,’ said Adrian sharply. ‘However, I can tell you that they are nothing compared to yours. Your soul is stained black with the blood of the Crusade.’
‘Do you think Richard capable of poisoning Mabon?’
‘Of course – any knight is capable of murder. And Richard is the kind of man who goes around striking innocent priests.’
Geoffrey felt rather like hitting Adrian himself. ‘Is that the only reason you—’
‘Richard came to me for shriving yesterday – after Mabon’s body was found – and would have mentioned such a foul deed. He is innocent. So are Leah and Edward, should you think to accuse them. All three came to confession,
and murder was not among their sins.’
‘And you are certain?’ pressed Geoffrey. ‘You would not lie, just because you dislike me?’
Adrian was offended. ‘I never lie! Richard, Leah and Edward are innocent of Mabon’s murder, I am sure of it. And I do not dislike you, Sir Geoffrey. I am just frightened of you.’
Discussions with Adrian often left Geoffrey with vague feelings of guilt and disquiet, so he hastened to put the priest from his mind by pursuing his enquiries. It was Cornald’s turn to shoot. The butterer was putting on a display of being inept, but the way he held the weapon and the confident manner in which he inserted the bolt told Geoffrey it was an act. Nevertheless, all three of Cornald’s shots went wide of the target. Pulchria went next and managed a considerably better score, although nowhere near high enough to threaten Richard.
‘I am sorry about what happened to Mabon,’ said Geoffrey, when they had finished. ‘He will be a loss to Kermerdyn, I imagine.’
‘A terrible loss,’ agreed Cornald sadly. ‘And wolf-tooth . . . well, it is a dreadful way to die.’
‘You know about wolf-tooth?’ pounced Geoffrey.
‘I once used it – in very small amounts – for a personal ailment,’ replied Cornald. ‘However, I developed a violent aversion to it. Look at my hand. You see that redness? That is from simply holding Mabon’s phial when you recovered it from the latrine. I no longer have anything to do with the stuff.’
‘But there is some in the castle,’ added Pulchria. ‘Your sister keeps it for killing rats. Anyone could have taken some and given it to Mabon. It is a pity, because he was a fine man.’
‘A very fine man,’ agreed Cornald, either mistaking her meaning or ignoring it. ‘I cannot imagine who would want to kill him. He was a little irreligious for a churchman, but I found that rather refreshing. And he had a wonderful sense of humour.’
‘Could there have been wolf-tooth in the butter William fitz Baldwin ate?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘No,’ said Cornald, amiability fading abruptly. ‘As I told you last night, there was nothing wrong with that butter. It was perfect when it left my dairy. Of course, it was delivered to Rhydygors by Richard, and was a gift from my wife, but—’
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