‘Our heels?’ queried Geoffrey, amused.
But Beaumais had already gone, hurrying to seek out the woman who seemed to have secured his friendship. Geoffrey did not trust Beaumais. He had encountered such men before, and knew them to be sly and difficult to catch out. On the surface, Beaumais was a brainless gossip, but he also had access to sensitive information, and Geoffrey could not decide whether he was merely a slack-tongued courtier who thrived on intrigue, or a cunning manipulator who knew exactly what he was doing.
Geoffrey glanced at the sky and saw a flock of birds fluttering across it. He wished he could join them, away from the warring, treacherous House of Montgomery-Bellême. As he looked up, he saw Bellême, Roger, Arnulf and Josbert on the watchtower roof. Usually, the roof was thick with lookouts, but these had been ousted to stations on the floors below. Geoffrey looked away, not wanting to know what the Bellême brothers were doing, since he was sure it was either unpleasant or sinister.
He glanced at an outbuilding that had been commandeered by the Bellême women for their personal use. Sybilla and Emma were sitting outside, while the four daughters had taken up stations to prevent anyone else from going too close to them. Geoffrey decided not to wander in that direction, unwilling to see the bones of Old Mabel gather together and go for a walk across the inner bailey. Meanwhile, Beaumais had been intercepted by Abbot Ralph, and they muttered in low voices near the stables. Cecily watched them intently, and Geoffrey changed direction again, wondering if there was anywhere in the castle he could walk without encountering his suspects.
He went to his hiding place behind the stables and thought about what he had learned, but could see no connections that made sense. Most confusing was the map, which Matilda had expected Hugh to bring to her, and which Beaumais had expected from Petronus a day later. Geoffrey could only assume that Emma was being cautious, and had sent more than one agent to secure it. Since she obviously believed that finding the head was the key to Bellême victory, then it made sense that she would have more than one plan in play to lay hands on it. Unfortunately for her, neither had worked.
After a while, Geoffrey decided to see whether Philip knew anything that might be relevant, although speaking to such a lowly member of the clan bespoke desperation. As he walked across the bailey, he saw nothing had changed: Bellême, Josbert, Roger and Arnulf were still on the watchtower, the women still clustered around their outbuilding, and Beaumais and Ralph stood near some bales of hay, so Geoffrey could only see their heads.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang, followed by a lot of screaming. Smoke swirled around the women’s building, but the origin of the sound was difficult to pinpoint. It might have come from anywhere, because the close proximity of the buildings made for confusing acoustics. Geoffrey glanced up at the tower and saw four figures framed against the sky: the brothers and Josbert were straining forward to see what had happened. Beaumais and Ralph were still by the hay, but made no attempt to move towards the commotion.
When Geoffrey arrived, a ring of people stood around someone lying on the ground. There was a sharp stink of sulphur, with something deeply unpleasant that immediately reminded him of the Crusade. It was singeing flesh. The screams that had immediately followed the explosion had petered out, and the only sound was the whisper of horrified voices. Geoffrey saw that the clothes and hair of whoever lay on the ground were smoking furiously.
Mabel, taller than the others, spotted him at the back of the onlookers and elbowed her way through them to grab his arm. He was inclined to resist her powerful tugs, but he did not want to create a scene, and allowed himself to be propelled towards the casualty. It was Cecily. A thick, black, sticky substance adhered to her chest and neck, and low yellow flames flickered across her clothes. There was an acrid stench of burning that had more than one person turning away in revulsion. Smoke seethed this way and that, blown by the breeze.
‘You are familiar with the ravages of Greek Fire,’ said Mabel, her voice hoarse with emotion. ‘We are not, because we left the Crusade at Antioch. Help her.’
‘Greek Fire?’ cried Josbert, breathless from what must have been a very rapid dash from the tower. ‘Douse the flames immediately, before she sets the entire castle alight.’
Before Geoffrey could stop him, he had seized a bucket of water – a number of these were scattered around, ready for use if King Henry deployed fire arrows – and hurled it over Cecily. There was a hiss, and a lot more smoke, but when the steam had blown away flames still licked across her body. There were sharp intakes of breath from those unfamiliar with Greek Fire and its idiosyncrasies. Josbert watched in dismay when he saw he had done nothing to help. Emma elbowed him out of the way and scraped handfuls of dirt to throw on the flames, but that did no good either.
‘Water and sand are useless against Greek Fire,’ snapped Mabel impatiently. ‘We all know that. Let Geoffrey help. He knows what he is doing.’
Geoffrey knelt next to the prostrate figure, and used a stick to scrape some of the hot tar from Cecily’s skin, although he knew he was doing too little and too late: she was already dead. He felt the great veins in her neck, but there was no life beat. He pushed on her chest, because he had learned from Arab physicians that this sometimes made the heart beat again, but he hoped it would not. The Greek Fire had seared its way to the bone in places, and if she lived it would be a short and agonized existence.
‘I am sorry,’ he said gently to Sybilla, who watched with a face that was a fixed mask of horror.
‘It hit her chest,’ Geoffrey explained to Bellême a short while later. The hall had been cleared of servants, and the Earl paced back and forth as he fired his questions at the one man in the castle who had seen Greek Fire in action. ‘She probably died more or less immediately, when the stuff burned her throat.’
Beaumais and Ralph were there, too, occasionally adding a remark. Emma stood with the sullen Josbert, while to one side, alone and impassive, was Big Mabel. Matilda and the other two daughters were with Sybilla in a private chamber, trying to soothe her grief. Roger and Arnulf sat on either side of the hearth, speaking to each other in low voices and exchanging their views on the devastating weapon that was being created on their behalf. Arnulf seemed a good deal more enthusiastic about it than Roger, who kept informing his younger brother that it was unsoldierly.
‘And this is how it works?’ asked Bellême. ‘It kills its victims instantly?’
‘Not always,’ said Geoffrey, reluctant to recall the horrors that Greek Fire had wrought on the Crusader army. ‘If it had hit a limb, rather than her torso, then she might have survived.’
‘And this is the weapon we will use on Henry?’ whispered Abbot Ralph, so low that he could barely be heard. The portly monastic’s face was white, and Geoffrey knew from the sour smell around him that he had been sick.
‘It is what he plans to use on me,’ retorted Bellême, although this was news to Geoffrey. ‘He has used it on me! How else do you think my niece died?’
‘You think Henry’s troops propelled it across our ramparts?’ asked Josbert. ‘I thought it was fired from within. I thought she was experimenting again.’ He pointed an accusing finger at Emma.
‘Well, I was not,’ replied Emma shortly. ‘I was preparing a potion we might try on King Henry at some point, containing the toenail clippings Philip secured for me. Tell him, Mabel.’
‘Yes,’ said Mabel flatly, so Geoffrey did not know what to believe. Was she lying to support her aunt, because the female Bellêmes needed to stick together against the males? But did she resent doing so, because Emma’s tampering had brought about the horrible death of a beloved sister? Or was Mabel merely shocked at her first sight of genuinely dirty warfare? He recalled the salute she had given him after their skirmish in All Hallows Church, and imagined she had principles when it came to fighting, like Geoffrey himself. A weapon like Greek Fire flew in the face of all of them.
‘But you do not deny that you have been meddling?’ demanded Josbert archl
y.
Emma bristled indignantly. ‘Of course I have! I am some way from perfecting the substance, and if I do not “meddle” then it will not be ready when we need it. Tell him, Robert.’
‘I have ordered her to continue her experiments,’ said Bellême, still pacing. ‘We do not know when we shall need it, so the sooner it is ready the better.’
Geoffrey leaned against a wooden post and considered the evidence. The watery substance that Emma had spilled in All Hallows was not the same stuff that had killed Cecily, which was thicker and identical to that used by the Arabs. So, was Cecily killed with some of the real Greek Fire Durand had seen in Emma’s chest, which was probably a sample sent by Philip the Grammarian, or had Emma’s experiments paid off and she had finally succeeded in making her mixture properly sticky? And if she had perfected the formula, did that mean she had moved on to the next problem: how to deploy it?
Or was Cecily killed by the Bellême brothers and Josbert, who had been on the roof of the tower with all archers conveniently banned so no one could see what they were doing? If Emma had made Greek Fire, then Geoffrey was certain Bellême would want to practise with it. Or was it something to do with Beaumais and Ralph, who alone did not rush to the scene of the accident to see what had happened? Was that why Ralph had vomited, because he had been appalled at what the substance had done to his victim?
Or was Bellême right: Henry had the secret of Greek Fire, and was preparing to end the siege earlier than anyone had anticipated? Geoffrey had examined the watchtower, the place where Emma had been working and the spot where Beaumais and Ralph had stood, but there was nothing to indicate that a missile had been projected from any of them. He concluded that the Greek Fire may well have come from outside. He sincerely hoped Bellême would not charge him with solving Cecily’s murder, as well as Hugh’s.
‘He is the only one here, other than Emma, who knows about Greek Fire,’ said Josbert, indicating Geoffrey with a finger that shook with outrage. ‘He must have killed Cecily.’
‘He did not,’ said Bellême. ‘I was watching him when she died. He had nothing to do with it.’
‘What makes you think he did not delay the explosion until he was safely away?’ demanded Emma. ‘I have read about such devices in foreign texts, where wicks soaked in oil are used to light candles at predicted times. Why not the igniting of Greek Fire?’
‘Is this true?’ asked Arnulf of Geoffrey, sounding very interested. He gazed around at his siblings. ‘It could be important, and would add a new dimension to this weapon. We need all the advantages we can get if we are to defeat Henry, and a delayed igniting of Greek Fire could be a godsend.’
‘That would make it even more hideous than it is already,’ said Roger with a black scowl. ‘I like to look a man in the eye when I slay him, and I disapprove of killing when I am not there to see it.’
‘That is a disadvantage,’ conceded Bellême ruefully. ‘I, too, like to see the faces of the men I slaughter. But we cannot be too choosy in our current predicament. Tell us, Geoffrey. Can Greek Fire be ignited from a safe distance using some sort of timing device?’
‘I do not know,’ replied Geoffrey honestly.
‘He would say that,’ snapped Josbert. ‘He is hardly likely to admit to such knowledge when it will see him hang for the murder of a Bellême.’
‘He did not do it,’ said Mabel quietly. She spoke so seldom that everyone turned to look at her. ‘Emma has been experimenting with Greek Fire, and my mother, sisters and I have been helping. Look at my hands.’
She held a couple of meaty paws in front of her. They were covered in small marks. Some were burns, and others were dark stains from some sort of tar or pitch.
‘So?’ demanded Roger testily, sounding as though he thought she was wasting his time. ‘What of it, woman? You should wear gloves if you are concerned over your lily-white skin.’ His tone was sneering, knowing such a consideration would not be an issue for the mannish Mabel.
‘My point is that anyone who has used Greek Fire will be marked,’ said Mabel. She regarded Roger with hard, cold eyes. ‘Or his gloves will, if he is unmanly enough to be concerned about the silken quality of his skin. Geoffrey’s hands are unscathed, and he does not own gloves.’
‘How do you know they are unscathed?’ snarled Roger, not liking Mabel’s tone.
Mabel snatched Geoffrey’s hands and hauled them under Roger’s nose. The knight was almost pulled from his feet, and was reminded that she was a very powerful woman. ‘And I know he has no gloves because I saw his squire ride off with them.’
Bellême clapped slowly and mockingly. ‘Well done, Mabel. But you are forgetting something: I have already ascertained Geoffrey’s innocence, because I told you I watched him in the inner bailey most of the morning. I would have noticed him lighting oily wicks or ferrying bowls of Greek Fire around. We did not need your deductions.’
Mabel regarded him steadily. ‘But you did not convince us. Josbert did not accept your testimony, and neither did Roger. It is what happens in a family where lies and subterfuge are considered virtues, and honesty and truth are regarded as weaknesses.’
Geoffrey winced, thinking she should have remained silent, but Bellême merely looked at the rest of his family. ‘So, Geoffrey is cleared of any involvement in Cecily’s death, and Mabel is too honourable to have murdered her sister.’ He treated her to a glance that was contemptuous. ‘I am innocent, too, obviously. What about the rest of you?’
He gazed around challengingly, and Geoffrey saw several people thrust their hands into sleeves or under cloaks. Geoffrey was amused at the ‘obviously’ added to the end of Bellême’s statement, and thought he was just as much a suspect in the death of Cecily as anyone else, especially since he made no move to expose his own hands for general scrutiny. Emma removed her gloves and Geoffrey saw skin that was marked, like Mabel’s.
‘Here,’ she snapped. ‘But I have been working on the weapon I hope will save our House from an embarrassing rout, so of course I am marked. But I was not doing it when Cecily was attacked.’
‘I will not show my hands like a naughty child,’ growled Roger, striding towards the door.
‘Nor I,’ said Arnulf, following him. Wordlessly, Josbert did the same, while Beaumais made no effort to remove his gloves, either. Abbot Ralph flapped unblemished white fingers at anyone who happened to be looking, although no one took much notice and he seized the opportunity to slip away, too. Emma also took her leave, although whether it was because she had other matters to attend to, or because the conversation was uncomfortable, Geoffrey could not tell. Beaumais scurried after her.
‘So,’ said Bellême, when the door had closed and only he, Geoffrey and Mabel remained. ‘We are left with a second mystery: who killed Cecily? Emma, because she is an incompetent witch and made a mistake in her formula? Matilda, who hates Sybilla for telling me about her plot to deal with King Henry behind my back? Arnulf or Roger, because they feel Sybilla’s daughters give her too many voices in the castle? Beaumais, because Cecily had an eye for him?’
‘Or Josbert, because he disapproves of women warriors?’ asked Mabel.
‘It will be the same traitor who killed Hugh,’ said Bellême with certainty. ‘He continues to work against me. You must double your efforts to uncover him, Geoffrey. Your time is running out.’
Geoffrey’s heart sank. As far as he was concerned, there was no evidence that the death of Cecily had anything to do with the murder of Hugh, and two separate enquiries would almost certainly mean he would not solve either in the allotted time.
‘No,’ said Mabel. ‘I will do it.’
Bellême was amused. ‘Why do you think you will succeed?’
‘Because it is important to me,’ replied Mabel simply.
Ten
That evening, no one would talk about anything other than what had happened to Cecily, and Geoffrey found it hard to bring any discussion around to Hugh. In the end, he gave up, and climbed to the battlements of the gateh
ouse, to look out across the slowly darkening countryside. Josbert followed, ever suspicious of the unwelcome intruder, and watched intently as Geoffrey paced back and forth, so the knight did not know how he would ever manage to send his signal to Roger and Helbye.
There were a number of towers studded along the walls, but the largest was the gatehouse. It was built of Purlborough stone, and had been the first section of the fortress to be upgraded from wood to masonry. The wall to his right led to the massive motte and watchtower, while to the left was a smaller wooden tower placed to give maximum coverage to the archers defending Arundel’s main entrance. The gatehouse was three storeys high, plus battlements, with large chambers at each level containing the portcullis mechanism, piles of arrows and hearths for heating any missiles that might be dropped on to the heads of attackers.
Geoffrey leaned on the battlements and gazed at the ground below. It was a long way down, and he recalled Philip telling his aunts about how he had escaped from Winchester by leaping out of a window. A compost heap had softened his fall, but there was no rotting vegetation around the walls at Arundel. Geoffrey did notice, however, that the gatehouse garderobe shaft emptied into a midden almost directly beneath him, and its recent increase in use meant that the waste was not being channelled away as intended by the castle builders. It had gone from a trench to a heap, and it stank accordingly. Geoffrey moved away, repelled.
He stayed for a long time on the gatehouse roof and Josbert grew restless, as Geoffrey knew he would. Josbert would never admit defeat by leaving him alone, but still chafed at the time he was wasting by making his point. Had Josbert killed Cecily, and wanted to prevent Geoffrey from discovering any evidence to prove his guilt? Geoffrey thought it possible, but did not believe Josbert possessed the imagination to conduct experiments with Greek Fire on his own. He was a good soldier, following Bellême’s orders carefully and reliably, but he was not a thinker.
The King's Spies Page 24