‘Where are you going?’ she demanded breathlessly, snatching Geoffrey’s arm to make him stop and ignoring the fact that Foucon was pleased to see her. Her eyes were puffy from crying, but she seemed to have regained control of herself.
‘To remove my armour,’ said Geoffrey, moved to pity by the signs of her grief and resigned to being polite. ‘Since I am to die this morning I have little to fear from daggers. It will be pleasant to spend some time without it.’
‘I am sorry things worked out like this. I believed you would solve the riddle and save yourself.’
‘Not when no one would talk to me,’ said Geoffrey shortly. ‘Doubtless your brother knew that when he set me the task, and this is just another example of his idea of fun.’
‘You may be right.’
She followed him back into the hall, where they found an unoccupied corner and she helped him with the many buckles and clasps that held the mail in place. When it was off, Geoffrey felt light and free, standing in no more than shirt and leggings, almost as though he was naked. Foucon had relieved him of his sword, but had left his dagger, which he tucked into his belt.
‘I wish I could have helped you,’ said Matilda, watching him fold his surcoat and stuff it under a bench. Abandoning that particular item was a wrench for Geoffrey, because he had worn it since joining the Crusade, and it had seen him through many dangers. ‘But I know nothing of any use.’
‘I eliminated you from my enquiry earlier in the week,’ he said, smiling. ‘I do not think you murdered the man you hoped would arrange a meeting with Henry. You had too much to lose from Hugh’s death. However, I did catch you out in some lies.’
‘I am sure you did,’ she replied, smiling wanly. ‘Lying is what us Bellêmes are good at, after all, and I confess I gave you different versions of my tale when we met in Southwark and here in Arundel. But you are right: I did not kill Hugh, because I did want him to carry messages declaring my desire for a truce. My sisters still believe you killed him, you know. They are quite certain.’
‘In that case, we can eliminate them, too,’ said Geoffrey. ‘They would not continue to believe me to be the culprit, if they had killed Hugh themselves – at least, not to each other. Besides, I know from Mabel that Sybilla was not in Southwark that night, but in London with her other three daughters. Meanwhile, Emma was far too engrossed with Greek Fire and your mother’s body. She would not have had time to kill Hugh.’
Matilda nodded. ‘She was busy that night. My brother is not easily convinced of anything, and she had those two very important projects she wanted him to support. She thought of nothing else.’
‘So, we have made progress already. The remaining suspects are Bellême, Arnulf, Josbert and Beaumais – but not Philip, who had escaped from the King to wander in Southwark the night Hugh died, because I think he and Hugh were killed by the same man.’
Tears welled into her eyes and she looked away. ‘Philip could never kill by stealth, no matter how hard he tried to be like the rest of us. But what about Roger? Why is he not on your list? He would not hesitate to kill his own mother if he thought it would benefit him.’
‘His mother is already dead,’ said Geoffrey wryly. ‘But he might have another opportunity to strike at her if Emma’s plans come to fruition.’
‘Then let us hope they do not,’ said Matilda, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Robert and Sybilla are desperate for Emma to succeed and bring Old Mabel back, but I do not see how she will help us. She was a dangerous lady with her plots and love of poisons. They will not be able to control her, and it is not wise to introduce yet another divisive factor into our family. Roger and Arnulf agree – Roger because he remembers Mabel too well, and Arnulf because he says he does not want to see her without her real head.’
‘Perhaps Old Mabel is the killer of Hugh,’ suggested Geoffrey facetiously. ‘There is something I had not considered before.’
‘No,’ said Matilda, after a moment of serious thought. ‘I saw her that night, and she was no more than bones in a box. Emma had not succeeded in raising her then, and she has not been successful since, despite her claims that the skeleton calls for her to get on with it.’ She sighed, and returned to a subject that was more important to her. ‘Poor Philip. He was harmless, despite his inflated opinion of his intellect. I planned to take him home with me when all this was over, where he would be safe.’
‘You loved him,’ said Geoffrey, curious that someone like Philip had secured the affections of a sharp and clever woman like Matilda.
‘He was the son of my favourite brother, and I loved him for his sake. Philip the Grammarian and I were close as children.’ She took a deep breath, and he saw the topic was painful for her. ‘But you still have not explained why Roger is no longer a suspect for Hugh’s murder.’
‘As I said, whoever killed Hugh also killed Philip. And I know Roger did not kill Philip, because Amise said he was with her on the gatehouse roof at the time. She did not know about Philip’s death when she gave Roger the alibi, so I am inclined to believe her. Also, if Roger had been the murderer, he would probably not have been the one to discover the body.’
‘But you are still left with Arnulf, Beaumais, Josbert and Robert,’ said Matilda. ‘Can you not narrow it down further?’
‘Why? Do you think your brother will be satisfied if I present him with a shortlist?’
‘No,’ she said, taking him seriously. ‘Especially if he is on it.’
‘Him and Arnulf,’ said Geoffrey thoughtfully, supposing it must have been Arnulf who had met Philip in the stables. It could not have been Roger, because he had been with Amise. Did this mean Arnulf was the killer? Geoffrey realized it did not, because he had no way of knowing whether Philip was stabbed by Arnulf or the person listening to their secret conversation.
‘Speak of the devil and he will appear,’ said Matilda softly. ‘Here is Arnulf now and Josbert with him. I cannot imagine what Sybilla sees in Josbert. I would sooner couple with a goat.’
Arnulf grinned in a friendly fashion when he approached Geoffrey, a stark contrast to the unsmiling presence behind him, although both regarded Geoffrey’s abandoned armour curiously.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded Arnulf. ‘Do you not want to wear it when you die?’
‘Would you want soldiers squabbling over your corpse to claim it? It is better to leave it here.’
‘Can I have your surcoat, then?’ asked Arnulf eagerly. ‘I have always wanted one of those. My brother Philip promised me his when he came back from the Crusade, but he died at Antioch and that was that. He did not bother to send it to me.’
‘Very little was returned to us after his noble death,’ said Matilda bitterly. ‘I, too, would have liked something of his to remember him by.’
‘Greek Fire,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He sent the formula for Greek Fire, and probably a pot of it, too, so that Emma could see what it could do. The Bellêmes did not do too badly from his demise.’
In fact, he thought they had done a good deal better from Philip’s death than they would have done had he lived, because Geoffrey doubted whether he would have shared his secret weapon with them. He had not been a sharing sort of man, as Geoffrey had discovered when caches of food had been discovered in the remains of his tent after his murder. He thought it a shame that such a miserable specimen should claim a special place in Matilda’s heart, but supposed he should not be surprised, given the alternatives presented by her other siblings.
‘The surcoat,’ prompted Arnulf, not to be side-tracked. ‘May I have it?’
‘If you like,’ said Geoffrey reluctantly. He supposed he would sooner Arnulf had it than Bellême or Josbert. At least Arnulf had been civil to him, unlike most of the castle’s inhabitants.
Arnulf grinned in delight and pulled the garment over his head. ‘I knew you were a good man. I sensed it the first time we met in Winchester, and I am seldom wrong in my judgements.’
Geoffrey saw Matilda and Josbert exchange the kind of glance
that indicated they were less impressed with his evaluating abilities, but they said nothing. He watched Arnulf struggle into his tunic. It was disconcerting to see such a familiar item on someone else, and he did not like it at all. When Arnulf asked for his belt, too, to hold it in place, Geoffrey refused and Foucon fetched him a length of rope instead. Arnulf tied it several times before he was satisfied, tearing off his gloves in his impatience as he did so. Josbert watched with rank disdain, as if he could not imagine why Arnulf would want such an unsavoury object. To take his mind off the fact that a Bellême would now wear the much-loved garment, Geoffrey thought about Hugh.
‘On the night of Hugh’s death, why were you in Southwark?’ he asked Josbert.
The castellan scowled. ‘I have told you before: it is none of your affair.’
‘You were on the King’s business. Bellême said there was a traitor in his house, and he was right.’
Josbert sneered. ‘Do not accuse me of Hugh’s death to save your own skin. Bellême knows I was in Southwark that night, and he knows it was not for the King and it was not to kill Hugh.’ The fierce expression on his face told Geoffrey he would get no more from him.
‘I have changed my mind,’ said Geoffrey abruptly to Arnulf. ‘If you want my surcoat, then you must buy it. Give me ten silver pennies.’
Arnulf started to laugh. ‘But you will be dead in a few hours and there is nowhere to spend your money. Do not be ridiculous, man!’
‘Then give it back,’ said Geoffrey uncompromisingly.
Arnulf backed away, hands in the air. ‘Very well. I have no wish to deny a dying man’s request. Give him what he wants, Josbert.’
‘Me?’ asked Josbert, startled. ‘I do not want the filthy object. If you want it, you pay him.’
‘I cannot reach my pouch with this on,’ said Arnulf. ‘And I do not want to take it off and put it on like a woman trying on kirtles. Give him the silver, Josbert. You can have it back at dawn.’
Geoffrey had seen that Arnulf’s pouch would be difficult to reach: the surcoat was tight, because Geoffrey had less bulk around his middle, and he knew Josbert – who controlled the fortress’s purse strings – would be asked to pay. In order to do that, he would have to open his own pouch. When he did so, muttering resentfully as he counted out the coins, Geoffrey made a grab for them and several pieces of parchment fluttered to the ground. He reached them before Josbert and started to read, while Josbert regarded his odd behaviour with open-mouthed astonishment.
‘The knowledge contained there is nothing to do with you. It is a list of supplies and how long they will last at the current rate of consumption. You, of all people, should not be worried about starvation.’
‘True,’ said Geoffrey, handing the parchments back to him.
Josbert slapped the coins into his hand. ‘There. Enjoy them while you can, because no miracle is going to save you now.’
He stalked away and Arnulf went with him, swaggering in his new surcoat. Geoffrey was sorry to see it go, and watched wistfully. Matilda turned her black eyes on him, amused.
‘Why did you want so much money? Will you swallow a coin in the hope that the rope will not break your neck if there is silver lodged inside it?’
Geoffrey regarded her askance. ‘Will it work?’
‘I would not think so. It is something Emma said she read once. But why did you demand silver?’
‘To discover the identity of Hugh’s killer,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I know who it is at last.’
‘Dawn is here,’ said Foucon nastily, not liking the way he was ignored by Matilda because Geoffrey was there. He gestured to the window, where the first light paled the eastern sky. ‘It does not matter what you have reasoned, because Bellême will not believe you now anyway. He will assume you are making a last-ditch attempt to save your life, and will not take any accusations you make seriously.’
‘That is true,’ said Matilda in an unsteady voice. ‘He will not. Not now.’
Geoffrey did not want to be rounded up like a common criminal and dragged to the gatehouse for his execution, so he saved Bellême the trouble and went there of his own volition. Matilda stood at his side while he gazed over the slowly lightening fields. Henry’s campfires, which had burned out during the night, were being rekindled, so men could cook bread on hot stones and perhaps warm a little salted beef to eat. Smoke drifted across the fields like wispy clouds.
‘Tell me who killed Hugh and Philip,’ she said. She glared at Foucon when he attempted to come closer, so he backed off and went to lean on a turret, out of earshot. ‘Perhaps I can persuade my brother to listen, if you have a convincing argument.’
‘That is the problem,’ said Geoffrey, leaning over the parapet and shivering as the wind cut through his shirt. ‘It does not matter who killed them. What is important is why. And I do not know why.’
‘Then who will have to do,’ said Matilda encouragingly. ‘That is what he charged you to discover, after all. He cannot claim it is not enough and kill you anyway.’ They exchanged a glance that told each other they knew perfectly well Bellême might do just that. ‘So, who was it?’
‘Arnulf.’
‘Arnulf?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘But why?’
Geoffrey grimaced. ‘That is the point I have just made. I do not know why, only that he is the culprit. Bellême will ask the same question, and he will also be extremely unsatisfied when I say I do not know. Without proof of why Arnulf saw fit to murder his kinsmen, my information amounts to nothing more than an accusation based on circumstantial evidence.’
She took a breath. ‘All right. Tell me how you know Arnulf is the villain.’
‘I learned three things when I sold my surcoat. First, the noose around Hugh’s neck was distinctive. I watched Arnulf tie an identical knot with the cord Foucon gave him to put around the tunic.’
‘Arnulf has always made odd knots,’ admitted Matilda thoughtfully. ‘Even when we were children. But it was foolish of him to tie a tell-tale bow on a murder victim.’
‘Very,’ agreed Geoffrey. ‘But he was probably rushed and did not think about it. However, Emma told me she saw Hugh’s body within an hour of his death, and she also mentioned that Arnulf had removed the rope from Hugh and covered him with a cloak. I thought nothing of it at the time, but I now see that Arnulf knew the knot might betray him, so he took it away under the guise of showing respect to his nephew’s body. The second thing I learned was that Arnulf’s hands are scarred.’
‘He removed his gloves to try on the surcoat,’ said Matilda, nodding. ‘You are right: his hands were marked, indicating he has had dealings with Greek Fire.’
‘But not as much as Beaumais. I still do not know which of them – if either – killed Cecily.’
‘What else? You said you learned three things from selling your tabard.’
‘The last concerns Josbert. When I snatched at his silver, I did not want the coins. I wanted to see the writing on the documents in his pouch. I have had my suspicions about him for a while – there is more in his refusal to speak to me than mere surliness, and I think he is simply nervous that he might inadvertently let something incriminating slip if he answers my questions.’
‘Josbert is a loyal vassal,’ said Matilda thoughtfully. ‘He might well use those tactics to ensure he did not accidentally betray Robert. He is solid and reliable, but does not have the wits of a Bellême – or a Mappestone. So, what did you learn from the parchment, other than that the siege will not last more than six months, because we are consuming more food than he had predicted?’
‘Josbert can write, but his style is unsteady and childish, because he does not use it often – Ralph helps him here with his neat round hand. However, the writing listing the castle’s victuals was identical to that of whoever scribed the message that was stuffed into Hugh’s mouth.’
‘Josbert wrote the reply from the King?’ asked Matilda with huge eyes. ‘The one that was supposed to make me think Henry wanted nothing to do with me and my pro
posals?’
‘Henry said he had not received messages from you, and I suspect he was telling the truth: your missive, sent with Hugh, was not delivered. Then, probably to deter you from dispatching another, Josbert issued you with a reply of his own, purporting to be from Henry.’
‘But why would Josbert – or any of my kin – thwart my negotiations for a peaceful settlement?’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘He might resent the fact that you could have been pardoned and kept your property while Bellême did not. He might believe your negotiations would weaken Bellême’s position, and underline the family’s factions and weaknesses. Perhaps he secretly loves you and thinks that if he is expelled to Normandy, then he wants you to go too.’
She laughed, then became serious. ‘But surely he must see that if some of us keep lands in England, they can be used as a foothold for others in the future? What benefits one will benefit the rest.’
‘Henry knows that, which is why I imagine he would be unlikely to grant your request anyway. But Josbert certainly destroyed your hopes.’
‘It is a pity it did not occur to you to inspect his handwriting sooner, or to examine Arnulf’s knots. You might have been able to save your life.’
‘Or shortened it. How long do you think Arnulf and Josbert would have allowed me to live after I made my accusations? I should have guessed their identities sooner, though, because of something the landlord of the Crusader’s Head said to me.’
‘Go on,’ invited Matilda.
‘Oswin claimed Hugh ordered wine for three people before he died – it was why he reasoned Hugh had not killed himself, because suicides do not order drinks for themselves and two friends first. The two people with Hugh when he died were the killer and his accomplice. Arnulf and Josbert.’
‘And you know Josbert was Arnulf’s “accomplice” because …?’
‘Because he wrote the letter that was rammed in Hugh’s mouth,’ said Geoffrey impatiently. ‘Arnulf does not read, so I doubt he knew what was on the parchment. Josbert probably told him it was a gag to prevent Hugh from making any noise. Arnulf was rushed, and agreed without thinking. Josbert put his own plan into action that night, using the corpse Arnulf had so conveniently provided. I saw him inspect Hugh’s body myself: twice. Arnulf said the first time was on his orders; the second time was of his own volition. Arnulf assumed a love of the sight of corpses was what drove him, but Josbert had just realized it was an excellent opportunity to make sure his parchment was still in place. He probably killed Oswin, too – not only for throwing away his painstakingly written letter, but to prevent him from telling anyone that he and Arnulf had been with Hugh before he died.’
The King's Spies Page 28