A Dead Man's secret

Six

When Richard had gone, Geoffrey looked for Gwgan, but the counsellor was in neither the hall nor the bailey. Then he remembered that he had letters from Maurice to deliver, as well as the ones from the King, and one of them was to Cornald. The others – to Bishop Wilfred, Isabella and Robert the steward – would have to wait until he reached Kermerdyn, but he could be rid of the one.

‘Cornald went to the kitchen,’ supplied Sear, when Geoffrey asked whether anyone had seen him. ‘The ample feast your sister provided was not enough for him, so he has gone to see what more he can scavenge.’

Sear was dicing with Alberic and Roger by the fire. Edward was nearby, strumming Olivier’s lute, and Geoffrey hoped he would suppress the inevitable quarrel that would arise when Roger’s loaded dice came into play. Mabon lounged in Joan’s favourite chair, while Delwyn sat at his feet, dozing restlessly.

‘What about Gwgan?’ Geoffrey asked. ‘Where is he?’

‘Probably with his horse,’ replied Edward. ‘It was lame earlier. But it is late and I am tired. We should all sleep now if you will insist on riding for Kermerdyn at dawn. Put up your dice, Roger.’

Geoffrey was surprised when Roger did as he was told, but supposed the big knight did look weary. So did Sear, Alberic and Edward, and Geoffrey saw the journey from La Batailge had taken its toll on them, too. Perhaps he was unreasonable to force them on so soon. Mulling over the notion of a respite, he walked to the kitchen block – a separate building to reduce the risk of fire.

Cornald was indeed raiding the pantries, and his cheeks bulged as he browsed along the shelves with a candle in hand. Pulchria was with him, and the unfriendly look she cast Geoffrey indicated she had not liked her advances being repelled earlier. He handed over the letter, with the brief explanation that it had been entrusted to him by the Bishop of London.

‘From Maurice?’ Pulchria asked wistfully, leaving Geoffrey in no doubt that she had helped the lecherous prelate with his medicine. ‘How nice.’

Cornald scanned it quickly, his face alight with pleasure. ‘He hopes we are both well, and confers blessings on us. What a lovely man! And he has included a recipe for cheese that he thinks might work well with Welsh milk. How thoughtful! Is he a friend of yours, Sir Geoffrey?’

Geoffrey nodded, then promptly forgot his resolve to leave his enquiries until his wits were sharper. ‘He told me a lot about Kermerdyn, including an account of the death of William fitz Baldwin, whom he admired.’

‘Everyone admired William,’ said Cornald sadly. ‘He was a wonderful man.’

‘I preferred him when he was a sinner,’ muttered Pulchria.

‘You were at his deathbed,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And-’

‘Not this again!’ sighed Pulchria. ‘I thought I had answered these questions already.’

‘You did?’ asked Cornald. ‘When? You told me you spent all afternoon praying in the chapel.’

‘I am about to go there again,’ said Pulchria. The sultry look was back as she addressed Geoffrey. ‘A night vigil always leaves me so refreshed. Perhaps you would care to join me?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But I imagine Roger and Sear will oblige.’

‘She is a pious lady,’ said Cornald, placing an affectionate arm around her shoulders. ‘She spends most nights and much of the day in prayer. Is that not true, dearest?’

‘Yes,’ said Pulchria. Geoffrey wondered how the butterer could be so blind.

‘To return to William,’ said Cornald, ‘Pulchria and I were at his deathbed, and so was anyone of note in Kermerdyn. He had a secret, you see, and we all hoped he would reveal it. Not for our personal use, but so we could send it to His Majesty. Or even to the Archbishop, to be used for the glory of God.’

‘Right,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Maurice told me a tale of poisoned butter-’

‘No!’ Cornald’s voice was sharp and angry. ‘There was a tale, but it was a lie. My butter is made from the finest ingredients, and even if it was a little past its best, it would not kill a man by turning his fingers black. It might drive him to the latrines, but nothing worse. William was not poisoned, Sir Geoffrey.’

‘As I told you earlier,’ added Pulchria irritably.

‘You mentioned a secret,’ said Geoffrey. ‘What was-’

‘William talked about it often,’ said Cornald. ‘He called it his “recipe for happiness”. He was fond of fine food, and I believe he had stumbled across the perfect diet. That was his secret.’

Geoffrey regarded him warily. ‘What?’

‘A man is what he eats,’ explained Cornald. ‘I am in the business of creating victuals, so I know what I am talking about. Too much of one food or too little of another will cause imbalances in the body and lead to unhappiness. But I think William discovered the perfect harmony, and it was that which made him so good and kindly.’

‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Geoffrey, not liking to imagine what Henry would say if presented with that theory.

‘I do not agree,’ said Pulchria. ‘I believe he added something to his food – a herb of some kind that made him inclined to beneficence. I have read about such substances.’

Geoffrey had, too, and had seen them in action in the Holy Land. He supposed it was possible that William had dosed himself with powerful medicines. Indeed, it made a lot more sense than Cornald’s hypothesis. And he would be more than happy to ply the King with herbs that might render him a better person. God knew, Henry needed them.

There was no more to be learned from Cornald and Pulchria, so Geoffrey went in search of Gwgan. He saw the discussion had spoiled the butterer’s appetite, because Cornald followed him out of the pantry and disappeared into the bailey. Pulchria aimed for the wooden hut called the ‘chapel’, although it was rarely used and contained no altar or religious regalia.

When he reached the stables, still far from sober, he suddenly remembered that it was the place where one of his brothers had been murdered. He rarely thought about the incident and supposed too much wine had made him maudlin that night. He hesitated for a moment before putting his hand to the door, and it was that which saved him.

The crossbow bolt smacked into the place where his head would have been, had he kept moving. Reacting instinctively, he dived behind a water butt, listening intently. The bailey was silent, but then he heard footsteps running away. He abandoned his cover and gave chase.

But it was hopeless – whoever it was had too great a lead and Goodrich contained too many outbuildings. Geoffrey looked around wildly. Alberic and Sear loitered by the chapel, and he saw Pulchria framed in the doorway there. All three seemed breathless, but Geoffrey could not tell whether it was anticipation or because they had been running. Meanwhile, Gwgan appeared from a direction that meant he had not been in the stables, and Edward was sitting on the hall steps. Cornald was chatting to Delwyn, and even shy Leah was hurrying from the latrines. Virtually everyone was out and might have taken a shot at their host.

Geoffrey retraced his steps and inspected the missile. It was one of Goodrich’s own – distinctive, with a slight Saracen curve. Did it mean a servant was responsible? He did not think so, especially as he had not yet provided them with an heir. But which of the guests wanted him dead? Or had the culprit been aiming at someone else? The bailey was dark, and all knights tended to look similar in the clothes they wore when at leisure. Except Edward, of course.

Geoffrey stalked towards the Constable of Kadweli, who was taking deep breaths in an apparent effort to clear his head of wine fumes.

‘Have you seen this before?’ he asked, shoving the quarrel into Edward’s hands.

Edward examined it in the faint light emanating from the hall. ‘No, but it is a very peculiar shape. Why? Surely, you do not think we should have a shooting contest now? Wait until the morning, when we shall be able to see the targets.’

Geoffrey was about to press the matter further, when he saw Sear and Alberic coming towards them, aiming for the hall. They were speaking softly in low voices. As they passed, Edward addressed them.

‘Look at this strange thing. Have you ever seen its like before?’

‘No,’ said Sear shortly. ‘But then I have never bothered to make myself familiar with crossbows. I prefer a lance.

‘And I prefer a proper bow,’ added Alberic. ‘I shall challenge you tomorrow, Geoffrey, because I warrant I am more accurate than you can be with this thing.’

‘Do not be so sure about that,’ said Cornald, making them all jump by approaching from behind. He held Pulchria by the hand. Her face was as black as thunder, and Geoffrey supposed he had decided against letting her keep her vigil. ‘Sir Geoffrey will have had far more experience of weapons than any of us.’

‘Not more than me,’ said Sear. ‘The King would not have appointed me Constable of Pembroc had I been a novice.’

‘Well, I am hopeless with weapons,’ said Cornald affably.

‘Oh, fie!’ said Pulchria. ‘You are an excellent shot. When we were first married and were poor, you kept us alive with the rabbits you caught.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ said Cornald rather furtively.

‘It is not something you forget,’ persisted Pulchria sulkily. ‘But then what do I know? I am a mere woman, after all-’

‘You showed an aptitude for the bow, too,’ said Cornald. The affable expression was gone from his round face, and something hard and angry had replaced it. ‘When we first wed and were in love. I taught you how to shoot, and you took to it like a duck to water.’

Pulchria pulled a face at him, then smiled at Geoffrey. ‘What has prompted these questions about weaponry? Is it to give us all nightmares, so we will seek solace in each other’s company?’

‘Someone just shot at me,’ replied Geoffrey curtly, aware that Richard had just joined the little gathering. Gwgan was still some distance away. ‘By the stable.’

‘Unlikely,’ said Sear with disdain. ‘You are drunk and must have imagined it.’

‘It was quite real,’ said Geoffrey quietly. ‘I am not that drunk.’

‘You do not seem drunk at all now,’ said Edward. ‘It must have sobered you fast. I am sure it would have sobered me.’

Sear spat as he traipsed into the hall, making it clear he did not believe the tale. Richard shoved past Geoffrey without a word, a rough collision that almost took both men from their feet, although Geoffrey suspected it owed more to wine than hostility.

Richard turned when he reached the top of the steps. ‘Look to your servants for a culprit,’ he suggested. ‘Mine are always trying to dispatch me.’

‘How are you with a bow?’ asked Geoffrey coolly.

Richard scowled. ‘That is a question I decline to answer, and if you want to see another dawn, you will not put it again. I do not deal kindly with men who make unwarranted accusations.’

He staggered after the others. Sourly, Geoffrey thought that if William had been anything like Richard, then it would have needed a miracle to transform him into a saint.

Gwgan arrived at last, but forestalled his questions by taking his hand and gripping it warmly. ‘There has been no opportunity to become better acquainted today. Hilde tells me we shall ride to Kermerdyn together, so I hope to converse more then.’

‘If I survive the night,’ muttered Geoffrey.

Gwgan took the quarrel from him and inspected it without much interest. ‘I have never had much use for crossbows. They take too long to wind. Welshmen prefer simpler bows.’

‘But you know how to use a crossbow?’

‘Of course, but I have not had occasion to practise in a long time. I am always willing to hone my skills, though. What do you say to a competition tomorrow?’

‘Only as long as I am not the target.’

Gwgan laughed uncertainly, then frowned. ‘Are you saying someone has just shot at you?’

Geoffrey nodded at the bolt. ‘It missed me by a hand’s breadth.’

Gwgan blew out his lips in a sigh. ‘Well, it was not me! I make a point of maintaining good relations with my kin, because I might need their help one day. Wales is unstable, and only a fool makes unnecessary enemies.’

Geoffrey was not sure what to think about anyone. He changed the subject. ‘It will be good to meet Isabella in Kermerdyn; Hilde talks of her often.’

‘She is a fine woman, although our union is yet to be blessed with brats. I understand you are still waiting with Hilde, too. A third sister has been wed seven years to a man with a dozen bastards and no sign of a legal heir. I hope Baderon has not foisted barren lasses on us.’

‘I have not been home long enough for Hilde to-’

‘Well, keep at it,’ advised Gwgan. ‘Fortunately, Welsh law sets scant store by legitimacy, and I have sons from previous liaisons. You will be under some pressure, though, being Norman.’

‘I have been charged to hand you this,’ said Geoffrey, feeling the discussion was disloyal to Hilde. He pulled the letter from his shirt, first checking it bore Gwgan’s name and Pepin’s elaborate cross. ‘It is from the King.’

‘Is it?’ asked Gwgan, surprised. Then he shrugged. ‘Then it is probably for Prince Hywel, but has been sent to me because I am his chief advisor. Hywel does not read, you see.’

‘You can read?’ asked Geoffrey. But of course he could. Gwgan’s position demanded it, and Richard had already told him as much. He took a deep breath, wishing he had not drunk so much.

‘Yes, and so can you. Hilde told me. She is very proud of you.’

‘She is?’ Geoffrey was pleased.

‘And she will love you even more if you give her a son. So do not linger out here. Go to her!’

Grateful that two of the King’s letters were now safely in the hands of the intended recipients, Geoffrey did as he was told.

Dawn the following day was pink and gold, and although Geoffrey’s inclination was to leap out of bed and make preparations for leaving as soon as possible, Hilde persuaded him to linger, pointing out that no one else would be ready. All the guests had imbibed liberally the previous night, and even the vigorous Roger was drained by the journey from La Batailge. It would be a kindness – and good manners – to allow them a day to recover.

As they lay in bed, he told Hilde about the attack the previous night.

‘Do you think it had to do with the letters?’ she asked.

‘Not the one from Maurice, certainly. It was a recipe for cheese.’

Hilde frowned. ‘But Henry would not tell you what his missives contain. Perhaps someone does not want them delivered.’

‘That means the culprit is someone who was already at Goodrich, because no attempts were made to harm me as we rode from La Batailge.’

‘Not necessarily. You told me that none of your travelling companions – except Roger – knew about the King’s letters. They believed you carried one from the Archbishop and several from Maurice. But then yesterday you started passing out missives from Henry. Ergo, it was only yesterday that they learned what you really carried.’

Geoffrey stared at her. Hilde was right. Then he shook his head. ‘Sear, Alberic, Edward and Delwyn were trying companions, but none is the kind to loose crossbow bolts in the dark.’

‘Then perhaps we are going about this the wrong way – looking for suspects before assessing the evidence,’ said Hilde. ‘Tell me exactly what happened. Who else was nearby?’

‘Sear and Alberic were breathless shortly afterwards; they may have been running. So was Edward, who was sitting on the steps taking the air. Cornald claimed he could not shoot, but Pulchria contradicted him. Richard was aggressively defensive, and Gwgan invited me to challenge him in the butts.’

‘And the women cannot be dismissed, either,’ mused Hilde. ‘I can use a crossbow.’

‘I do not suspect you.’

‘I should hope not! But where were Pulchria and Leah when all this was happening?’

‘Leah was by the latrines, and Pulchria was near the chapel.’

‘If my opinion counts for anything, I would say you can dismiss Leah and Cornald. Leah is too timid, and Cornald likes making friends, not killing them.’

Geoffrey was about to quiz her further when there was a sudden yowl from the bailey. He went to the window to see what was happening.

‘Murder!’ Delwyn was screeching, racing from the direction of the latrine. ‘My abbot has been murdered!’

Geoffrey raced down the stairs in shirt and leggings, leaving Hilde to get dressed. The latrine was a thatched shed some distance from the other buildings. It comprised a seat that could accommodate three or four users simultaneously, separated by reed screens. It had been an evil place in Geoffrey’s youth, but Joan saw it cleaned daily, and fresh soil was shovelled into the pit each night to reduce odours.

Mabon was sitting in the last stall, clutching a fistful of leaves. He was slumped to one side, eyes closed, as if he had fallen asleep. Geoffrey poked him, but there was no response.

‘I have already done that,’ said Joan. ‘And there is no life-beat in his neck.’

‘It is murder!’ cried Delwyn.

‘What has happened?’ demanded Edward, thrusting his way forward. He stopped when he saw Mabon, and the blood drained from his face. ‘Christ God! Is he dead? But he was hale and very hearty last night.’

The other guests arrived to express their horror, too – Richard, Sear and Alberic pushing past servants with unnecessary roughness; Gwgan entering more gently; Leah, hands to her mouth in mute horror; Pulchria, one eye on the abbot, and the other on the men in the crowd; Cornald white-faced next to her.

‘Help me carry him outside,’ ordered Geoffrey. ‘It is not seemly to inspect him here.’

But Mabon was a large man, and his armour made him heavy. Sear and Richard helped, but Delwyn was useless, and Geoffrey was grateful when Roger elbowed the monk aside and lent his considerable strength to the procedure. Once they had manoeuvred Mabon out, they laid him on a bier and carried him to the chapel. Geoffrey ordered the servants back to work, but the guests lingered with Joan, Olivier and Hilde. Acutely aware of being watched by a sizeable audience, Geoffrey knelt to inspect the abbot.

Mabon was still slightly warm, so his death had not occurred long before, but there was nothing to say how he died. He was wearing mail and his black surcoat, but there were no breaches to indicate he had suffered a mortal blow, nor had he been struck on the head.

‘He may have had a natural seizure,’ Geoffrey said to Delwyn. ‘There is nothing to suggest he was unlawfully slain.’

‘Then it must be poison!’ declared Delwyn. ‘What other reason could there be for a healthy man to die so suddenly?’

Ignoring the murmurs of disgust from the onlookers, Geoffrey prised open the dead man’s mouth and peered into it. He was horrified to see a bloody rawness within. Clearly, the bombastic abbot had ingested something caustic.

‘You should not be doing that,’ came a voice at his shoulder. It was Father Adrian, a priest with good Latin, but bound by ideas that betrayed an unworldly naivete. ‘It is not nice.’

‘Neither is being poisoned,’ retorted Geoffrey. ‘And Delwyn is right: Mabon has swallowed something that seems to have seared his innards.’

There was a horrified gasp from the guests, and Adrian immediately began to pray. Edward, Hilde and Leah bowed their heads, but everyone else was looking at each other with expressions that ranged from shock to curiosity to disinterest.

‘Did you have to announce that?’ muttered Joan angrily. ‘It will do our reputation as hosts no good at all.’

‘Why would anyone harm Mabon?’ asked Geoffrey, cutting through Adrian’s petitions for the dead man’s soul. The priest glared but Geoffrey ignored him.

There were a lot of shaken heads and shrugged shoulders. Edward made a sudden dive for the door. There followed the sound of him being violently sick.

‘I am glad Kadweli is in such manly hands,’ muttered Richard.

‘It is a more honourable reaction than yours,’ snapped Cornald, his cheerful face pale with shock. ‘Cold indifference is never attractive.’

‘Then it is a good thing you are not a soldier,’ sneered Richard. ‘And-’

‘Why would anyone harm Mabon?’ repeated Geoffrey, more forcefully. He did not want to listen to his guests sniping.

‘Perhaps because he is not everyone’s idea of an abbot,’ suggested Delwyn, seeming more angry than distressed by the loss of his leader. ‘But that is our business, and it is not for outsiders to interfere. Now we shall have Ywain foisted on us, and I am not sure we are ready for that.’

‘That is a fine, compassionate attitude for a monk,’ said Sear in distaste. ‘And what do you mean exactly? Ready for what?’

‘For the future,’ snapped Delwyn. ‘And the changes it will bring. But it is not me who should be interrogated here. I did not kill Mabon – I loved him like a father.’

‘We can probably discount Delwyn as a culprit,’ murmured Hilde in Geoffrey’s ear. ‘He would not want Mabon dead if Mabon will be succeeded by someone he dislikes.’

‘Perhaps,’ Geoffrey whispered back. ‘However, Mabon despised Delwyn and refused to let him read the letter Henry sent. Delwyn lies when he says he loved Mabon.’

‘What will you do with that particular missive now?’ asked Hilde.

‘Give it to Mabon’s successor, I suppose. It contains orders to submit to the Bishop, so I imagine that applies as much to Ywain as Mabon.’

‘You are no doubt thinking that Mabon’s death means you are relieved of one of Henry’s quests, but you are not. He will expect a report on Ywain instead and his relationship with Bishop Wilfred. I will help you write-’

Hilde stopped speaking when Delwyn sidled up to them.

‘You had better give me the Archbishop’s letter,’ he said in a low voice. ‘And any others intended for Kermerdyn. After all, someone did try to kill you last night.’

Geoffrey stared at him. ‘Are you saying that Mabon’s poisoner and the person who shot at me are one and the same? Why would you think that?’

Delwyn shrugged. ‘No reason. I am merely concerned for your well-being. I am a monk, always alert for ways to protect my fellow creatures.’

‘Sir Geoffrey had a valid question,’ said Adrian when he had finished his prayers. Delwyn took the opportunity to slither away. ‘Who did this terrible thing?’

Silence greeted his words, which came as no surprise to Geoffrey. The killer was not going to hold up his hand and admit responsibility.

‘Then what manner of poison took him?’ Adrian went on. He turned to Geoffrey. ‘Return to the latrines and see if you can find a bottle or a packet.’

‘I will help,’ offered Sear, although Geoffrey would have preferred to work alone. He and Sear entered the building and began to poke unenthusiastically at the muddy floor. Joan followed.

‘If there is a bottle or a packet, it is more likely to be down the pit,’ she said practically. ‘Here is a long pole with a hook, Geoff. Fish about and see what you can find.’

‘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 anxieties – 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.’