Free A Head for Poisoning by Simon Beaufort Page B

Crusader.”
    He grinned conspiratorially, but Geoffrey did not smile back. Ingram was playing a dangerous game, he thought—he was insolent to the knight he served, and he stole from the King. When Ingram offered him a piece of the cheese, he declined it, although no one else had any such scruples.
    Later, as his men slept, Geoffrey dozed lightly, leaning against the wall with his sword resting across his knees. Caerdig began to move nearer to him, rustling through the straw. The dog opened a malevolent eye at the disturbance, growled, and closed it again. Geoffrey’s fingers tightened their grip on the sword.
    â€œI do not understand you,” Caerdig said, when he had settled himself close enough to Geoffrey to avoid waking the others as he spoke. “You could have told the King that my people killed Sir Aumary, and then Lann Martin might have been yours.”
    â€œHow many more times do I need to tell you?” said Geoffrey softly. “I do not want it. If I had wished to be a landlord, I could have had something ten times the size of Lann Martin in the Holy Land.”
    â€œBut your brothers would have been pleased to have it for themselves,” pressed Caerdig. “What will they say when they hear that you missed such a valuable opportunity to acquire it for them?”
    â€œThey can say what they like.” Geoffrey grinned at Caerdig in the darkness. “I will tell them that they should be grateful I did not tell the King what you suspected—that the arrow which killed Aumary was actually intended for me.”
    â€œThat is no laughing matter,” said Caerdig severely. “You will not last long among the Mappestones if you underestimate them. My uncle Ynys underestimated them, and look what happened to him.”
    â€œWhat did happen to him?” asked Geoffrey. “You say he was killed by my brother Henry?”
    Caerdig was silent for a moment, and Geoffrey could hear him fiddling with the buckle on his belt.
    â€œThere was a silly argument over our sheep—Henry claimed that they had broken a fence and grazed his pastureland. You know how Henry can be—he came spitting fire and demanding instant reparation. Bitter words were exchanged, and Henry threatened to kill Ynys. The next day, Ynys’s body was found. He had been killed by a hacking blow from a sword—as if someone had tried to sever his head from his body.”
    Geoffrey suddenly recollected Caerdig’s reaction to Ingram’s jest—about hacking a bird’s head from its shoulders—when Geoffrey had been quick to draw his sword earlier that day. Was that the reason for his curious response? Ingram had a spiteful tongue, and might have learned about the fate of Caerdig’s uncle in the taverns the previous night. Geoffrey would not put a deliberately provoking remark about such a matter past the malicious man-at-arms.
    Caerdig continued, suppressed rage making his voice unsteady. “Of course, there were no witnesses to the crime, and Henry denies having anything to do with it. But not many men are allowed to own swords in the woods—you know that swords are forbidden by the Forest laws—although Henry has permission to carry one. Henry has the Norman love of fighting and killing, even though he is no knight.”
    Geoffrey drummed his fingers on the conical helmet that lay at his side. “Was there no enquiry into the murder? Was the Earl of Hereford informed? He is overlord here, is he not?”
    â€œHereford!” spat Caerdig in disgust. “He has no power in these parts. It is the Earl of Shrewsbury who is the dominant force in the border lands now.”
    â€œShrewsbury, then,” Geoffrey said impatiently. “Did Shrewsbury look into Ynys’s death?”
    â€œHe did, but he lost interest when he heard Ynys had named an heir—me—and that the lands were not lying vacant. All Shrewsbury did was to warn Henry not to do it