‘Where are you going?’ he asked, watching Olivier’s inept fumbling.
‘Out,’ replied Olivier. ‘I like visitors, but these guests are taxing.’
Geoffrey knew what he meant. ‘May I come with you?’
Olivier smiled. ‘I should be glad of the company – and the protection. This Black Knife is at large again, and who knows when the thing will strike next?’
‘Never, with luck. May I ride your palfrey? He is not exercised enough.’
‘Dun? Yes, but do not expect
me
to take a turn on him. I do not like undisciplined horses.’
Bale came to assist with the saddling, but was more hindrance than help. Eventually, Geoffrey climbed on Dun’s back, only to have the horse rear suddenly, as though he had never carried a rider before. Geoffrey was obliged to shorten the reins in order to control him.
‘He is a lively beast,’ said Olivier. ‘Baderon warned he was wild when he sold him to me. I would ask Eleanor for a charm to calm him, but she is gone God knows where and, unless you are prepared to take him, he must be sold, because there is no one else who can manage him.’
Geoffrey quickly discovered what he meant, as Dun shot off like an arrow from a bow, leaving Olivier behind. People scuttled out of the way as he rounded a corner far faster than was safe. He slowed as they passed the church, although Dun still reared and bucked furiously.
‘There is something wrong with him,’ he said, as Olivier caught up.
‘He is itching for exercise,’ explained Olivier, spurring his pony forward and heading for the woods. He bounced in his saddle like a sack of grain. ‘Give him his head; he will soon tire.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ muttered Geoffrey, who did not think that Dun’s behaviour had anything to do with excess energy. The beast pranced and then bucked hard, forcing Geoffrey to grip tightly with his knees. Another horseman was riding towards him: Seguin, followed by a servant with a cart.
‘Having trouble?’ Seguin asked, watching Dun’s antics with amusement. ‘He just needs a decent run. Or are you too frightened to let such an animal have his freedom?’
‘Why are you here?’ retorted Geoffrey. He glanced at the cart, which carried a wooden box and a blanket. ‘Have you come for Hugh? He is at Walecford, not Goodrich.’
Seguin scowled. ‘The message I received said he is at Goodrich – where he was murdered.’
‘Then it was wrong,’ replied Geoffrey coolly. ‘Incidentally, Baderon says you gave him a dagger with a ruby hilt. I do not suppose you have seen it recently?’
‘It was a fine weapon, but he shoved it in a chest,’ glowered Seguin. ‘The next thing I knew, it was in Henry. But I have not seen it since. If I do, you will be the first to know.’ He made a violent stabbing motion with his hand and rode away.
Gingerly, Geoffrey touched his heels to Dun’s sides and eased the pressure on the reins. The horse started to walk in an odd, sideways gait that told Geoffrey he wanted to go faster. He kept the animal tightly under control until they were well past the village, and caught up with Olivier, who was singing to himself. Olivier continued to warble, indicating with a gesture that music calmed horses. It seemed to work, and they reached the edge of the woods without further incident. A long, straight path stretched out in front of them, heading upwards into a twiggy tunnel.
‘I think I might trot,’ said Olivier, kicking his nag to a slightly quicker pace. The sudden cessation of music and another animal moving ahead were too much for Dun. Ignoring Geoffrey’s commands, he began to gallop. Supposing he might as well let him, Geoffrey eased his grip on the reins, as Dun moved like the wind. Then Dun started his curious bucking movements at speed, taking Geoffrey by surprise. He lurched forward roughly, then heard something snap. While he was still trying to regain his balance, Dun bucked again. Geoffrey felt the saddle loose underneath him. And then he was flying head over heels into a patch of brambles.
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Olivier, trotting up. ‘Are you all right?’
Geoffrey did a rough inventory. His head was spinning, but only his pride was damaged. ‘Yes.’
‘Do not struggle,’ instructed Olivier. ‘Or you will become more deeply entangled. Let me cut some of these thorns away.’
Geoffrey watched him sawing the thick, spiked branches. ‘I have not been thrown by a horse in years. Perhaps you
should
sell him, Olivier. He is too much for me, too.’
Olivier shoved his dagger in its sheath and offered Geoffrey his hand. Geoffrey half-expected them both to end up in the brambles, but Olivier soon had him extricated. Dun stood quietly, head down. Olivier held the bridle and crooned softly, while Geoffrey went to remove the saddle, which clung at an odd angle. He showed it to Olivier.
‘The strap is broken.’ Geoffrey felt better knowing that the accident resulted from faulty equipment.
‘Not broken,’ said Olivier, studying it. ‘Sawn through. You can see the smooth line of a cut made by a knife, then a jagged part that broke under the strain. Someone deliberately damaged it.’
Geoffrey was angry. ‘How could someone have been so stupid? Joan might have been killed!’
‘No,’ said Olivier. ‘This saddle is only ever used for Dun, and Joan does not use him. There was no chance of anyone riding Dun but you.’
Geoffrey gazed at him. ‘Someone did this to harm me?’
Olivier nodded. ‘Yes, because here is something else – metal shards twisted into the saddle. No wonder Dun bolted! These spikes, along with the damaged strap, were certain to cause an accident.’
‘Who would have done this?’ asked Geoffrey, bewildered.
‘Ralph, perhaps,’ mused Olivier. ‘Or fitzNorman, Baderon, Seguin or Corwenna. Or Agnes and Walter, who are determined to stop you from learning who killed the Duchess. Or perhaps even a servant who was not won over by your flamboyant gambling techniques.’
Geoffrey sighed. ‘A whole host of suspects, as usual.’
They walked back to the castle, leading their horses and discussing suspects. Olivier favoured Ralph, who, he declared, might well use a horse to do his dirty work. Geoffrey was more inclined towards Walter, whose stupidity meant he might not see that such a stunt could hurt the horse as well as his intended victim. They were still debating when they entered the bailey, and Bale came racing up to them grinning from ear to ear.
‘You had better come,’ he said to Geoffrey. ‘Someone has been stabbed in the priest’s house – and there is blood
everywhere
.’
Geoffrey followed his squire across the bailey, with Olivier at his side. In the street outside the castle people were spilling out of their homes, looking alarmed. Geoffrey left Olivier to allay their fears and headed for the house next to the church, where Father Adrian lived. The priest was in his garden, being sick on his winter cabbages, while Durand tried to comfort him.
‘Aim for the onions,’ Geoffrey recommended as he passed. ‘Joan says they are more resilient.’
‘Do not be flippant,’ snapped Durand. ‘It is not becoming under these circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Who is dead?’
Father Adrian emptied his stomach again and seemed incapable of speech, and Durand shrugged that he did not know, so Geoffrey entered the house. He had not been inside it for more than a year, but it was much as he remembered. A neat, clean place, with a fire flickering in the hearth, a pot of stew bubbling and an overfed cat sitting on a windowsill.
The room was full of people who had come running when Father Adrian raised the alarm. Agnes and Walter were there, regarding the victim with dispassionate interest, and Geoffrey realized that their horror over Hugh’s death had been an act, to convince Giffard that they were not killers. Ralph stood rather closer to Agnes than was necessary, while Giffard knelt by the dead man.
Nearby was fitzNorman, holding Isabel’s hand. Her head was tilted to one side, and Geoffrey suspected that she was listening for Ralph. He was glad she could not see him standing so close to Agnes. FitzNorman could, though, and his face was a mask of fury. Joan stood on Isabel’s other side; Geoffrey had the feeling that she was ready to step forward and intervene, should Ralph say or do anything unpleasant and fitzNorman react with anger.
Bale was right in that there was a good deal of blood, although it was no worse than many scenes Geoffrey had viewed. The body sat at Father Adrian’s table, resting its head on its arm as though it were asleep; the other hand lay in its lap. It looked as though its owner was sleeping – except for the gash in the middle of the back.
‘Seguin!’ exclaimed Geoffrey. ‘How did this happen? He was alive and well when I went riding with Olivier a short while ago.’
‘You were the last one to see him alive?’ pounced Ralph. Isabel’s face softened at the sound of his voice. ‘Can anyone verify that
you
did not kill him?’
‘Olivier was with me,’ said Geoffrey, before realizing that was untrue. Olivier had ridden ahead and had not been party to the discussion.
Father Adrian appeared at the door, white-faced and shaking. ‘I am sorry to be feeble,’ he said in a whisper. ‘I deplore violence.’
‘So do we all, Father,’ said fitzNorman insincerely. ‘Although some of us seem rather more used to it than others.’ He shot Geoffrey a nasty glance, then did the same to Agnes.
‘I do not know what happened,’ said Father Adrian. ‘Sir Seguin came to Goodrich because he thought Hugh’s body was here. I offered him ale before I set him on the right road, but found I did not have any. I went to beg a jug from Mistress Helbye, and when I came back, I found . . .’ He gazed at the slumped figure, and his hand went to his mouth again.
‘Do not look,’ advised Geoffrey, standing so that the priest could not see the corpse.
‘Do not worry about the blood, Father,’ said Bale eagerly. ‘I will scrape it up for you.’ He made a scooping gesture with his hand, and Father Adrian disappeared outside again.
‘Father Adrian came straight to the castle,’ said Joan. ‘But Seguin was beyond earthly help.’
‘Where were you all?’ Geoffrey asked, supposing he had better add Seguin’s murder to his investigation.
‘You accuse
us
of this?’ asked Ralph incredulously. ‘
You
are the one
I
suspect.’
‘No, Ralph,’ said Isabel. ‘Geoffrey would not resort to violence when words could do.’
Ralph burst into mocking laughter. ‘He is a Holy Land knight! Resorting to violence is what they do.
He
is the one here who likes slaughter.’
Geoffrey regarded Ralph with dislike, while thinking that Seguin had been stabbed in the back – exactly the kind of cowardly act he would expect from the loathsome heir of Bicanofre.
‘Answer my question,’ Geoffrey said coolly. ‘Where were you?’
‘We were walking in the woods,’ said Agnes, smiling at Ralph.
‘
You
were with Ralph?’ Isabel asked unsteadily. ‘In the forest?’
‘Walter was there,’ said Joan. ‘And he is always looking out for his mother’s virtue. They did nothing amiss, you can be sure of that.’
‘My father and I were in the church,’ said Isabel in a small voice. ‘I was praying for . . . for my happiness.’ The expression she shot in Ralph’s direction made even Agnes flinch.
Voices sounded on the road outside, and Geoffrey heard Olivier speaking. From the tread of spurred feet, Geoffrey knew it was Baderon and Lambert coming. He braced himself for trouble.
‘My brother!’ whispered Lambert, gazing at the body in horror.
Baderon stepped forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. ‘My son and my friend in one day.’ His voice choked with emotion. ‘How many more will die before we have peace?’
Lambert’s eyes were bleak. ‘I am going to Llan Martin. Corwenna must be told.’
‘No,’ said Hilde gently. ‘You cannot go to Corwenna yet – not until you know what happened here. If you do, she will claim Seguin was murdered to destroy my father’s alliances, and there will be trouble.’
‘Yes,’ said Lambert coldly. He made as if to pass her, but she blocked his way.
‘Listen to her, Lambert,’ said Baderon, although he sounded weary and defeated. ‘We do not want any more deaths.’
‘Your son was murdered!’ shouted Lambert. ‘And now my brother lies dead. Will you wait for me to die, too? And Hilde? Hugh and Seguin must be avenged, or there will be no end to the slaughter. I am going to Corwenna. At least
she
has the strength to face our enemies.’
He shoved past Hilde, almost knocking her over. Geoffrey darted after him, alarmed by the damage that might ensue if he did as he threatened. Corwenna would be implacable, and Geoffrey doubted Caerdig would be able to prevent her doing something rash.
‘Please!’ Hilde begged, also hurrying outside to grab Lambert’s arm. ‘Wait until we have a culprit to show Corwenna, or she will pick one of her own.’
‘She will choose Goodrich,’ snarled Lambert, glaring at Geoffrey. ‘Henry killed her first husband, and now her next one lies dead on Mappestone land. So does your brother.’
‘Hugh was not killed at Goodrich,’ said Hilde. ‘His death and Seguin’s are not connected, and you must not make them sound as though they are.’
‘You are quibbling over the width of a river!’ shouted Lambert. ‘Hugh may have been
washed
to the other side. Or his body was dragged over, so blame would fall on someone other than Geoffrey.’
‘There are many suspects,’ said Hilde with quiet reason, but Lambert was too distraught to listen. He mounted his horse and was gone with a vicious jab of his spurs.
‘If he reaches Corwenna, there will be trouble,’ said Father Adrian with concern. ‘This will provide her with the opportunity she has been waiting for. The Welsh will rally to her call, in the hope that the spoils of war will feed their families. You must stop him.’
Geoffrey leapt on to Baderon’s black bay and thundered after the fleeing knight. Lambert glanced behind him and spurred on his mount, ignoring Geoffrey’s yells to stop. He began to edge ahead, because Baderon’s horse was not as fleet as Lambert’s stallion.