Read Online A Head for Poisoning by Simon Beaufort - Free Book Online Page B

the cloves he constantly chewed to alleviate the stench of his rotten breath. Had this casual use of the parchment been a ploy to divert attention away from it until it could be handed to the King? Or was even Aumary unaware of the alleged importance of his clove wrapper?
    Geoffrey frowned up at the wooden rafters of the bedchamber and considered. Aumary might well have thrown the parchment away or carelessly mislaid it if he had not appreciated its importance, and as a means of conveying an important message to the King, it was risky at best. The more Geoffrey thought about it, the more he came to believe that the parchment was nothing, and that the King had merely pretended to have discovered something crucial in it in order to make any onlookers think that Aumary had been killed because of a vital message.
    And that suggested to Geoffrey that the King knew more about Aumary’s death than he intended to tell. He had not even questioned Caerdig about the attack, and had accepted Geoffrey’s concise account of the botched ambush without a single question. Did the King know, or suspect, that the attack might have been orchestrated by Geoffrey’s brothers, and that Geoffrey and not Aumary, had been the intended victim?
    But, Geoffrey reasoned, the King doubtless had his fingers in a good many pies, and Aumary’s death was probably nothing to do with the affairs at Goodrich Castle. Since he was not going to deduce anything conclusive without more evidence, Geoffrey dismissed Aumary from his mind, and thought about his family.
    Could there be any truth in the King’s conviction that Godric was being poisoned? Geoffrey was reluctant to think that one of his brothers would stoop to so despicable an act as to attempt the death of their father by slow poisoning. He could very well imagine that one of them—especially the fiery Henry—might lash out in anger and kill on a sudden impulse, but the cold, premeditated act of sentencing their father to a lingering death was another matter entirely.
    He took a deep breath and watched the shifting smoke, which filled the room because the chimney needed sweeping. As to the other matter—keeping the Goodrich estates from the Earl of Shrewsbury’s grasping hands—Geoffrey did not imagine for an instant that any of his kinsmen would allow Shrewsbury or anyone else to take Goodrich while there was still breath in their bodies.
    As his eyes closed and he finally drifted into a restless doze, he made the firm resolution that he would stay in England only long enough to ensure that one of his grasping siblings inherited Goodrich from the dying Godric—which one he did not care—and then ride for France as fast as his destrier would take him.

    The copious amounts of wine he had imbibed meant that Geoffrey slept a good deal later the following day than he had intended, and the sun was already high in the sky before he emerged from his lodgings. He was not the only one—Barlow had also drunk far too much the previous night and was in no state to travel. Meanwhile, Helbye was nowhere to be found, and it was some time before Geoffrey tracked him down to a brothel near the river. And Ingram was involved in some complex negotiations to buy a donkey from one of the King’s grooms and insisted that such delicate transactions could not be hurried.
    It was noon before they were saddled up and ready to leave. Caerdig and his man appeared from nowhere, evidently planning on making the most of an armed escort through the outlaw-ridden Forest of Dene. Geoffrey ignored them all, and bent to check the straps on his horse’s girth.
    â€œIt is high time we were back at Lann Martin,” said Caerdig, glancing at the sky. “I heard in a tavern last night that the King knows all about Godric being poisoned, and is very concerned about it. King Henry does not worry for nothing, and so we should hurry before one of your kin has his way and I have some