“But Joan’s claim would come before Henry’s, regardless of where he was born,” began Olivier timidly from the other side of the room.
“Remove that whining coward from my presence!” ordered Godric hotly, pointing a thin finger at Olivier. “He parades around pretending to be a warrior, and he is not fit to breathe the same air as me.”
Geoffrey began to suspect that this was not the first time such a scene had been played out at his father’s supposed death-bed. Godric, weak and dying though he might be, was not too frail to manipulate his children and to take sadistic pleasure from their quarrelling.
“If Walter is illegitimate and Stephen is not your son, then I am next in line,” said Henry, pulling himself up to his full height. “Whether I was born in England, France, or on the Channel, matters not one bit!”
“Godfrey is the only one of my sons who cannot have poisoned me,” said Godric, enjoying Henry’s anger. “The new will names him as my successor.”
“But I do not want it!” cried Geoffrey in horror, rising so abruptly that the sick man had to grab Walter to prevent himself from being tipped off the bed. “Please! I have no wish to be fettered here.”
And he certainly had no wish to be the sole target for his displaced brothers” ire for the remainder of what would doubtless prove to be a very short life.
“That is quite a brilliant bit of acting, Geoffrey,” said Walter bitterly as he pushed Godric back on the bed. “So now we know why your arrival home is so timely-you must have been planning this for months.”
“I do not want Goodrich,” said Geoffrey forcefully. “I am not interested in such things. If I were, I could have had an estate ten times the size of Goodrich in the Holy Land.”
“But you have already shown yourself to be less than efficient at looting,” said Bertrada. “I was in the village this morning, and I learned that even that feeble lout Mark Ingram came home with more booty than you did. I think you failed to secure your fortune there, and so have come to steal away what is rightfully ours.”
“You knew all along what Godric was planning, and you contrived to hasten his end,” continued Henry in the same vein. “None of us is poisoning Godric. You are!”
“Oh, Henry!” said Geoffrey, exasperated by the lack of logic. “How can that be possible? I have been thousands of miles away!”
“I know how,” said Stephen thoughtfully. He turned to his brothers. “It is coincidental that Ine arrived home from the Crusade so soon after Torva died, is it not? That is because Geoffrey dispatched him from Jerusalem to do his dirty work!”
As one, Walter, Bertrada, Stephen, Olivier, Hedwise and Henry cast accusing eyes towards Geoffrey. Geoffrey regarded them aghast. In the bed, Godric cackled in wheezy delight, and made no attempt to support the innocence of his newly created heir. While Geoffrey had anticipated that his home-coming would not be as pleasant as that of Barlow and Ingram, he had certainly not expected to be charged with the murder of his father. He took a deep breath, and fought against the unreasonable desire to run them all through there and then, and really provide them something with which to accuse him.
“No,” he said firmly. “I have never heard of Ine, and I most certainly do not want Goodrich. The will must be changed back to favour Walter, as it should.”
“Should it? Should it?” shouted Henry bitterly. “Well, I do not think anything of the kind!”
“Then change it to favour you,” said Geoffrey, losing patience. “I do not care one way or the other. I want nothing to do with it.”
“But Goodrich should be mine,” said Stephen. “And I do not believe I am Sigurd’s son-he would have told me if I were.”
How Godric had gone from four perfectly legitimate sons to only one within a matter of moments, defied Geoffrey’s imagination. He glanced down at his father, who was thoroughly enjoying the consternation and friction his revelations had caused.
“Norbert,” said Stephen suddenly, elbowing Walter out of the way to grab the clerk’s sleeve. “What exactly does this will say?”
Clearing his throat, Norbert began to read. “‘This is the last will and testament of Sir Godric Mappestone, lord of the manor of Goodrich, Kernebrigges, Druybruk-’”
“Druybruk?” queried Henry. “I did not know we had that.”
“There is much you do not know, little brother,” sneered Walter. “Continue Norbert.”
“‘Druybruk, Dena-’”
“Yes, yes,” said Walter, impatiently. “We know all this.”
“Well, some of us do,” added Stephen, with a malicious glance at Henry.
“‘… am in sound mind and body …’”
Bertrada gave a snort of derision.
“‘and I leave my complete estate and all my riches to my youngest son, Godfrey Mappestone, who is in the service of the Duke of Normandy in the Holy Land. The rest of my brood can go to the Devil. Signed this eighteenth day of the month of December, in the year of Our Lord 1100.’”
Stephen released Norbert’s arm, eyes glittering with savage delight. “I thought as much! He has no legitimate son called Godfrey, and certainly none in the service of the Duke of Normandy. The old fool never could remember Geoffrey’s name, and Geoffrey is now in the service of Tancred, as he told us last night. This new will means nothing at all! We can contest it!”
Geoffrey heaved a sigh of relief, grateful beyond measure that his father’s long-standing lapse of memory had at last worked to his advantage.
“No!” cried Godric angrily. “The Earl of Shrewsbury will see that my last wishes are upheld! Godfrey is a nickname, and everyone will know which son I mean to inherit.”
“Not I,” said Stephen. “I know of no Godfrey, nickname or not.”
“Nor I,” said Henry.
“Enough of this,” said Geoffrey. He could see his father was tiring, and he had no wish to spend the entire day arguing over a will that no one had any intention of honouring. “Contest the will if you like, but I relinquish all part in it. I will remain in Goodrich until Father … well …”
“Until he begins his journey to Hell,” supplied Bertrada, glaring at the sick man.
“As you will. And then I will leave you. I do not want Goodrich, and Tancred will not allow me to stay here anyway. If ever I do return to England, I will be quite happy with Rwirdin.”
“Oh, you will not like that at all,” said Walter quickly, casting a guilty glance at Olivier. “It is a miserable place all surrounded by hills and forest. When I am lord of Goodrich, I will find you something better.”
Geoffrey sighed. “Very well. But let us discuss this another time. Father is tiring. He should be allowed to rest.”
“Causing family discord is tiring,” said Bertrada icily. “Everyone seems surprised that he claims one of his family is poisoning him, but if they knew him as we do, the surprise would be that he has lived his sixty-six years without one of us trying it before.”
“That is a cruel thing for a daughter to say,” said Stephen. “What will Geoffrey think when he hears you so callously chattering about Godric’s poisoning?”
“You mean his alleged poisoning,” snapped Bertrada. “We all know he is making it up. He has a wasting sickness, and is dying of purely natural causes. He is spreading these vicious rumours about us because he loves to see us fight.”
“I am being poisoned just as surely as I lie here,” said Godric. “My physician will provide any proof that is needed. And one of you miserable dogs is responsible!”
“How?” demanded Bertrada. “Ine prepares all your food and, despite what you are trying to tell Geoffrey about Ine being bribed by one of us, you were ill when Torva prepared it, too. You are not being poisoned; you are dying because a disease is eating your innards away.”
“If you really believe what you claim, why do you not leave Goodrich?” asked Geoffrey, reluctant to continue the subject, but puzzled by Godric’s seemingly passive role in his own death.
“It is far too late now,” snapped Godric. “I am already too ill to recover.”