Two mornings later, Geoffrey was still asleep when Bertrada brought Godric his breakfast. She nudged him with her foot.
“Get up, will you? I will not have you here lying around doing nothing all day. We already have Olivier and his fine friends doing that-eating our food and drinking our wine.”
“You mean Drogo and Malger?” asked Geoffrey, sitting up, and holding his head as an uncustomary dizziness seized him.
“Them and others,” said Bertrada, slapping a breakfast tray down where Godric had to strain to reach it. “Olivier does nothing but flaunt his expensive clothes and his fine war-horse, while my poor Walter struggles here to make ends meet.”
“Rubbish, woman!” said Godric. “Goodrich is rolling in money-that is why you are all so keen to get your grasping hands on my estates. Walter is just too mean to spend any of it.”
Their voices drifted down the stairwell after him as Geoffrey made his escape. He donned his leather leggings and hauberk in the hall, and set off to see if Julian could find him something poison-free for breakfast. His stomach was cramped and his head swam, so that he wondered whether the poisoner had already started work on him.
Julian provided two crusts of bread and a pear that was so rotten it exploded across the floor when Geoffrey dropped it. His dog appeared from nowhere, a large ham in its jaws.
“Lord save us!” exclaimed Julian. “Bertrada has been looking everywhere for that ham!”
“Well, I doubt she will want it now,” said Geoffrey, seeing that the gnawed exterior dripped with the dog’s saliva.
“She will,” said Julian, with utter conviction.
Geoffrey wondered what his chances were of eating with Helbye again, and determined that if Bertrada produced ham for dinner, he would not take any, especially if it had tooth marks-and even more especially if it were smothered in the ghastly fish sauce, a pot of which already simmered and bubbled evilly over the kitchen fire.
With the dog, still carrying its ham, at his heels, Geoffrey left the castle intending to visit the physician, to learn once and for all whether Godric really was being poisoned, or whether his father’s mortal sickness was making him delusional. The guard at the gate also informed Geoffrey that Bertrada was looking for the ham, but declined Geoffrey’s invitation to retrieve it from the dog himself.
Taking in deep breaths of fresh air, Geoffrey strode along the main street of the village, and made for the physician’s house, a shabby stone building near the church. He knocked at the door, but, receiving no reply, walked to the rear where a sizeable garden was surrounded by a low wall. The garden contained neat rows of plants and several outbuildings. The sound of singing came from one of them.
Geoffrey called out, but the chanting went on uninterrupted. He vaulted over the low wall and poked his head around the door. Inside, it was dark and gloomy, and the walls were lined with an unbelievable array of bottles and phials. Bending over a flame was a small man with white hair that leapt from his head at a variety of angles. He wore the red gown of the physician, although it had seen better days, and the overfilled pockets and large number of sacks and pouches that dangled from unexpected places made him appear peculiarly shaped.
“Excuse me,” called Geoffrey loudly.
“I have already told you, I will not discuss this matter,” said the physician, not looking up from his work. “Go away.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The physician looked up. “Oh!” he exclaimed, startled. “I thought you were that grubby Mark Ingram coming to ask questions about the poisonings at the castle again. Cheeky young beggar! As if it is any of his concern!”
“Why should he be interested in that?” asked Geoffrey, puzzled by his soldier’s unseemly fascination with his family. “He has been asking questions in the tavern, too.”
“He probably intends to blackmail you somehow,” said the physician comfortingly. “You are Geoffrey Mappestone, I suppose, come to find out whether your father is being poisoned? Well, I can tell you, quite categorically, that the answer is yes: Godric is being murdered by degrees, just as surely as you are standing at my door.”
Geoffrey rubbed his head. “What kind of poison is this killer using?”
“Come in,” said the physician. “And close the door behind you.” He straightened, and looked at Geoffrey with a pleased smile. “How kind. You have brought me a ham!”
Geoffrey looked to where the physician pointed, and saw that the dog had abandoned its treasure on the floor, and was scrabbling back over the garden wall. He supposed that it had discovered something else to steal, although its backward glance suggested there was something about the physician’s garden that it did not like. The physician picked up the gnawed meat and placed it on a table.
“One of Bertrada’s own, I see,” he said gleefully. “Although I am sure she did not send it to me herself. She is always mean with her supplies, despite the fact that she knows I like her hams. What happened to this one? Have you had a go at it yourself?”
“My dog did,” explained Geoffrey. “To be honest, I do not think you should eat it. It-”
“Nonsense,” said the physician brusquely. “A quick rinse in clean water and all will be well. Now, what can I do for you? You are pale. Do you need a physic?”
“Thank you, no,” said Geoffrey, “But I would like to hear what you have to say about my father’s poisoning.”
“Very little, is the answer to that,” said the physician. “My name is Master Francis, by the way. Are you sure you would not like a physic? I can prepare you one quite quickly. In fact, I was thinking of making one for myself-the balance of my humours is not all it should be this morning, and I feel in need of a tonic before I go out to visit my patients today. Sit down, and I will have you feeling better in no time.”
“No,” said Geoffrey. “I just want to know about this poison.”
“There is not much I can tell you. Godric is being poisoned. He first became aware of the symptoms last spring, and they have gradually grown worse ever since. By the summer, Walter and Stephen were running his estates completely, and so Godric had ample time in which to rest and recover. But although he did everything I told him to, he did not get better. When I first realised that he was being poisoned, I recommended that he should hire Torva to prepare and serve all his food.”
“And Torva died in the moat.”
“Drowned, yes,” said Francis. “Torva was meticulous, and not a single morsel went past Godric’s lips that Torva had not first tasted. However, while Godric became more and more ill, Torva remained healthy. About November, I was forced to confine Godric to his room. He has been growing weaker ever since, and now he cannot even leave his bed.”
“Bertrada says he has a wasting sickness,” said Geoffrey.
“Bertrada would,” retorted Francis. “Since she and Walter would dearly love Godric to die, she has every reason to lie to you. And she is not a physician in any case. Wasting sicknesses do not have the same symptoms as poisoning-Bertrada could not tell the difference, but I can.”
“What about that great vat of wine that sits by Godric’s bed?” asked Geoffrey. “Could that be tainted somehow?”
“It might,” said Francis. “But I do not believe it is. I have tested it several times, and Torva has been drunk on it. All this suggests that the wine is not the culprit.”
“What about that horrible fish broth Hedwise keeps feeding him?” asked Geoffrey.
“That vile stuff would be enough to poison the most robust-stomached man,” agreed Francis. “But again, I have conducted several tests using rats and birds, and there is nothing to indicate that the broth has been poisoned.”
“Well, what else is there?” asked Geoffrey. “The stuff must be getting to him somehow.”
“Most astute of you,” said Francis condescendingly. “And I have been pondering the question for months, but I can come up with no answer. Your sister Enide suffered similar symptoms several times, and we thought she was being poisoned, too. But she died of other causes, and I am still no further forward in discovering the source of Godric’s illness.”