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

value—Aumary was always very protective of it. But I admit I did not search his body for other documents.”
    The constable looked down at the swathed figure. “I will inform the King about this at a convenient moment. I do not think it is of sufficient merit to bother him with now. Please remain in or near the castle until I am able to arrange an audience with you.”
    He promptly turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Geoffrey and Caerdig with nothing to do but hope that the King would not make them wait for days. Geoffrey wanted to leave immediately, but now that he had made an appearance, he was obliged to stay until it was the King’s pleasure to see him, waiting his turn with the other hopefuls who believed meeting the King would solve all their problems.
    Ignoring the frustrated sighs of Caerdig at his side, Geoffrey sat on a bench and gazed around him, interested as always in architecture and art. The hall at Chepstow might be grand, he thought as he studied parts of it closely, but it was neither beautiful nor refined compared to the Saracen buildings in Jerusalem and Antioch that he had seen while on Crusade. In true Norman spirit, Chepstow was sturdy and functional, but it was most certainly not—
    â€œAnd these are the men you mentioned?”
    At the unexpected sound of the King’s voice so close to him, Geoffrey started to his feet. He dropped onto one knee in the usual homage of a knight to a king, wondering how long the King had been watching him while he pondered the relative merits of Christian and Arab building techniques. The King gestured for him to rise.
    â€œThis is the body of Sir Aumary de Breteuil,” explained the constable, gesturing to the corpse. “He was bringing you dispatches from France, but was struck down by an unknown assailant a few miles from here.”
    â€œUnfortunate,” said the King, turning his gaze to Geoffrey. “And who are you?”
    â€œThis is Sir Geoffrey Mappestone,” said the constable. “He claims he was with Sir Aumary when the attack occurred.”
    Geoffrey found himself the subject of intense scrutiny from the King’s clear, grey eyes.
    â€œWas he indeed? And did you see this unknown assailant, Geoffrey Mappestone?”
    â€œI did not, my lord,” said Geoffrey, aware that behind him Caerdig was holding his breath. “Aumary became separated from the rest of us during the attack. When we returned to find him later, his destrier was roaming loose and he lay dead in the grass.”
    â€œI see,” said the King, suddenly much more interested now that he knew the dead man had owned some property. “And where is this destrier now?”
    Geoffrey had heard that the King was avaricious, but he had not anticipated that his greed would be quite so transparent. “The horse has been placed in your stables.”
    â€œGood,” said the King, rubbing his hands with pleasure. “Is it a passable beast?”
    â€œIt looks handsome enough, but it has been poorly trained,” said Geoffrey.
    It was clear Aumary’s widow in France would not be gaining anything from having her husband slain in the service of the King.
    â€œPoor training can be remedied,” said the King dismissively. “Now, this man was bringing me dispatches, you say?”
    The constable handed him the pouch, and the King broke the seals.
    â€œThey are accounts from my castle at Domfront,” he said, sorting through them quickly and efficiently. Geoffrey remembered that the King was already being called “Beauclerc” because he, unlike most noblemen, could read and write. “It is always pleasant to learn that one’s estates are profitable, but this is scarcely information for which to kill.”
    â€œPerhaps he also carried other messages,” suggested the constable. “It would not be unknown for a messenger to draw attention away from something important by flaunting