[Mediaeval Mystery 06] - Cast the First Stone

by C. B. Hanley

  The sight of two women approaching made a number of them stop what they were doing so they could stare, and Alys felt uncomfortable. Cecily kept going, however, with a gracious nod to one group, and belatedly they recognised her. Hostility turned to smiles, and then Philippe appeared to greet them.

  ‘I cannot offer you any refreshment, I’m afraid, but welcome.’

  ‘No need for apologies,’ said Cecily. ‘We’re here to see to Alban, and anyone else who might be in need of salves.’

  Philippe showed them to one of the open shelters; inside it the wind was still cold, but it was good to be out of the rain, at least.

  Sitting propped up in the back corner was the mason Alban. Alys winced at the sight of his face now she could see it in daylight: raw, blistered, peeling. It must be agonising. She knelt to speak to him, to comfort him as best she could while Cecily got to work. She seemed relatively cheerful about it, telling Alban that she was sorry for his pain but that it was a good sign, as it meant the flesh was still alive and would heal. He tried hard not to cry out, but he was rigid all over, fists clenched, sweat beading the undamaged side of his brow. Only when she had finished did he expel a breath and allow his arms to fall limply by his sides.

  His eyes were dry, but Alys had tears in her own on his behalf. She held a cup while Cecily poured something into it, and then lifted it to Alban’s lips, helping him to sip it down.

  ‘That won’t take his pain away,’ said Cecily, softly, as they rose, ‘but it should take some of the bite out of it, at least, and it might help him sleep.’ She turned to Philippe, who had been standing some little distance away and watching. ‘Please, allow him to rest for another few days, and I’ll return when I can.’

  Philippe nodded, and then they listened as Alban murmured something Alys didn’t quite catch. The master mason seemed to understand, and he assured Alban that he would see to it that his daily wage was still paid. ‘Because,’ as he said to Alys and Cecily as they walked away, ‘he has a wife and children, and because it is not his fault.’ He waved away suggestions of his kindness, noting with some acidity that he would make sure it was added to the lord earl’s bill for the work.

  They left the camp and walked up to the castle. When they reached the inner gatehouse, they were stopped by the porter; Cecily explained their errand, but he would not take responsibility for letting them see the prisoner, making them wait until a member of the garrison had been fetched, who then insisted on referring the matter to the sergeant-at-arms and disappeared again. The sergeant arrived with all suitable dignity, to be greeted by Cecily, who called him by name – Everard – and enquired after his grandchildren, at which point he thawed and let them through.

  He escorted them to the top of the steps. ‘Careful, now. I’ll come down with you. You shouldn’t have too much trouble – he’s been quiet – but you never know.’ They descended and he unbarred the door.

  Denis was sitting in one corner of the room, knees drawn up under his chin and his head bowed. The sergeant barked something at him and he stood. He remained downcast, but his eyes were calm as they met Alys’s. ‘Mesdames.’

  Cecily bustled forward to examine his wounds; they were healing well.

  ‘Don’t know why you’re bothering, really,’ said the sergeant, who was between them and the door, left open so some light could enter the cell. ‘Though I suppose we’d better deliver him to the hangman in one piece.’

  It wasn’t her place, but Alys couldn’t help it. ‘Edwin doesn’t think he did it.’

  The sergeant blinked in surprise at being thus addressed. Then he shrugged. ‘That’s not for me to say.’

  Cecily turned her attention from Denis for a moment. ‘But it is your place to speak the truth, is it not? And to see that others do the same?’

  ‘Well, yes, but …’

  ‘And to believe Edwin when he speaks the truth?’

  ‘I …’

  Even in this light Alys could see his cheeks redden. He must have been at least fifty years of age, but Cecily continued as though she were scolding a child. ‘And don’t you forget how honestly Godric dealt with you all those years ago. Remember those rabbits? Hmm?’

  He seemed about to reply but his attention was drawn by shouts coming from above, and he was immediately on the alert. Someone was calling him. He looked from Denis to the stairs and back again.

  ‘Go,’ said Cecily. ‘I’m nearly done here and we’ll be safe.’

  He took the steps two at a time and Alys could soon hear his voice raised along with all the others.

  Cecily made a final dab at Denis’s face and then nodded, satisfied. She looked into his eyes and spoke in a soothing tone. ‘I know you can’t understand me, but be assured that we will find out what happened. Edwin will find out.’

  He caught the name. ‘Edouin? Oui. Yes.’

  Alys followed Cecily out and then hesitated by the unlocked door. But Denis had already reseated himself in the far corner, and he made a helpless gesture that she interpreted as ‘but where would I go?’, so she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and left.

  The altercation was centred around the gatehouse; they wouldn’t be able to pass, so they stood to watch. A group of village men had come through the outer ward but were now being denied entrance to the inner by the porter. He in turn had summoned members of the garrison, who had shouted for the sergeant, and he was trying to get everyone to quieten down so he could find out what was going on.

  ‘Silence, I said!’ He pointed at the reeve. ‘You – speak.’

  The reeve stepped forward. ‘We wish to see Sir Roger.’

  ‘Oh, you do, do you? Why would that be?’

  ‘We wish to accuse someone of the murder of Bailiff Ivo.’

  That caused a hush to fall over the whole group, including the soldiers.

  The sergeant scratched his beard. ‘You mean the French mason? He’s already here, in the cell.’

  The reeve seemed nervous, but someone behind him gave him a shove in the back, and he continued. ‘No. Someone else.’

  ‘So – and let me get this straight – it was only yesterday that your jury found the mason guilty, and now you’ve changed your mind?’

  ‘We’re still not sure he’s innocent – they might have done it together, maybe – but we want to accuse someone else, and we have evidence, so it’s our right.’

  ‘Oh, evidence, now, is it?’ Alys thought for a moment that the sergeant was going to send them all away, but he sighed. ‘Right then. I’m not fetching Sir Roger down here on a fool’s errand. You tell me now who you want to accuse, and I’ll decide whether it’s worth his notice.’

  The reeve was by now really uncomfortable, almost tongue-tied. Another man opened his mouth, but the sergeant shot out a warning finger. ‘Not you. If he speaks for you all, let him speak.’ He turned back to the reeve. ‘Come, then, who is it? Who’s your murderer today?’

  The reeve swallowed a couple of times and then managed to get the words out. They floated across the cold, damp air to Alys. ‘We accuse Edwin Weaver.’

  Chapter Nine

  Edwin was staring into the flame of a candle when he became aware of his name being shouted.

  He was in the earl’s council chamber; he’d wanted to come here straight after his conversation with Arnulf, but remembered that Father Ignatius would be saying Mass in the keep’s chapel, which was on the same floor, so he’d hovered outside in the cold until he saw the priest come out. Fortunately, Sir Roger was with him; Edwin wasn’t quite sure whether he wanted to speak to the knight until he’d got a few more things straight in his own mind.

  He’d drawn back as they passed, and their attention was on each other anyway so they didn’t see him. He caught a few pieces of their conversation. Sir Roger was saying ‘He can’t stop me,’ to which Father Ignatius made an inaudible reply, and the knight continued with ‘… going there now,’ and then they were out of earshot.

  Edwin then slipped into the council chamber
; once again it was cold and empty, and he’d lit a candle by taking a spill to one of the torches in the stairwell. Since then he’d been deep in thought, and he had no idea how much time had passed.

  Now he looked up. It was around noon, judging by where the light from the window was falling, and footsteps were sounding on the keep’s staircase.

  A boy burst into the room, and Edwin recognised young Wulfric, who ran messages for William Steward. He was gasping for breath and his expression was serious – horrified, even.

  Edwin jumped to his feet. ‘What is it? Has something happened to William?’

  Wulfric shook his head and gasped out a few jumbled sentences. They weren’t very reassuring to Edwin, though, containing as they did the words ‘murder’ and ‘now’.

  He grasped the boy by his shoulders. ‘Stop! Stop. Good. Now, start again.’

  ‘William sent me to warn you. You’re accused of murder. They’re on their way to get you but I was faster. William says –’ The footsteps on the stairs came closer and his voice rose to a squeak. ‘Too late!’

  Edwin felt strangely distant as armed men burst into the room, as though he wasn’t there at all. He was surely somewhere else, somewhere where this wasn’t happening. The men made no move to attack, just simply surrounded him.

  He patted Wulfric on the shoulder. ‘Off you go, then, there’s a good lad.’ He looked up at the nearest guard. ‘It’s nothing to do with him – he was just looking for me the same as you were.’

  The man nodded and the group parted to let Wulfric through. As he left he passed Everard, the sergeant-at-arms, in the doorway.

  Everard moved to stand in front of his men. ‘I don’t like this, Edwin, not at all. But an accusation has been made against you, and until Sir Roger gets back to tell us what to do, we’ll have to treat you like anyone else.’

  Edwin still felt that strange dissociation as he nodded. ‘Very well.’ There was a pause. ‘What do you need me to do?’

  Everard looked nonplussed, and then recovered himself. ‘Right. You’ll have to give me your eating knife and that dagger, and then we’ll put you in the cell. Should only be for a few hours, mind, and then Sir Roger will clear this up.’

  Edwin took his eating knife from its sheath and placed it on the table. The dagger was on a separate belt so he unbuckled it. He wound the belt slowly around the scabbard before he laid it down. ‘Take care of it, please. It was a gift.’

  Everard nodded. ‘Thank you. Now, we’ll go to the cell.’ He addressed his men. ‘He’s not going to try and run away, so nobody is to touch him, you hear? He’s still the lord earl’s man.’

  Edwin heard them murmur their assent, and now the initial shock was over he could feel his mind starting to work through the fog. Of course they would behave towards him with respect for now, for what would happen to them if they mistreated him on the word of the villagers, only for a knight to dismiss the charges and let him go? But Edwin knew, as they made their way down the stairs, that matters were not going to be as simple as that.

  All was silence in the inner ward as they walked across it, men stopping what they were doing to watch. There was a crowd around the gatehouse, being kept back by a line of guards, and the shouts and whistles began as they crossed in front of it.

  And then he saw her.

  His step faltered. Standing by the gatehouse, in tears, was Alys. Edwin wanted to stop but he was surrounded, and as soon as he slowed he felt the pressure of those behind him – although no push, not yet – to continue. He tried to look at her, tried to tell her with his eyes that everything would be all right, but it was no use. He couldn’t do it and she wouldn’t see it anyway through her tears. All he could do was cast a glance at Cecily, who held her arm protectively round Alys, and at William Steward, who stood next to them with Wulfric hovering behind. Edwin knew they would understand his look: Whatever happens, take care of her.

  He was shepherded down the steps; the cell was opened. The same cell in which … but he couldn’t afford to think about that now or he would run mad. He stepped inside and watched as the patch of light on the floor became smaller and then disappeared, and listened as the door was shut and then barred.

  Denis was in the far corner, and now he stood. ‘Edouin? You have come to talk to me?’

  Edwin almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. ‘I wish I had.’ He explained as much as he could, although he was completely in the dark as to why he should have been accused, and what evidence anyone could possibly bring against him. But what did become clear, as he eventually tailed off into silence, was that Alys had been right and he’d been wrong: he should not have been so sure that folk in the village wouldn’t turn against him because he’d lived among them all his life. A madness had overtaken them all, and there was no telling where it might end.

  ‘Edouin. Let me ask you a question.’

  Edwin forced his mind back into the cell. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you do this thing? Did you kill monsieur the bailiff?’

  ‘No.’ And, after a moment of silence, ‘Did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then someone else did. And someone – whether the same man or not – has got something against both of us. And we need to find out who that is, before it’s too late.’

  Alys waited until the villagers had left the castle, and then made her way down to the outer ward along with Cecily and William. After a brief discussion, the others – loath to leave her – agreed that they should go down the hill to see what they could find out. It might be of use to know who had first voiced the accusation against Edwin, who had supported it, and who had been convinced enough to suggest that the men visit the castle.

  She watched them go, William seeming to walk even more slowly and painfully than ever. Then she took up a position in the shadow between two buildings, where she could gain a little shelter from the wind but still have a clear view of the stable. Nobody was quite sure when Sir Roger might return, but that would certainly be the place he would go to first, so – assuming he had managed to get through the village without being waylaid – she could speak to him first. She hoped that he would recognise her as being Edwin’s wife.

  It was cold, and starting to spit with rain again, but she did not move. She blew on her hands before clenching them tightly under her shawl. Please God, Sir Roger would return before dark.

  After some while she became aware that she was attracting some attention. The castle was an almost exclusively male space, and although some women made their way in and out during the day, the presence of one who was merely loitering was enough to invite notice.

  At first it was a couple of comments in passing, and then a few that were of a decidedly more lewd nature. She ignored them, but it didn’t help, and soon there was a group of half a dozen men around her, teasing, mocking. Just having some fun, as they would no doubt say. She didn’t want to press herself any further back into the space between the buildings, but she couldn’t walk forward either, not with them standing so close. And then one of them put out a hand to touch her.

  There was a sudden smack noise from the back of the group and they all turned in surprise. A man was lying in the mud and groaning, with the massive form of Crispin leaning over him.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said, his voice bland. ‘Didn’t mean to hit him that hard – just wanted to see what was going on.’ He tensed so that his shoulder and arm muscles bunched. ‘Does anyone else want to get in my way?’

  The men melted back, the fallen one rising to stumble after them.

  Alys looked dumbly at the smith, wondering if she’d just exchanged one bad situation for another, but he nodded and kept his distance. ‘Saw Mistress Cecily on my way back up from visiting my mother, and she told me what all that noise was about in the village. She said you were here so I thought I’d check you were all right.’

  Relief made Alys’s knees feel weak. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now,’ continued Crispin, ‘if Mistress Cecily says Edwin’s innoce
nt then he’s innocent. And I wouldn’t believe it of him anyway – and neither does anyone else, deep down. He has friends enough to get him through this.’

  Alys felt tears springing from her eyes, and she put up a hand to wipe them away.

  ‘Lord, you’re nearly blue with the cold. Do you want to come to my workshop? I’m not working the forge today, but it’s always got some warmth in it, and I can light a fire.’ He glanced around at the men in the ward. ‘And it’s open-fronted, public.’ He attempted a kindly tone as she continued to cry. ‘You’re not to be afraid of me. William and Cecily would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you or the lad.’

  Alys managed to choke back her sobs long enough to reply. ‘I thank you, sir, but I wouldn’t be able to see the stable from there. And I have to see Sir Roger as soon as he gets back.’

  Crispin nodded. ‘All right. Well, it’s Sunday and I’m not at work, so maybe I’ll wait here with you. My company isn’t up to much, but it’s better than some others.’

  She agreed gratefully.

  He lifted his face to the weather. ‘Happen if I stand on the other side of you, it’ll keep more of the wind off.’ He moved, and Alys immediately felt the benefit of the shelter. She wiped her eyes again, told herself to summon some dignity, and stood up straight next to him.

  They waited for some while, Crispin glowering at anyone who came too close. Alys was too tired and overwhelmed to make any attempt at conversation, but the smith seemed a man of few words anyway. Eventually, though, as the sun was on its way to the horizon, he rumbled, ‘There he is.’