by C. B. Hanley
‘Not necessarily.’
Edwin looked up in surprise. How long had Father Ignatius been standing there?
The priest turned from Osmund and addressed Edwin. ‘I would not have revealed to you anything that Osmund said in confession, but he has chosen to tell you all this of his own free will.’ He turned to Osmund. ‘And this I say to you: do not take the Lord’s actions unto yourself.’ His voice took on an unusually stern note. ‘How are you so sure? How do you know, deep in your heart, that you caused this, and that it was not the Lord’s plan for Gyrth all along?’
Osmund was lost for words.
Edwin spoke calmly. ‘Father Ignatius is right. You can’t know that it was you. But you can rest safe in the knowledge that Gyrth did not kill Ivo.’
‘But …’
‘Osmund, listen. Gyrth had no blood on his hands when he left your cottage before dawn. And Ivo was already dead by then – I saw his body not long after you did, and he had been dead for hours. So Gyrth couldn’t have murdered him.’
Osmund sagged, but he still seemed hardly able to believe. ‘But the blood?’
Edwin rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and he still had much to do. But it was important that this man should know of his son’s innocence. ‘It would be difficult to get the whole story out of him. But what I think happened is this: he was on his way to get the first pigs, and he saw Barty coming out of Ivo’s house with the hammer – a new toy to play with. Gyrth was curious enough to go inside, maybe to see if there was anything else. When he got inside, he saw the body. He touched Ivo’s face, smearing the blood on to his own hands, and then panicked and ran away. I’d told Alys before that Gyrth gets upset at the sight of blood, so she helped him to wash and calm himself.’ He sighed. ‘But it never occurred to her that the day’s slaughtering hadn’t started yet, which is probably why she didn’t mention it to me.’
Osmund’s face was slowly gaining in hope. ‘So … my boy’s innocent?’
‘In both meanings of the word, yes. He’s one of God’s innocents, and he’s done no wrong. He didn’t kill Ivo, because Ivo was already dead by the time Gyrth went anywhere near him. And he certainly didn’t kill William.’
‘You mean … I can go? And Gyrth won’t have to appear before the court?’
Edwin looked at Everard and at Father Ignatius. ‘I can’t see any reason why he would need to. The only thing he could possibly be charged with is not raising the hue and cry when he saw the body, but given his childlike state, I’m not sure he’d be expected to anyway.’ The other two nodded their agreement. ‘So, yes, you may go. But if you hear anything that might help, come and tell me. Gyrth’s innocence means that my own guilt still stands until we can find out different.’
Osmund stuttered out some thanks, and was gone.
Edwin allowed himself one moment only to pause before he turned to Wulfric, who had been sitting wide-eyed at Everard’s feet all the while. ‘Not a word of this, do you understand? Swear to it now, while you’re in the church.’
‘I swear.’
‘Good. Now, fetch Philippe, the master mason, for me, there’s a good lad.’
While he waited, Edwin tried to keep the panic stamped down within him. If he started to let it out … but no. He had to try and concentrate on the matter at hand. Think. Take stock. He did now have some new information – he had solved the mystery of the smeared blood on Ivo’s head – and he had proved one more person innocent. But he didn’t have time to eliminate every innocent one by one; he needed to find the guilty man, and that could still be anyone.
No, not anyone: the culprit must be someone from outside the castle. Both Ivo and William had been killed at a time when the castle gates were closed and everyone was safe within. The only person who had left after lock-up time had been Ivo himself, which meant that his killer must be someone from outside – a villager.
Or a mason.
Philippe arrived in due course, removing his hat as he stepped into the church.
‘Some of my men wish to leave,’ he began, without preamble. ‘I’ve told them to wait until this is settled one way or the other, but after that I can’t stop them.’
This was the last of Edwin’s problems right now, but there might be something of importance in it. ‘How many?’ he asked. ‘And who?’
‘I can make you a list. But that’s only those who want to leave now; if Denis hangs, they will all go, and the lord earl’s hall will not be finished.’
Edwin sighed. ‘I can’t blame them. It’s not as if they’ve been made to feel welcome while they’ve been here.’
‘We don’t expect to be greeted with open arms or treated like brothers. People have their homes and families, and we’re strangers, so of course a level of distance is maintained. But being wrongfully accused of crimes and then having our camp burned to the ground – at the risk of our lives – is too much.’
‘Where will they go?’
Philippe shrugged. ‘Anywhere. There is always work for men who can work in stone – castles, churches. And even individual houses, now that more and more are being built out of it. Who knows – maybe one day all the buildings of the land will be in stone rather than wood.’
Edwin thought that was hardly likely, but it was true that churches and castles would always need repair. But this was getting him nowhere. ‘I need to know if any of your men might have been out and away from your camp before dawn this morning.’
Philippe spread his arms. ‘I’m their employer, not their mother. Nobody would have been working at that time of day – you need good light to carve stone – and nobody would have been on his way to the castle, because the gates would have been shut. But I can’t say that nobody creeps out in the night to meet a girl.’
Edwin suddenly felt that all he wanted to do was sit down and cry. It was so hopeless.
Philippe was continuing. ‘But I am certain that none of my men would have harmed monsieur the steward. He was good to us – payments made on time, good food supplied – and we respected him.’ He paused to bow towards the shrouded corpse and cross himself. ‘Monsieur the bailiff, yes, we might have argued with him – though we did not kill him, certainly – but we had no quarrel with Guillaume.’
Edwin said nothing as he tried to keep the tears in.
‘Of course,’ Philippe continued, more gently, ‘he was your kinsman, yes? This is a bad business for you.’
You can say that again, thought Edwin, but he didn’t voice the sentiment. ‘Yes. And I will find who did this, so that William – and Ivo – can have justice, and also so that Denis can go free. Because there’s no justice in that, either.’
Philippe leaned forward to shake his hand. ‘I am with you. Any way I can help, just tell me.’
‘Thank you. Can you check with all your men – check thoroughly – who might have been out of the camp last night or before dawn this morning? Even if it was only to meet a girl, I want to know, because someone might have seen something.’
‘I will. I will send word to you as soon as I know.’ He bowed and was gone.
Edwin tried not to allow himself any time to think. He turned to Wulfric. ‘And now, if you please, fetch my wife.’
Alys felt Wulfric’s hand clutching hers as they made their way to the church. She realised how little she knew about him; he was just the boy who ran messages for William, and who therefore faded into the background. But his evident distress, and Cecily’s sympathy for him, seemed to make him a real person.
‘Do you live up at the castle?’ she asked, as a way to open a conversation.
‘No. I live here with my family and just go up there every day. Get my dinner there, though, which is better than anything at home.’
‘Oh, you have family here? But you don’t work for your father? They send you out?’
‘There’s too many there already, and not enough work.’ He pointed towards the carpenter’s workshop. ‘And besides,’ he drew himself up and spoke proudly, ‘Mistress Cecily says I’m the most
presentable, and she says Master William couldn’t manage without me.’
He fell silent, and Alys looked down to see that his lip was wobbling. ‘I’m sure you did him good service,’ she said. That didn’t help – she needed to distract his attention. ‘And now, with all the experience you have, I’m sure you’ll find another job.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really,’ she said, hoping she wasn’t raising false hopes and making the situation worse. ‘Because there will have to be a new steward, and surely he’ll need a boy who knows his way around.’
The hand in hers relaxed a little, but then tensed again as they neared the carpenter’s workshop. Robin was nowhere to be seen, but Young Robin was there, looking daggers at both of them. He took half a step forward, and Alys wasn’t sure which of her and Wulfric was trying hardest not to hide behind the other one.
‘Your brother?’
‘Free with his fists, he is. Thinks he’s so clever, just ’cos he’s the oldest,’ muttered Wulfric, careful not to let his words carry as far as the workshop.
‘He hits you?’
‘Course he does. Even more than Pa does. But we’ll be as big as him one day, me and Barty, and then we’ll see,’ he added, darkly.
‘Oh, you and Barty are going to set up on your own, are you?’ Alys tried to speak lightly.
‘Yep. Me and him, we’ll have a nice house, and Joanie and Ada can live there with us, and we’ll all be fine.’
‘And what will you all do? Will you have fields to work in?’
‘Barty doesn’t know what he’s going to do yet, but that’s all right ’cos he’s only little. But I’m going to be a steward, and have a nice house like what Master William’s got.’
Alys had to admire his ambition.
But his face had fallen again. ‘I mean, like what Master William had. Before …’ He tailed off.
They had reached the church. Alys gave his hand a final squeeze. ‘Try not to worry too much, Wulfric. I’m sure everything will be fine.’
He was unsure. ‘You think so?’
‘Yes.’
She tried to give him a reassuring smile. She wasn’t sure it came out right.
‘Mistress?’
‘Yes?’
‘What does “presentable” mean?’
Now she smiled properly. He ran in ahead of her, and then she was, without warning, struck by a burst of feeling for her own little brothers. How she missed them! Wulfric would be about the same age as Randal, she supposed. How were they faring without her back in Lincoln? But that was a worry for another day.
She took a moment to adjust her eyes as she entered, but the day outside was so dull, and the church lit by candles, that there was hardly any difference.
Edwin came forward to greet her, taking both her hands in his. He looked weak and shaky.
There was a table set up, but he led her away from it so they could sit together on the bench at the side.
‘I wanted to get William to sit on this bench, you know,’ she said, noticing and then averting her eyes from the shrouded figure.
‘Did you?’
‘Yes. When we were at Mass on Sunday. He looked unsteady on his feet, but I knew he wouldn’t move to sit with the old folk.’
‘No, he wouldn’t. He’d never admit to such weakness.’
They sat in silence for a few moments before Alys spoke. ‘Would it help if I told you what happened this morning? When we … found him?’
‘Yes. But wait, I have something to tell you first.’
He related what he had learned about Gyrth. She was struck by how stupid she’d been, both in not realising that the blood on his hands couldn’t have come from the pig-slaughtering, and in not telling Edwin about the episode sooner.
He waved away her apologies. ‘It’s fine. But as to this morning: tell me everything you can remember.’
She ran through all that she had thought of, from the moment of her waking, to them finding the body, and all that she could remember of who had been there and who hadn’t.
‘But you’re not sure whether Crispin was there or not?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve been trying and trying to recall when I first saw him, and all I can say is I didn’t notice him until he spoke, but I can’t swear to whether he was there before that or not.’
He paused before speaking. ‘But he does sometimes come and go from the castle at odd hours, to see his mother.’ He looked over his shoulder, but Agnes was nowhere to be seen; the only other living creatures in the church were Wulfric and the sergeant-at-arms, who was doing his best not to eavesdrop.
Alys was shocked. ‘But Crispin wouldn’t … I mean, he’s been protecting us! And he seems to think very highly of Cecily.’
Edwin put the heel of his hand to his forehead, the way he did when he had a headache. ‘This is what it does to you.’
‘What?’
‘The constant … suspicion. For months I’ve been trying to find criminals and murderers, and it makes you lose your trust in everyone. Why in the Lord’s name should I suspect Crispin of anything, when he’s always been so friendly, so good to me? But others have been friendly and then turned out to be … I’m not sure I can stand it any longer.’
There was another silence, but he had his thinking face on, so this time Alys didn’t interrupt.
‘You believe I should talk to Young Robin, don’t you?’ he asked with a suddenness that made her jump.
‘How did you – I mean, what?’
‘I’m not blind, Alys, and nor am I stupid. I’ve known him since we were boys, and I know what he’s like. I’ve got a fair idea of what must have happened the other day, and I’m only upset that you didn’t think to tell me about it.’
She didn’t know what to say. But one thing had to be made clear. ‘Edwin, he didn’t – I mean, I got away before he could –’
‘I know. Otherwise, do you think he’d still be walking around? But I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to look after you.’ He traced his finger over the scrape on her knuckle. ‘Still, it looks like you can look after yourself.’
‘I don’t think he’s ever met a girl who was brought up in a big city.’ She remembered his hands on her, and then – with some satisfaction that she couldn’t quite overcome – the feel of his nose crunching under her hand. ‘But I didn’t get this from hitting him. It’s on the wrong hand, and the wrong place.’
He looked confused.
‘What I mean is, I – or any woman – couldn’t punch a man hard enough to keep him away. And I certainly wouldn’t do it with my left hand. Instead, what I was always taught to do was to shoot the heel of my hand forward to hit him hard on the nose.’ She demonstrated with her right hand. ‘Even if you don’t break it, it gives him enough of a shock that he’s off his guard, so you can run. Or,’ – again the hint of gloating, which wasn’t becoming, she knew – ‘so you can use your knee to teach him a lesson, and then run.’
She almost laughed as she saw the way her husband was looking at her. ‘As you say, I can look after myself. And as to this,’ she held up her injured hand, ‘this was just from hitting it on the side of a tree as I ran away.’
‘Oh, I do love you.’
She felt the tears spring to her eyes. ‘And I you.’
‘And I will talk to him. About the murders, I mean.’
‘Good.’
‘But I will try my hardest not to pin blame on him if he didn’t do it. It’s tempting, after what he tried to do to you –’
‘And what he’s no doubt done to other girls.’
‘– and what he’s no doubt done to other girls, but hanging him for a crime he didn’t commit would be murder, just as someone wants to do to Denis.’
She didn’t say it. She couldn’t say it.
But he did. ‘And it’s what someone wants to do to me.’
Chapter Twelve
Wulfric came back with Young Robin, pointing him forward before running outside again.
‘He’s off t
o fetch Father – he’s up at the masons’ camp. Because some of us have got work to do.’
Edwin knew he was going to get angry during the course of the forthcoming conversation, and he was glad that Alys had left before it started.
He folded his arms. ‘We’ll wait.’
The silence lengthened.
Everard, who had evidently done a good job of not overhearing Edwin’s conversation with Alys, and who no doubt felt that this was just going to be another chat about what Young Robin might have seen, decided to break the ice.
‘What happened to your face?’
‘Nothing. Just a work accident.’
He met Everard’s eye as he spoke, but Edwin observed his fingers twitching slightly, and wondered if they did that every time he told a lie.
Young Robin didn’t add anything, and Everard had run out of conversational gambits. They waited in a strained silence until sounds were heard outside.
‘Don’t tell me what to do, boy, or you’ll know about it,’ growled Robin as he came in. ‘Don’t care who you think you’re working for, you’re still my …’ He stopped as he saw Edwin and Everard facing him from behind the table. He already had his hat in his hand – the automatic reaction of one who had been entering the same church all his life – and Edwin saw him clench it as he also noticed William’s shrouded body.
‘Tell me where you were on the night Ivo died, both of you.’ He might as well go on the offensive while Robin was still off his guard.
But it was Young Robin who answered. ‘At home. Where else would we be?’
Edwin looked enquiringly at Robin.
‘Like we are every night, Father,’ continued Young Robin, with a little too much emphasis. ‘I was at home all night, wasn’t I, and you saw me there?’
Robin recovered. ‘Yes, of course he was. And I – I’ve got children to watch over, haven’t I?’
Edwin had seen Young Robin’s fingers give that same little twitch, but that wasn’t proof positive that he was lying, so he left it for now.