by C. B. Hanley
And then he found he could just about get to his feet, and he could stagger the few paces to where Denis was still semi-prostrate, surrounded by his fellow masons. They parted to let Edwin through, and he crouched.
‘You’re alive, my friend,’ he managed to whisper to the Frenchman.
Denis tried to reply, but after a painful croak he merely pointed to the deep weal around his crushed throat. He’d been hanging longer than Edwin, and was a heavier man – he was lucky to be alive.
Some messages could be conveyed without words; with the help of his comrades Denis got to his feet and held out his hand to Edwin. And as Edwin took it he found himself engulfed in a rough embrace, and after that he was patted on the back by all the masons.
Father Ignatius was pushing his way through the crowd to them. He was a welcome sight, not only for the blessing he was already sketching in the air, but also for the skin of wine he was holding out.
Edwin gestured that he should pass it first to Denis, and he watched as the mason took a careful sip, choked, breathed in, took another swig, swallowed some of it, gasped, and ended up with the rest dripping from his chin. But he was smiling, and he caught Edwin in another tearful embrace that Edwin returned with overwhelming feeling.
Then Edwin stepped back in silence as Denis was borne away by his friends; Philippe stopped to shake his hand with fervent thanks, and then they were gone. They could hardly be blamed for not wanting to mingle with the villagers, after everything that had happened.
While all this had been going on, Sir Geoffrey had been snapping out orders. Everard and his men were strung out along the river bank looking for any sign of Robin, but none was to be seen. Young Robin and his brothers were bunched together with a couple of the garrison guarding them, but they were unhurt. The remaining villagers were still lingering, in little knots. Edwin spotted Hal, who half-raised a hand before putting it down again before his father could see. Edwin nodded at him firmly, hoping that the boy would understand his thanks and forgiveness.
Sir Geoffrey was addressing the sheriff. ‘You will need to stay until we find him or his body. My men will accompany you back to the castle and see that you are comfortable.’
And to the surprise of any who didn’t know Sir Geoffrey well, the sheriff – he who had seemed so powerful, so oppressive – simply gave a stiff nod and moved off.
Sir Geoffrey paused while he took stock of those around him. ‘You’ – this to Young Robin – ‘I will not punish sons for the sins of their father, but we will hear the truth of this. Get back home and stay there until I say otherwise. I will look very seriously on any attempt to disobey, do you understand?’
They did.
Then he turned to the rest of the villagers. ‘The Lady Anne’ – he continued over the top of their murmurs of surprise at hearing Mother so described – ‘will take her family back to the village, and I suggest you all do the same, or get about your normal work.’ He paused. ‘Needless to say, anyone who offers trouble or offence to my wife, or my stepson or daughter, will answer to me.’
He didn’t need to say anything else. Edwin started to move off, hearing Sir Geoffrey address the only man left with him, Sir Roger. ‘And you and I need to talk.’
Edwin might have a crushed throat and pain in his hands, and he might have only narrowly escaped death, but he was certain he would prefer that to being in Sir Roger’s place just now.
It was later. Edwin wasn’t sure how much later, because the first thing he’d done when he reached the cottage was fall on to the bed and into a deep sleep.
When he awoke he remained lying down, motionless. He was in his own bed, in his own home. The chamber door was shut, but he could hear female voices in the cottage’s main space, and he smiled to himself as he listened to them and to the gentle sound of the rain pattering on the thatch.
After some time he heard a knock at the outside door and he forced himself to get up; he entered the main room from one end just as Sir Geoffrey came in at the other. The knight – Edwin still couldn’t frame the word ‘stepfather’ even in his head, never mind out loud – was dripping, and the fire sizzled as he took off his cloak, spraying droplets.
Alys, Anne and Cecily had been sitting around the fire, tending something in the pot that predictably smelled delicious. Now Sir Geoffrey moved the chair towards the warmth; to Edwin’s surprise he didn’t sit in it but gestured to him, while he pulled up another stool for himself and stretched out his legs. His boots began to steam.
‘I’ve had the bones of it from Sir Roger already, so you needn’t go through all that, or …’ with a look at the wan Cecily ‘… too much detail about the deaths. But I do want to know who and how, and in the Lord’s name why.’
Edwin opened his mouth and croaked.
Alys took up a jug that had been warming near the fire and poured some of the contents into a cup, which she passed to him. He sniffed.
‘Warm ale with honey, and Cecily has put willow bark in it for the pain.’
He took a tiny sip and felt the soothing liquid pass down through his throat. He took another, and tried breathing in through his mouth. It was less painful than before.
It still wasn’t exactly comfortable to talk, but he could at least form the words, and he tried to be as brief as possible in between taking more draughts.
‘It was all because I was looking at it the wrong way round.’ Sip.
They were confused, but Alys had a thought. ‘Do you mean, because you were looking for someone who favoured his left hand? Like we thought to start with?’
Edwin nodded. ‘Partly. But it was more than that. I was looking for the murderer of Ivo, and wondering why the masons should be blamed for it.’
He looked at them over the rim of the cup, realising he was going to have to explain in more detail. ‘But it was the wrong way round, don’t you see? I didn’t either at first, but what I should have been asking myself was why someone wanted to pin a crime on the masons.’
They were still bemused, and his throat was hurting again. ‘I’ll explain more another day, but for now: Robin was terrified that he’d end up out of business as the masons did more and more – everyone kept joking to him that there would be no need for carpenters if everything was built of stone. And on top of that, they’d even started doing some of their own woodwork.’
Anne was shaking her head. ‘Surely nobody would kill for that?’
Sir Geoffrey looked at her fondly. ‘You’d think not, but men will kill for reasons that seem mad to anyone else. Trust me.’ He nodded to Edwin. ‘Carry on.’
‘It does seem mad. But he’s got all those children to feed, he’s always desperate for money, and I think he just let it worry away at him. And as the worry grew, so did the thought that he could get rid of them in some way.’
Something caught in his throat; he held up a hand and made them wait until he could form more words. ‘But there was no point getting rid of just one individual, and he could hardly kill them all, so instead he would have them blamed for something and hope they’d all get turned off.’
He took another sip as they all looked at him expectantly. ‘But it would have to be murder, for they’d hardly get hanged or sent away for anything less – and he couldn’t bring himself to murder anyone he knew well.’
Cecily buried her face in her apron and Edwin winced. ‘I’m so sorry. Shall I stop?’
‘No, no – carry on. I want to know.’ She wiped her face and held Mother’s hand more tightly.
‘All right, but tell me if it gets too much. Then came Ivo’s announcement that everyone in the village would have to pay to use a new bread oven.’
Sir Geoffrey interrupted with a derisive noise. ‘Idiot man. That won’t be happening, I can tell you.’
‘So this threw him into more of a panic – how was he going to pay for enough bread for his family? – but it also gave him the opportunity. Ivo was already unpopular with the masons, and now everyone else hated him too. Who better to kill? Nobody w
ould miss him. All he had to do was make it look like one of the masons did it.’
His throat was on fire, so he took a deep draught and motioned to Alys. ‘You do the next bit.’
Alys looked surprised, but she took up the tale. ‘Stop me if I get anything wrong. Robin saw Denis having an argument with Ivo, and so did many others. Then he got hold of Denis’s hammer – I’m not sure whether it really was just lost or whether he stole it?’
Edwin saw her looking at him but he couldn’t speak again just now so he gestured to her to carry on.
‘But that’s not important. He had the hammer. He made an agreement with Ivo for him to come down to the village at night to … ah …’ she blushed, ‘to see Avice, and then he lay in wait. He hit Ivo on the head with the hammer.’
She was about to move on when Edwin held up a finger. ‘Don’t forget.’ He waved his left hand.
‘Robin knew that Denis held his hammer in his left hand. So he had to make sure he did the same.’
‘Ah.’ Edwin had wondered whether anyone else would follow his line of reasoning. After all, it had only occurred to him just as the noose was tightening around his neck. He looked at Alys and smiled, willing her to work it out.
He saw realisation dawn. ‘Oh, of course!’ She held up her barked knuckle for all to see. ‘That’s why my hand reminded you of something.’
Sir Geoffrey intervened. ‘This is all very interesting, but would you have the goodness to explain what in the Lord’s name you’re talking about?’
Edwin took another swig and gestured for Alys to continue. The cup was empty so he poured himself some more while she was talking.
‘Robin didn’t hold the hammer in his left hand. Maybe he didn’t think he could hit hard enough like that. No – he held it in his right hand and struck it the other way’ – she mimed a backhand swipe – ‘and that was a more familiar movement for him to make because that’s the way he hits his children.’ She sat back.
‘Exactly,’ Edwin managed. ‘Then he made sure he dropped the hammer there. It was supposed to be found with the body, but he didn’t know that two other people would go in the house before the hue and cry was raised.’
‘Others?’ Sir Geoffrey leaned forward. ‘I knew of no others. Do I need to order more arrests?’
Edwin shook his head. ‘No. Or at least, I don’t think so. First was Barty, Robin’s youngest son. He was up early and he just wandered over to look at the building work. He saw the body but he was more interested in the hammer, which he took to play with. So by the time was body was properly discovered, it wasn’t there and Robin had his work cut out to blame the masons. And he panicked when we found out that Barty had it.’
‘But nobody would blame such a small child for murder?’ said Anne.
‘No, of course not. Which was why I wondered why Robin’s fear about it was so extreme – until I realised he was afraid for himself, not for Barty.’
He had to pause after such a long speech. But, equally, he had to keep going. ‘Then came Gyrth – you know him, the swineherd?’
‘The simpleton boy?’
‘Yes. I don’t know what made him go in there – maybe one of the pigs smelled the blood and ran away from him, or maybe he saw Barty coming out and wondered what was going on. But he saw the body. And you know what he’s like around blood. He touched Ivo out of curiosity and then when he saw the blood on his hand he ran away.’
‘And then,’ picked up Alys, hearing Edwin’s voice growing hoarse again, ‘I saw him. I thought he’d just got blood on his hands from the slaughtering, so I helped him wash it off.’ She looked at Edwin. ‘Sorry. If I’d realised sooner I might have been more help.’
Sir Geoffrey nodded to himself as he took it all in.
‘And so,’ said Cecily, ‘to William. It’s all right,’ she added, as Edwin began to shake his head, ‘go on.’
Edwin glanced at his mother, who nodded. ‘Very well. In short, William said he’d help me by talking to some of the men from the village. And where would he start except with his friend Robin? He would know all the gossip because people stop to talk at his workshop. I’m sure William didn’t really suspect him – he just wanted to ask him what he knew – but Robin panicked. He said he’d walk back to the castle with William, maybe to talk to me. William probably didn’t want to go all the way back up, what with his pain, but he would never have said so, not to anyone except Cecily. He wouldn’t even admit it to Alys in church the other day.’
‘Stubborn old fool,’ said Cecily, lovingly.
‘And then when they passed that deep puddle, Robin tripped him up and held his head under until he drowned.’
The three women were in tears, and Edwin felt a burning in his own eyes at the thought of the awful last moments of the man who’d been his uncle and friend. ‘You already know, don’t you,’ he said gently to Cecily, ‘that it can’t have been an accident? The footprint …’
Cecily covered her face again as she nodded.
Edwin’s voice really wasn’t going to last much longer. ‘And that’s when Robin realised the enormity of what he’d done. It was after that that he started to get really nervous.’
Cecily jerked her head up in anger. ‘Nervous? He should be. If he comes back alive then I’ll hang him with my own hands.’
Edwin, too, found it impossible to forgive or to understand Robin. There were some very dark thoughts indeed in that man’s head. He’d killed Ivo – a man nobody liked, but a man innocent of crime nonetheless – for his own purposes. He’d murdered his friend of many years’ standing in cold blood. He’d stood by while both Denis and then Edwin were sentenced to death – he’d even stood by while they were hanged. And an even worse idea started to worm its way in. Robin was a widower. Once he’d made Alys a widow, would he try to … the idea made Edwin feel sick.
‘But look,’ said Sir Geoffrey. ‘This is all plausible and convincing, but it’s only conjecture. There’s nobody who can confirm or deny any of it, unless by some chance Robin survived the river.’
‘There is.’ Edwin spoke with conviction.
‘I don’t think you’re going to get much out of Young Robin, nor out of his other sons either. He’ll be tight-lipped about his father, and he didn’t seem to know much about it anyway.’
‘Oh, you’re right about that.’ Edwin’s eyes met Alys’s. ‘But Robin also has a daughter.’
Chapter Fifteen
Sir Geoffrey got up to leave. Edwin watched as his mother helped him on with his cloak, and then received a jolt as she said she would follow later. Of course; for her, ‘home’ was now either the castle or Sir Geoffrey’s manor, not this cottage.
While she was busy fastening the clasp under his chin, Sir Geoffrey looked at Edwin and rolled his eyes towards the door.
‘I’ll walk with you,’ croaked Edwin, taking the hint.
The earlier rain had subsided into a gentler drizzle, and as they made their way down the street Edwin pushed back his hood to feel the air and the drops on his face. He was alive. Carefully, he sucked in some of the evening air through his mouth, and was pleased to find that he could feel it reaching his chest; the crushing of his throat was not going to be permanent.
They said little as they took the path up to the castle. The afternoon was drawing in, but they could still easily see their way – and the deep puddle in its crater in the road. Edwin stopped, and Sir Geoffrey did likewise.
‘Is this where it happened?’
Edwin nodded.
The knight crossed himself. ‘Requiescat in pace. He was a good man, and one I’d known a long time.’
They stood in silence for a moment until Sir Geoffrey spoke again. ‘Roger should have sorted this out.’
‘What, the hole in the road?’
‘No – I mean – well, yes, that too. If he’d been paying proper attention he’d have sent a working party to fill it in before it got to that state – it doesn’t reflect well on the lord earl to have his road in disrepair. But I meant
…’ he made a wide gesture. ‘Everything. And word flies about, you know – I’d already heard something of it last week, which is why we cut short our stay. We were already on the way back when your messenger reached us with word of William’s death.’
That would explain how they were able to arrive with such miraculous timing, at least. Edwin had thought that he was being protected by the lord, but in fact it was, ironically, down to Sir Roger’s problems. ‘He’s been …’ Edwin didn’t know how much to say, or indeed how much he would be able to say. ‘He’s been different since he’s been here this time. Since we were on the south coast, I suppose.’
Sir Geoffrey scratched his beard. ‘I see that now. And I should have seen it before, but there was little time between him getting here and me leaving.’ He sighed. ‘This is all my failure as much as his.’
‘Do you know, he’s been acting so oddly that I even suspected him for a while. All that disappearing off for hours at a time – I still don’t know where he was going. And then when Arnulf mentioned that he preferred to use his left hand …’
‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that. Terrible time I had with him when he was a lad, always wanting to hold his sword and shield the wrong way round, though we sorted him out eventually. But you must know he wouldn’t have done this?’
‘He certainly wouldn’t have killed William. But he was so angry with Ivo, and not for himself; it was for other people. His sense of justice. And with him being so changed as well, I just wondered if it might lead him to …’
Sir Geoffrey shook his head. ‘Never. Roger can kill, of course he can – you no doubt saw that yourself a few months back. But he’d do it openly, publicly, with a declared intent. Smashing a man’s head, in secret, in the dark? Never.’
‘You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. But everything was so strange and so horrible that it was difficult not to suspect everyone. After all, I’ve been fooled before by thinking “it couldn’t possibly be him”.’ His hand went to the thong around his neck.
Sir Geoffrey took one last look at the muddy water in the crater, crossed himself again and resumed walking. ‘Oh, he hasn’t done that badly, considering. He’ll learn from it. I made mistakes too when I was younger, when I had my first command.’