by C. B. Hanley
There was probably an opening there to ask, but Edwin didn’t yet feel comfortable enough in his position as stepson to enter it, so he said nothing.
‘In hindsight it was a mistake giving him his first command in a place where men have known him since he was a little boy. It’s always difficult to exert authority in circumstances like that.’
Edwin had plenty of thoughts on that subject himself, but he kept them to himself.
‘Anyway, we don’t want him going back to his manor and sitting there doing nothing. I’ve told him I’ll ask the lord earl if he can be sent to one of the other estates, but he said he had “other plans”. The cheek of the boy!’
Edwin smiled at the knight’s apparent lack of awareness. ‘Maybe it would help him, Sir Geoffrey, if you didn’t keep calling him “the boy”.’
The knight opened his mouth to bark out a retort to such impudence, but it died on his lips and he laughed. ‘You’re right.’ He clapped Edwin on the back. ‘I think we’re going to get on all right.’
They had reached the outer ward. It was perhaps a little less busy than usual, with a few groups of men standing about talking, but there was still enough bustle to make it feel normal. Edwin tried not to smile at the sight of Jack Jackson raking the stinking muck out of the kennels.
They were drawn to the bright fire of the forge, where Crispin was busy at work. He used his tongs to hold up a glowing horseshoe, examined it, put it on the anvil and started hammering again.
Piled up under the smithy roof, to keep them dry, were a dozen or so of the castle weapons. Sir Geoffrey indicated them to Edwin. ‘The state of those – don’t think anyone’s taken proper care of them while I’ve been away. But he won’t have time to sharpen them today, I suppose. He hasn’t had an apprentice since that other young fellow left him last year, has he?’
‘No.’ They drew nearer to the forge and held out their hands to the heat. Crispin saw them and nodded, but didn’t stop working. Edwin listened to the rhythmic hammering.
‘So, suspected everyone, did you?’ said Sir Geoffrey, returning to their previous conversation.
‘To start with. But then I had to apply some sort of logic or I’d never get anywhere.’ Edwin watched the huge muscles in the smith’s arms as he worked, and pointed. ‘If Crispin had hit someone with a hammer, he’d have no head left, so it couldn’t have been him. And Father Ignatius might even have been angry enough about people starving to have it out with Ivo, but if he’d killed anybody it would have been written all over his face.’ He cleared his throat and wished he’d brought some more of the ale and honey with him. ‘So that gave me two men I could trust. But as to the rest?’ He shrugged. ‘It was like madness. Like being caught in a nightmare.’
‘Small communities can get like that, especially in the winter.’
‘Yes. And of course everyone had secrets, and nobody wanted to say anything for fear of being found out, even if what they were trying to hide had nothing to do with the murders. But that made it all the more difficult.’
He’d said a little more than he was intending to, but Sir Geoffrey did no more than murmur his assent, so Edwin was saved from having to decide whether to give away any of those secrets. In most cases it wasn’t his business, so he was glad not to.
After a few more moments staring at the forge, Sir Geoffrey asked, ‘What about the fire?’
Edwin grimaced. ‘I’d like to think it was an accident, that nobody could have done something so dangerous, but it’s too much of a coincidence. I think we can probably lay that at Robin’s door as well – he took extreme measures to get rid of the masons once he realised his attempts to blame them weren’t having the success he hoped.’
Sir Geoffrey spoke with some vehemence. ‘He’d better be dead already, or I’ll make him live long enough to regret it.’
Edwin felt tiredness begin to wash over him again, and he didn’t want to think about death. ‘I should go home.’
That got the knight’s attention. ‘Home? You mean, to the cottage?’
‘Where else would I mean?’
‘Is the village your home any more? Really? Or are you more welcome here?’ He turned to look at Edwin properly. ‘Your lady mother is moving up here. Why do you and Alys not do the same? You’re the lord earl’s man and my family, so we could easily find household quarters for you. And your mother would be glad both of you and of the female company, I expect.’
Edwin was caught off guard. ‘I’ll think about it,’ was all he could manage.
Sir Geoffrey gave him a look of sympathy. ‘All right. You’ve had quite a day, I know, so off with you and we can talk more tomorrow.’ Another clap on the back and he was on his way to the inner ward.
Edwin nodded at Crispin and drifted away from the forge, back towards the outer gate. It was still only early in the evening, but almost completely dark, and the thought of comforting food, fire and company at home was pulling at him. And he realised that despite the events of the last few days and weeks, the cottage was still the first place that came into his mind when he thought about ‘home’. For now, anyway.
So acute was his sense of danger at the moment that he knew he was being watched as soon as he entered the village. He slowed, putting his hand to his belt before realising that he had not yet recovered either his dagger or his eating knife.
He tried to appear casual while looking surreptitiously around him. There was some light spilling out on to the street, for most houses had their fires lit, and their doors and shutters were not all well fitted. But that meant that the shadows were even darker, and although he could hear scurrying footsteps, he could see nothing.
He bent as if to attend to his boot, groping round to see if he could find a stick or a stone – anything – that he might be able to use to defend himself with.
Then he heard a sniff, and was filled with relief, and not a little irritation. ‘You can come out now, Hal.’
The boy appeared from the gap between two houses and sidled forward nervously.
‘Stand there, where I can see you.’ Edwin pointed to a spear of light that ran along the ground. ‘Now, what is it?’
Hal’s voice was shaking. ‘It’s really you, Master Edwin? Not a ghost?’
Edwin’s annoyance dissipated at the tone. ‘Yes, it’s me. And I’m alive, I can assure you.’
Hal couldn’t hold back a sob. ‘I didn’t mean to, Master Edwin, it was all my fault, what with what I said at the trial, and then I thought you’d get out of it, but we all got called along to watch and they were going to hang you, and I thought …’ the rest of the words dissolved into tears.
Edwin took a step towards him, but then stopped as he saw the boy take a step back. ‘It’s all right, really it is.’
There was a loud sniff. ‘Really?’
‘You told the truth, and that was the right thing to do.’ He thought of all the lies and half-truths he’d had to wade through during the last week. ‘It’s always the best thing to do.’
‘So – you forgive me, then?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive, Hal, but if you want my forgiveness then you have it.’
‘Thank you, Master.’
‘Now, you’d better get home. And I don’t think I’m your master any more, am I?’
‘I can ask Pa if he’ll let me,’ came the hopeful reply. And then, ‘But he probably won’t. He says now I’m bigger I can help him, and we’ll get more money if it’s Ned that goes out labouring. I’d rather be with you, I would, really!’
Edwin wanted to deal with this, knew it would help the boy if he could, but he was just too tired. But as he opened his mouth to spout some platitude or other, a thought struck him. ‘Your brother Ned, he’s big and strong, isn’t he?’
‘Like an ox, Pa says. And much stronger than I’ll ever be, he says that too.’ He sounded mournful.
Edwin thought of the bright forge, of the incessant lifting and falling of the heavy hammers. Of the status of the smith in the community. ‘We
ll, maybe we can get him something better than labouring, something that will help you all as you go along.’
‘What?’
It was cold and raining, and Edwin didn’t know how much longer he could stay upright and awake. ‘Never mind. Leave it with me. In the meantime, get yourself home before your mother wonders where you’ve got to.’
He watched Hal pick his way along the street until he was lost in the shadows, and then took the familiar way home.
As he opened the door, he could smell the pottage and see the welcome sights of the fire and his wife. ‘Mother and Cecily?’
‘Cecily has gone home – she insisted. And Sir Geoffrey sent a man to escort your mother up to the castle.’
He laid his damp cloak over the kist. Must sort that peg out. He looked at her over the flames. ‘Just us, then?’
‘Just us.’
Alys watched as Avice came out of the carpenter’s cottage, followed by Edwin, Sir Geoffrey and Sir Roger. They all paused a few moments to talk, the soggy morning light slanting over them, and then the two knights turned in the direction of the castle while Edwin came over to her.
‘Did she …?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. Everything she said confirmed what I’d thought.’
‘Good.’
‘And I won’t make the same mistake again: I’ll remind myself to talk to more women from now on.’
‘Will she be in trouble?’
‘No. She should be, really – for soliciting as much as anything – but of course she had to do what her father said. And what purpose would it serve to punish her more? She’s going to have her work cut out as it is.’
‘And the rest of them?’
‘They seem to have known nothing about it. The little ones didn’t, of course, but I’m not sure about Young Robin. But there’s no evidence, and I can’t go around accusing him or punishing him just because I say so, otherwise I’d be as bad as everybody else, wouldn’t I?’ He paused. ‘I’d like to have brought him to justice for … you know. But it would just be your word against his.’
‘It’s all right.’ She kissed him, and was then distracted by a sight over his shoulder. She gripped his arm. ‘Look.’
Four of the garrison were coming from the direction of the river, carrying a litter that was fashioned from poles and ropes. Lying on it was a corpse.
Alys had no desire to move closer, but she watched Edwin do so. He looked down at the body, nodded to the men and pointed towards the church. Others had by now noticed and small knots of people chatted and craned their necks to see, but without getting too close. Edwin said something to one of the soldiers, then took his place at the back corner of the litter while the man hurried off in the direction of the castle.
Robin’s children, perhaps alerted by the exclamations, had all come out of the cottage. The older ones looked grim. Little Barty was as unconcerned as ever, too small even to understand what was happening, but Wulfric, the two younger girls and some of the other smaller boys all had tears on their faces.
Cecily had appeared next to Alys. She stood in silence as the little procession passed through the church door and out of sight, and then turned on her heel and disappeared again. A movement caught Alys’s eye: Wulfric had made as if to run after her, but he was pulled back by one of the Berts.
It wasn’t long before Sir Geoffrey and the sheriff appeared. They too entered the church, and Alys – along with several others – drifted closer to the open doorway.
‘I say hang the corpse and leave it there, as a warning.’ That was Neville, of course.
‘Barbaric!’ Father Ignatius.
‘Hmm.’ And that was Sir Geoffrey. Surely he couldn’t be considering something so grotesque? And why didn’t Edwin say anything? Although – she reminded herself – he could hardly want to exchange many words with the man who had tried to hang him yesterday.
She strained her ears. She could hear Edwin now, talking in a half-whisper. She caught the words ‘Counterproductive … together … children.’ Oh Lord, yes – how could those little ones possibly live with the sight of their father’s body swinging from a tree?
Sir Geoffrey added his voice to the priest’s in resisting the sheriff’s idea, and eventually Neville made an exasperated noise. ‘Very well. But you can hardly bury him in the churchyard.’
‘Of course not.’ That was Father Ignatius again. ‘He’s a confessed murderer and a suicide. We’ll bury him at the crossroads, but at least he’ll be in the ground and the village will be able to forget him.’
‘And so,’ said the sheriff in an irritated tone, ‘I’ve come all the way here for nothing.’
‘No you haven’t.’ That was Edwin, and Alys heard the slight pause as the sheriff reacted to being thus addressed.
‘Your meaning?’
‘You’ve come to see justice done, and you have. The man who murdered Ivo and William has been identified without doubt, and here he lies, dead.’
There was a short silence. Alys was so sure of what Edwin was thinking that she could almost hear it, but of course he wouldn’t say it out loud. So get out and leave us all alone.
‘I will include this information in my report – along with the fact that Earl Warenne’s lands are lawless and out of control.’ But that was a puny threat; even Alys recognised it, especially when she heard Sir Geoffrey’s barely hidden derision.
‘Get out, Neville. Get back to York and don’t think you can harm a Warenne.’
‘The Nevilles will be the equal of the Warennes one day, you mark it.’ The sheriff must have known that he was losing the argument if he had to resort to such childish insults, so he said no more. Alys heard him coming towards the door; she moved back, along with everyone else who had been listening and who now tried to make it look as though they were standing around the church porch purely by chance.
As he stalked past them, Alys returned her attention to those inside.
‘He’s not fit to lie here, not next to William.’ That was Sir Geoffrey again.
‘They won’t be together for long,’ said Father Ignatius. We’ll inter William this afternoon, and then I’ll deal with this poor unshriven soul after dark tonight, if you will lend me the men to carry and dig.’
‘Very well. And may God forgive him, because nobody else will.’
The whole of Conisbrough, village and castle alike, turned out for the burial of William Steward. The rain held off for a while, but the ground was soft and wet, the graveside muddy as so many people stood around it.
Edwin watched as the shrouded form was lowered into the earth. William had been his uncle, his friend, a constant fixture in his life. Many was the afternoon he’d spent in the old office, hiding from the world while he immersed himself in the accounts; and long before that, some of his earliest memories included William breaking the tip off a cone of sugar to keep him quiet as he sat under the table with his alphabet.
The body reached its final resting place, and Father Ignatius began to intone the familiar Latin. Edwin stared straight ahead, trying not to let the tears fall, as he reflected on how he might have prevented such a needless death. Another one. To his right, Sir Geoffrey stood lance-straight, and to his left Alys and his mother had their arms around Cecily, all of them weeping.
As the service concluded, Father Ignatius threw the first handful of earth back into the grave. Others did the same, including Richard Cook, with whom William had engaged in a running feud in life. He didn’t often emerge from his kingdom in the kitchens, but tonight’s meal at the castle was less important than paying his respects. After he had cast his soil he nodded briefly at Cecily before turning away, rubbing his eyes.
Eventually the crowd grew thinner, and the two men who helped out the priest when graves needed digging stepped forward. They began to shovel the earth, and soon the body was covered.
As well as their immediate family circle, a few others still dawdled. One of them was Wulfric, who was sidling up to Cecily as though approaching a raging fire.
He stopped a few yards from her and waited to be noticed.
Alys saw him and pointed him out. Cecily’s face hardened, and she looked down as he threw himself to his knees and grasped at the hem of her gown, tears making tracks in the dirt on his face. ‘I’m so sorry, Mistress. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was him, and I couldn’t … I mean, I would have … if I’d known …’ the rest was drowned out in sobs.
Even in the depths of her bereavement, Cecily couldn’t stand out against that. She helped him to rise, saying that she knew it wasn’t his fault, before she finally took him in an embrace and cried into the top of his head.
Edwin turned away. A few yards away, on the other side of the grave, Osmund was trying to pull Gyrth away, but the youth was making distressed noises and refusing to move. Osmund looked apologetically at them and Edwin made a calming gesture to show him it was all right. The reeve, who was just leaving, patted Osmund on the shoulder. ‘It’s fine. He’s a good lad, does his work well, and we all know God made him that way for a reason.’ Edwin saw Osmund flinch, and he winced on his behalf, but said nothing. It wasn’t his secret to tell.
And speaking of secrets, over the churchyard fence he could see Aelfrith, who had walked in for the funeral, chatting to a few of the young men his own age. A short distance away stood a gaggle of admiring girls, Rosa among them. But Edwin certainly wasn’t going to get involved in that: he’d rather investigate ten crimes than have to wade into complicated matters of the heart.
Mother and Sir Geoffrey were leaving, and Cecily had finished talking to Wulfric; the boy wasn’t exactly skipping as he left, but he certainly looked happier than he had done earlier.
Edwin turned to Cecily. ‘So, what now? Will you go home, or come back with us for a while?’
Cecily took a deep breath. ‘I’m on my way home, but only to pick up my salves. Then I’m away to the masons’ camp – there’s Alban to see to, and I’d like to check on Denis as well.’