Peter nodded. ‘They came out … not together. Apart, but not very far apart.’
Edwin grew more excited. ‘Who were they?’
The words were halting, but the meaning sent a shiver through him.
‘The other visitor – the little man – the earl’s sister, and the priest.’
Edwin sat back in shock. This wasn’t what he had been expecting. What on earth had the three of them been doing in the keep during the night? Had they gone together, or separately? He needed to find out more about Walter, and it was now more imperative than ever that he find Father Ignatius. He rose and turned to leave, but was stopped by the small grubby hand still holding his sleeve. He looked down into the hollow eyes. First things first.
‘Stay here and I’ll bring you some food.’
Disbelief. The hand gripped harder.
Edwin hastened to reassure the boy. ‘Honestly, Peter, I’m not fooling you. You stay here while I go to see the steward’s wife: she is my aunt and will give me something if I ask for it, but if she knows it’s for you then it might be more difficult. I’ll come back as soon as I can.’ He slipped out of the stall, back towards the stable door, passing the two stalls where men were working, still concentrating on their horses. He had much to think about – those who had entered the keep, for a start, to say nothing of the missing knife, which was assuming an ever greater importance in his mind. Nobody would use their own knife to kill a man if they could use somebody else’s, surely – but had someone taken it and crept into the keep under cover of darkness? Was it one of the people Peter had seen, or could it have been someone else? And what had Berold seen? He hardly noticed where his feet were taking him as he walked up towards the inner gatehouse.
Peter looked miserably after him. He was hungry, he was cold, and he was frightened. So much had happened since the death of his mother and father, and none of it had been pleasant. He remembered their faces only vaguely. They hadn’t been the most loving of parents – his father had been wont to beat him when the mood took him, and his mother was always so tired – but they had been his, the only family he had since his little brother and sister had gone to heaven a number of years before. Since the day when his parents were buried in the frosty, hard ground, his life had been one of cold and misery. He stole to eat, for what else could he do? But worse than the hunger was the absolute sense of being alone. He had no one to speak to, no one to share anything with, no one to comfort him in his pain. His sole dealings with people involved a rough and impersonal kindness at best, a gruff word and a few scraps, or a curse and a blow at worst. He had no friends; he was utterly alone in the world. The previous night he had crept up, alone, into the inner ward, squeezing in through a tiny hole in the wall, and had found a lonely corner in which to hide, dark and unwelcoming, but at least out of the cold wind which swept the night. There he’d curled up until the first pre-dawn sounds came from the kitchen, and he’d crept away again, unnoticed, to begin another solitary and hungry day.
The tears welled up again and he cried, huge harsh sobs which racked his whole body. He’d hoped that Edwin’s kind face had heralded some food at least, but it looked as though he would sleep hungry again. Thinking of sleep, he looked at his surroundings. Here in the stall it was warm and dry, with straw to cover him. He’d seen a horse being taken out for some exercise earlier, so it would probably come back at some point, but until then, nobody knew he was here. If he stayed very quiet, perhaps he could hide under the straw and remain unnoticed even when the horse came back, and then he could share its warmth throughout the night. He lay down and burrowed into the straw.
Over in another stall, the groom who had been checking the hooves of the earl’s destrier stood up. The task was finished and he was away to his evening meal – his sweetheart would have saved him a few tasty scraps, knowing that he was too busy to come up to the hall. Before leaving he leaned over the barrier to the next stall, where he had heard someone else working, and was halfway through a friendly greeting when he realised who it was; he’d worked in the earl’s service for some time and recognised his household past and present. He stopped, aware that he might have sounded too familiar or given offence. ‘Beg pardon, my lord, I didn’t know it was you.’ He received a smile and a wave of forgiveness in return and left the stable, whistling.
Sir Roger straightened up from his horse, looked around the deserted stable, and moved quietly towards the stall in the corner.
When Edwin returned a short while later with bread and cheese, he was surprised to find Peter gone.
Chapter Nine
As the evening drew in, Robert and Martin were crossing the inner ward. Robert was eager to ask what had been discovered so far, but just as he opened his mouth, Simon suddenly pushed past him and ran at full pelt across the courtyard, seizing Father Ignatius by the arm. Startled at being thus assailed, the priest turned in fright to shake off his attacker, before realising who it was.
‘Yes, my son, what is it?’
Robert rushed forward and pulled Simon back, unclenching his fist from Father Ignatius’s sleeve, shocked that he should lay hands on a man of the cloth in such a manner. He gave the boy a clip round the ear, but half-heartedly, for he was more interested in the priest, who looked careworn and nervous, and was already trying to slip away. Martin whispered urgently in Robert’s ear that he should delay Father Ignatius while he fetched Edwin, and immediately Robert turned on what he hoped was his best charm, asking the priest to step inside with them for a few moments. Father Ignatius looked about him, fearfully, trying to demur, but Robert steered him slowly across the darkened yard towards the steward’s office. Once inside it was easy to make much of him, offering wine while Simon fetched a chair. Still, they couldn’t keep this up forever, so Robert hoped his friend would arrive soon. This might be his best chance to find out what Edwin had discovered so far.
Soon enough Edwin arrived – strangely, he was carrying some bread and cheese, which Simon eyed hungrily as soon as it was put down on the table – and greeted the priest.
‘Father, you must know that we’ve been searching for you all day, to ask you about what happened last night.’
Father Ignatius looked ill at ease. He was about to say something when Edwin forestalled him.
‘And please, Father, don’t tell me that you were abed the whole night and saw nothing, because you were seen entering the inner ward after darkness had fallen.’
Robert looked in surprise at his friend, taken aback by the new-found authority in his voice. He seemed to have become stronger in such a short space of time. But he didn’t dwell on the thought, for the priest was speaking.
‘I had not thought to lie to you, my son,’ he admonished, ‘for I was abroad that night. But I am not at liberty to speak of the events which befell me, or at least not until I have spoken with our lord the earl.’
He settled back, trying to look dignified, but Edwin’s reply was immediate. ‘You needn’t worry, Father, for I have already spoken with our lord. He knew I was looking for you and bade me say to you that you may tell me all, for the murder of the visiting earl will have serious consequences for all of us.’
Robert was impressed. He knew for a fact that Edwin hadn’t spoken with the earl since their brief conference at dawn that day, and the ease with which Edwin was lying – Edwin, who was never able to dissemble about anything! – was almost frightening. Only someone who knew him as well as Robert might recognise the significance of the restless hands, picking away at his fingernails, behind his back. Father Ignatius had no idea, and looked relieved.
‘Truly?’
Edwin nodded, and Robert took the hint and weighed into the conversation, agreeing with his friend.
Father Ignatius looked as though a great weight had been lifted off him. He took a sip of his wine and began to speak.
‘In truth, I am glad to own it, for I have been wandering afar all this day, seeking the Lord’s forgiveness. What I did last night put my immortal soul in
grave danger.’
Shocked, the four others in the room leaned forward to listen to the priest’s tale.
Adam tried to make himself invisible as he stood against the wall. After his return from the campsite he hadn’t really had anywhere else to go, so he’d followed the kindly knight back up into the keep, hoping he might be able to be of service to him in some small fashion. He didn’t appear to have a squire, so there was some hope there. From what he could see, David had been trailing round after their lord’s brother all day, so there seemed little chance that Adam would gain anything by following suit. Besides, the old knight was nicer to him.
But the knight had headed straight for the earl’s council chamber, and Adam felt somewhat embarrassed to be there. Trying to find a new lord was one thing, but disturbing such an important man was another. He had thought they might withdraw once the lady entered, but Sir Geoffrey had only looked enquiringly at the earl, who had not explicitly dismissed him. And so he stayed, and Adam couldn’t quite find the right moment to draw attention to himself by leaving, so he stayed too. He hoped he wouldn’t get in too much trouble. But so far his presence had not been remarked upon, and he hadn’t been thrown out; fortunately, as he already knew, squires weren’t really noticed by their betters until they were needed for something, at which time they were expected to be present and ready. But anyway, with any luck he could stay invisible until he could find a convenient opportunity to slip away without incurring the wrath of the earl.
However, he suspected that he would end up in real trouble once they realised how much he’d seen and heard.
The lady, whom he recognised as the earl’s sister, paced up and down the room. Eventually she stopped, burst into tears and flung herself into the earl’s arms.
‘Oh William!’ she wailed, ‘I don’t even know how to begin! There’s something I have to tell you …’ she dissolved into sobs.
Adam was surprised at how gently the earl cradled her in his arms, stroking her head and letting her weep herself out. He couldn’t imagine his lord ever doing anything remotely similar.
As her shaking subsided, the earl spoke.
‘Isabelle, my darling sister, it will be all right. There’s nothing to worry about.’
She raised her tear-stained face to him. ‘But William …’
He shushed her gently. ‘I said it would be all right. I think I know what you’re going to say.’
The lady Isabelle looked at him in surprise. ‘Please, William, let me speak. I can’t rest until I’ve told you everything.’
The earl nodded without speaking, and led her to a chair before pouring her some wine. She took a gulp and then began to speak.
‘You know that I’ve been … eager to marry again since I was widowed. You know, also, that I admire – or did admire – Walter de Courteville.’ She didn’t look at him, seemed afraid to meet his eye, and Adam wondered why. ‘Well, I – we – became impatient, and Walter devised a plan which he said would make everything end well. He sent a message to the parish priest, saying that you had decided that we should marry, but that under the circumstances – the impending campaign, the danger – you wished it to happen in secret. Then we would be in no danger while you were away, but if anything should happen to you, I would have a protector who would rule in your stead. I was not sure that Father Ignatius would agree – he must have thought it odd, for sure – but Walter persuaded him, and he was to meet us in the chapel in the keep at midnight. We thought that it would be less noticeable for him to come into the ward than for us to go out, to get to the church. That’s why it was easier to be in the guest chambers.’ She stopped and took another gulp from the goblet, her fingers clenched around the stem.
Adam hadn’t known his lord’s brother very well, but he knew enough to be unsurprised at such deviousness. If Lord Ralph had found out about this, there would have been a huge row, no doubt with cups flying and smashing everywhere. Adam shuddered simply thinking about it.
The lady was continuing. ‘… in the chapel … but Walter and the priest arrived soon after. And there we were m- m- married.’ She stopped and looked as though she was about to cry, but she took a great breath and carried on in a level tone. ‘Father Ignatius left us, and we went our separate ways back to our quarters. Walter said …’ she almost broke down again, but managed to continue, her voice shaking a little, ‘Walter said we shouldn’t consummate our union yet, that we should wait until a more opportune time. But since then, he’s refused to speak to me, and when I came upon him alone earlier he said that it had all been a mistake, that he never loved me at all. And now I don’t know what to do!’
Her composure finally cracked and the words spewed out in torrents. ‘I called him into my room, told him how much I loved him, but he only urged me to secrecy.’ Adam listened as she told her tale, and imagined the scene which had taken place between the two of them.
‘Isabelle,’ said Walter, ‘Isabelle, my sweet, this is madness! I must leave – we must wait a little longer before we tell the world of our marriage … it wouldn’t be safe.’
‘I care nothing for safety,’ Isabelle responded, ‘I just want our marriage to be acknowledged before the world.’
Walter turned on her. ‘You foolish woman,’ he said heatedly. ‘Did you honestly believe that it was all real? Let me explain. I am a man of talent, of ambition. You are a ridiculous old maid suffering from the delusion that you are somehow attractive to men. The only attractive thing about you is that you are your brother’s heir. Well, now I am the heir to an earldom myself, and I don’t need you. Thank God for the mercy that we didn’t lie together, so it isn’t valid. As far as I am concerned, it never happened, and I’ll think of it as a nightmare to be forgotten in the light of morning.’
Isabelle’s voice rose to a squeak as she came to the end of her tale. ‘And the worst thing was, I could tell that he enjoyed saying it!’ She could stave the tears off no longer and they coursed freely down her cheeks as she sobbed into her brother’s shoulder.
Adam sensed the waves of anger emanating from the knight beside him, and could barely contain his own outrage. That anyone should treat a noble lady so! It was scarcely credible. Walter de Courteville deserved to be called to account for such barbarous behaviour. And there was one thing which he now knew for certain: he would rather starve than be squire to such a man.
The lady forced more words out between great shuddering breaths. ‘I can’t bear him, but under God’s law we are man and wife! Oh, what shall I do? William, what shall I do!’ She fell on her knees, burying her face in her hands.
There was a deep silence and Adam was almost too frightened to breathe. He couldn’t possibly imagine how the earl might react to such a confession. After a few moments the lady lifted her face to look at her brother, and Adam too risked a glance in his direction. To his immense surprise, his countenance held only compassion.
‘My dear sister, how you must have suffered. Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you, only with him. To take advantage of you in such a way! To prey upon your womanly feelings! He’s a disgrace.’
‘But William, what can we do?’ She sounded desperate.
He put his hands to her head, cupping her face. ‘Never fear, Isabelle. Your situation is not as desperate as it may seem. You have told me your tale, but there is also something I must tell to you.’
Edwin looked at Father Ignatius, aghast. ‘You did what?’ Behind him, Robert whistled in disbelief.
The priest looked at them uncomfortably. ‘I did it on the orders of the earl, I tell you.’
Robert spoke in a more sceptical tone than Edwin would have dared. ‘But surely, Father, you take your orders from the bishop?’
Father Ignatius had the grace to look ashamed. ‘Yes, of course I do, but we must all obey our secular lords as well as our spiritual ones, and anyway, he has the right to rule over his family. Walter came to me, explained that the earl wanted his sister to marry him, and that he wanted it done in secret – a quiet c
eremony during this time of upheaval, he didn’t want the marriage to be announced until after the forthcoming campaign – and it seemed relatively straightforward. And such a generous donation to the church funds! I will be able to have the roof mended, and provide food for the poor for many days to come. And there might even have been be enough left over for a new pair of candlesticks for the altar …’ he trailed away and stopped uncomfortably, looking at the surrounding faces. He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, having already received word from the earl himself, the knowledge of what I was about to do made me hesitate for a while, but eventually I made my way from my cottage up into the keep. It was no great trouble to explain to the night porter that I needed to go to the chapel – he’s used to me coming and going for the various services of the day. As I came through the gate into the inner ward, I saw somebody cross the courtyard and enter the keep, but I realised that it must be the groom, so I followed behind and went up the steps. The great door of the keep was open as usual – as you know, it’s only ever shut in times of trouble – so I passed through and turned into the staircase. The Lady Isabelle and Walter were waiting for me in the chapel.’
There was silence in the room for a moment. Edwin tried to think. Three people, all in the keep on the night de Courteville was murdered. They might all have had the opportunity to go up the stairs to the roof; they might also have had different reasons for wanting to do away with the earl. He was about to stand and take his leave, the better to consider matters, when his arm was seized by Father Ignatius.
‘But you don’t understand, my son. There is more.’
‘More?’ What more could there possibly be?
‘Oh, believe me, it’s much worse. My soul shall do penance in purgatory for many agonising years for what I have done.’
Edwin leaned forward once more.
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