Brother's Blood

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by C. B. Hanley




  Praise for C.B. Hanley's

  Mediaeval Mystery Series

  ‘The Bloody City is a great read, full of intrigue and murder.

  Great for readers of Ellis Peters and Lindsey Davis. Hanley weaves a convincing, rich tapestry of life and death in the early 13th century, in all its grandeur and filth. I enjoyed this book immensely!’

  Ben Kane, bestselling novelist of the Forgotten Legion trilogy

  ‘Blatantly heroic and wonderfully readable.’

  The Bloody City received a STARRED review in Library Journal

  ‘The characters are real, the interactions and conversations natural, the tension inbuilt, and it all builds to a genuinely satisfying conclusion both fictionally and historically.’

  Review for The Bloody City in www.crimereview.co.uk

  ‘Whited Sepulchres … struck me as a wonderfully vivid recreation of the early thirteenth century … The solid historical basis lends authenticity to a lively, well-structured story. I enjoyed the plight of amiable and peace-loving Edwin, trapped by his creator in such a warlike time and place.’

  Andrew Taylor, winner of the 2009 CWA Diamond Dagger and three-times winner of the CWA Historical Dagger

  ‘It’s clever. It’s well written. It’s believable. It’s historically accurate. It’s a first class medieval mystery.’

  Review for Whited Sepulchres in www.crimereview.co.uk

  For my sisters

  The voice of thy brother’s blood

  crieth unto me from the ground.

  Genesis, ch. 4, v. 10

  Roche Abbey, 1217

  Acknowledgements

  Once again it is a pleasure to thank Matilda Richards and the rest of the team at The Mystery Press for their help, support and encouragement during the writing of what I can now justifiably call a series of books. I’ve lost count of how many chocolate cakes I owe you now …

  The research for this book was made considerably easier thanks to the amazingly in-depth work carried out by the ‘Cistercians in Yorkshire’ project which was based at the University of Sheffield from 2001 to 2003; further information is available on the project website, listed on the Further Reading page. Many thanks also to Dr Andrew Buck for supplying references on Daniel of Morley, and to Dr Joy Hawkins for pointing out that saying the paternoster was a method of timing used in mediaeval medicine.

  Stephanie Tickle, Susan Brock and Maddy McGlynn all read drafts of Brother’s Blood and offered much valuable insight and constructive criticism. Stephanie and Susan are both old friends of Edwin, while Maddy is a new one: their very differing points of view as readers were of enormous help in the redrafting process.

  I am extremely fortunate to have a collection of friends who keep me going with support, pep talks, research references, tea, speaking and review opportunities, and all the other necessities of life: thanks in particular this time round to Sean McGlynn, Julian Humphrys and Sarah Preston.

  Astonishingly my family continue to put up with me with good grace: James and our children deserve some kind of medal. And on the subject of family, thanks and love to Helen and Steph, who have been there longer than almost anyone else. It’s fitting that this book about brothers should be dedicated to them, my sisters.

  Contents

  Praise

  Title

  Dedication

  Quote

  Roche Abbey, 1217

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Historical Note

  Further Reading

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Dover, June 1186

  The ship had docked after its long journey, and those on board gave thanks for their safe arrival after many days at sea. At the command of their captain, men began to unload the cargo and soon the sharp, salt-flavoured air was full of shouts and calls as barrels and bales were loaded on to wagons, while gulls circled and shrieked in the cloudless blue sky above.

  Three passengers made their way down the gangplank; three men each encumbered by a large pack. Their faces were tanned, and although it was a warm day they shivered and pulled their cloaks closer around them. They reached the shore and moved away from the ship, their legs a little unsteady on the cobbled surface of the harbour as they sought to accustom themselves to the solid ground. They found a corner which was away from the main bustle and lowered their burdens as they stopped to say their farewells.

  The eldest of them was a man just approaching middle age, thickset, a few grey hairs standing out from an otherwise dark head. He reached out and placed a hand on the shoulders of the other two. ‘So, here we part.’ He turned to the youngest, who was not much more than a fresh-faced youth. ‘Still determined to take the cowl?’

  The young man nodded. ‘Yes. In the short time I’ve been with you I’ve realised how much I need to read, to reflect, to study. It’s the only way.’

  The older man squeezed his shoulder and smiled. ‘Well then, “Brother”, may God go with you.’

  The third man, tall, blond, and somewhere between the others in age, made the sign of the cross in the air. ‘Yes, Brother, the Lord be with you. And if He wills, may our paths cross again in the future.’

  The young man looked a little uncertain for the first time as he squinted up into his companion’s face. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. To start with it’s back to St Albans, to see if they’ll let me teach at the school there. After all, I have to earn my keep from now on. After that – who knows? It’s in the Lord’s hands, though I hope His plans involve me being able to read and write after learning so much.’

  The youngest nodded in silence, a hint of sadness on his face, while the eldest picked up his baggage. ‘And have you got it stowed away safely?’

  The third man tapped the canvas of his pack, his fingers making a drumming noise on the wooden box inside. ‘Oh yes. It will never leave my side, and I’ll guard it with my life if I have to.’

  After a final handshake, the three men went their separate ways.

  Chapter One

  Conisbrough, late July 1217

  Edwin hadn’t thought that he’d ever be comfortable enough in the earl’s presence to be bored, but apparently he’d been wrong. Currently his lord was droning – there was simply no other word for it – about fishing rights to his rivers, or something, and Edwin was trying not to doze off as he leaned back against the cool stone wall of the council chamber. He didn’t care about fishing rights. Since he’d heard the devastating news that Alys was already married, he’d had no interest in anything. All his previous worries and fears had been about survival, about summoning up the courage to ask the earl for permission to get married, about Alys having endured and lived through the rebuilding of the city after its sacking … the one thing he’d never considered was that she would have married someone else before he could contact her. It had only been what, two months since he’d walked out of the remains of Lincoln. Clearly she hadn’t felt the same way about him. In his kinder moments he tried to persuade himself that she’d probably had no choice: a young woman – a girl – orphaned, with three younger siblings to look after, would have needed to find a protector as soon as she could. It was only sensible. Of course it was.

  But in his black moments, those times when he awoke sweating in the night, when h
e looked into his own soul, he knew the truth: that it was because he wasn’t good enough. Why would the most beautiful, most courageous girl in all the land want to marry him? He’d been foolish even to think he could have something that he wanted so desperately. He should just accept that his life was meant to be miserable. Maybe the earl would send him on another dangerous mission – and there seemed to be plenty of those about with the war against the French invaders still going on – and he wouldn’t have to come back. In the meantime he just waited for each day to be over so he could lie down in the dark. Even then he rarely slept but lay awake watching the dawn unfold to herald another pointless day.

  He opened his eyes to look across the chamber. There was one window cut into the keep’s thick walls, and the sunlight streamed in, illuminating the dancing dust and the fleas jumping up from the floor rushes, to fall upon the desk at which sat Brother William, the earl’s clerk. He held a quill in one huge, un-monk-like fist, and he was writing on a piece of parchment as quickly as he could while the earl dictated. In the shadows behind him stood Martin and Adam, the squires: Adam trying his hardest to remain interested in the subject at hand, and Martin looking as woeful as Edwin felt. The earl himself was pacing up and down as he spoke, his movements impatient as ever, the gold on his rings flashing whenever the sunlight caught them. He’d never had a proper clerk before, and he was evidently trying to catch up on several years’ worth of correspondence at once. All of them had been cooped up in this room for the last couple of weeks, and if Edwin thought that his lord was trying to keep busy in order to take his mind off the traumatic events of midsummer then he kept that thought to himself.

  The voice stopped and Edwin snapped back to attention in case he was about to be asked a question. Since he had gained the earl’s confidence he now found that his opinion was asked on some matters, and he had no intention of being caught out. Uninterested he might be, but he wasn’t stupid enough to risk the earl’s wrath. But his lord was merely taking a sip of wine before continuing.

  ‘That pile of letters there. Pick one and tell me what it contains.’ He sat down and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

  Brother William pulled out one of the heaped parchments and examined the seal. ‘From the Earl of Arundel, my lord.’

  The earl grunted and raised the goblet to his lips again as the clerk broke the seal and scanned the contents of the letter. ‘In essence, my lord, his younger son is nearly seven, old enough to be sent away, and he asks that you take him into your household as page.’

  Edwin glanced across to see that Martin had perked up at this. Someone else in the close household. And there was an opening since …

  The earl considered. ‘Hmm. I could do with a new boy who isn’t a curse. But is there anyone better? Geoffrey?’

  Edwin had almost forgotten that Sir Geoffrey, the castellan, was also in the room. He had been standing like stone away to one side so Edwin couldn’t look at him without turning round, which the earl might notice.

  ‘My lord of Arundel is now back in the regent’s full confidence, my lord.’

  The earl’s fingers tapped again. ‘What about Marshal’s youngest?’

  Edwin couldn’t see, but from the tone he imagined Sir Geoffrey shaking his head. ‘Ten, my lord, and already with the Earl of Chester.’

  Edwin had once met William Marshal, the legendary regent, and he was surprised to think that a man so elderly should have a son so young. He must be an even older father than Edwin’s own had been. But then, he had rather a lot of children, didn’t he? He tried to remember his recent conversations with Sir Geoffrey. He was supposed to be learning all these things, but the maze of relationships among the realm’s nobility was still bewildering.

  The earl was continuing. ‘And Chester himself has no sons. What about Marshal’s grandsons? By his eldest daughter and Norfolk?’

  Sir Geoffrey sounded negative again. ‘The eldest is with his uncle, my lord, and the younger ones are, what, five and three?’

  ‘That’s no good, then. Maybe in a couple of years – I can always take another one. Very well. Arundel’s boy it is then.’ He waved to Brother William. ‘See to it, and tell Arundel to send him to me at Lewes before St Bartholomew’s Day.’

  Brother William made some notes, his pen scratching. The earl stood and stretched, one shoulder making a cracking noise. ‘I need some air.’

  Edwin was mildly amused to see Martin and Adam tensing like hounds who had caught a scent.

  The earl laughed. ‘Yes, you too. Saddle my destrier and your own mounts. We should be able to cover a few miles before evening, and he needs a run.’

  The squires shot out of the room like arrows. The earl turned to Edwin and looked him up and down. ‘You will need some riding practice before we set off for Lewes in a couple of weeks, but not today – you wouldn’t keep up. For now you can help Brother William get through the rest of those letters. Report to me after the evening meal with anything you think needs my urgent attention.’

  Edwin was shocked out of his apathy. Deal with the earl’s own correspondence? What if his ignorance led him to miss something? What if …? Belatedly he bowed and said, ‘Yes, my lord,’ but the earl was already sweeping out of the room, followed by Sir Geoffrey.

  A sigh came from the desk, and Edwin turned to see Brother William gazing a little wistfully after the departed men. He caught the other’s eye and the monk shrugged. ‘I know what you’re thinking. But that part of my life is over.’ He looked at the piles of parchment and expelled a long breath. ‘Still, at least the light is good. Pull up that stool over there and we’ll get started.’

  Edwin sat, hoping that the worry of this task would push the other concerns from his mind. As he sifted through the letters he wondered about the little boy who would soon be joining the household. A noble, the son of an earl, but still a pawn of the great men to be moved around at will regardless of his own inclination. Edwin chose a random letter and broke the seal, reflecting that nobody had even bothered to ask the child’s name.

  Martin enjoyed galloping almost as much as he enjoyed weapons training. To be out of the council chamber, out of the castle, unconfined and away from all the people was bliss. He felt the wind in his hair as he urged his mount forward to yet greater speed, although he had no hope of catching up with the earl, who had let his destrier, his fierce and very expensive warhorse, have its head. Martin didn’t have a horse of his own but he was riding the roan courser which was the tallest mount the castle stable afforded. He revelled in the long strides and the freedom of movement as he strove to reach his lord, although his feet were still too far down for comfort. Maybe one day, when he was a knight and had some money of his own, he’d find a horse that was large enough … but he was still only seventeen, so that day was a long way in the future; he’d have to make the best of things for now.

  The earl had paused and was waiting for them to catch up. Martin slowed to a canter and then a trot before reining in, sweating now that the air around him was hot and still. He turned to look for Adam, who was way behind on the ancient pony he’d been using since his arrival at Conisbrough a few months before. Martin watched as the animal puffed its way up to them, the earl shifting impatiently in his saddle.

  ‘When we get back, tell Geoffrey to allocate that boy a better mount, or he’ll never keep up when we head to Lewes. That old thing will serve for the new lad if it survives long enough.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Adam would be glad, and Martin was pleased on his behalf. He was a good lad who did as he was told and didn’t talk too much, and anyway he was surely due a growth spurt which would make the pony even more unsuitable. Martin wondered what the new page would be like and whether he’d be as much trouble as the last one. He would have responsibility for the boy and he was determined to be stricter this time around. Concentrating on that would help to take his mind off …

  The earl’s voice cut across his thoughts. ‘We’ll race across that pasture, round those two tr
ees, and back to this point. Adam, we’ll give you a start. Go!’

  Adam put his heels to the pony’s flanks and was off. Martin thought to himself that his lord was right, as ever: the beast was already labouring despite Adam’s best efforts. Indeed, the earl let him get nearly all the way to the trees before he told Martin to be off. Martin surged forward, moving from a canter to a flat-out gallop across the stubble of the hayfield as he chased Adam, already rounding the trees. He had no idea how much of a start his lord had given him, but he could hear hoofbeats drumming behind him. He approached the turning point and slowed, knowing that his mount wouldn’t take the sharp turn at speed, and succeeded in passing close to the trees. From the corner of his eye he spotted with some satisfaction that the earl’s destrier, excited by the chase, had overshot and that the earl would have more ground to make up. Then it was on to the flat for the race back to the start. Martin whooped, feeling the smile spread across his face, the movement of his muscles at one with the courser and the wind in his hair as he increased his pace and overtook Adam before he was halfway back. But the earl was gaining on him and the great warhorse flew past, clods of earth spurting up from under its hooves just as he reached the end point.

  The earl reined in, laughing, looking younger than he had done for some while. ‘Good, good! I think we’ll call that a draw for now.’ He nosed his mount nearer so he could clap Martin on the shoulder. ‘Excellent horsemanship. Good man.’

  They returned to the castle at a trot and then a walk to cool the horses, Martin hearing his lord’s words ringing in his ears all the while. As they neared the gate Martin looked around hopefully, as he always did out of habit, before the realisation thumped into him that it was no good. She wasn’t there, and she never would be again. Joanna had gone away with the earl’s sister to their new home, following the Lady Isabelle’s fateful wedding, and now the whole length of the realm separated them. Despite the sun reflecting off the bright white keep and into his eyes, the castle appeared grey and joyless.

 

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