by C. B. Hanley
His elated mood gone, Martin dismounted and took the reins of the earl’s destrier as well as his own courser. He sniffed the air and realised it was nearly time for the evening meal, so he took Adam’s reins as well and sent him to the hall to check everything was ready. Then he led all three horses into the stable and concentrated on brushing, currying and feeding, growling at the groom who offered to help. He needed the time to himself, and the earl wouldn’t mind if he was late to the meal. Adam was perfectly capable, and the high table was an empty place these days anyway.
When he emerged from the stable he was surprised to see Brother William’s back, as he stood uncertainly in the outer ward. What was he doing here? He tapped him on the shoulder. The monk turned, and Martin apologised, for it wasn’t Brother William at all, but another Cistercian in a similar white robe.
‘I beg your pardon, Brother. I thought you were someone else.’
The monk made the sign of the cross in the air. ‘Benedicte, my son. Yes, Brother William is here at the castle, is he not? But I have come with a message for the lord earl. Could you take me to him?’
Martin considered briefly the consequences of interrupting the earl’s meal. ‘He’s eating at the moment, Brother, but I can bring you to him afterwards. Can I offer you something while you wait? Would you like to come to the hall?’
The monk shook his head. ‘Thank you, but I have no desire to eat.’ He seemed agitated. ‘However,’ he looked towards the western horizon, ‘I believe it’s nearly the hour of vespers. Is there a chapel where I may say the office?’
Martin nodded and led him into the inner ward, up the stairs to the keep and then up to the chapel. The monk immediately knelt before the altar and Martin hovered uncertainly. He was hungry, and the meal would soon be over. ‘Er, I’ll just leave you here …’
The monk was already deep in prayer, eyes closed and hands clasped, oblivious to his presence, so Martin loped down the stairs and over to the hall.
Edwin’s eyes were bleary after looking at all the earl’s correspondence, so he was glad of the opportunity to sit quietly at the bottom end of the hall and eat his meal of vegetable pottage and maslin bread. He closed his eyes for a moment, not sure if they were watering due to tiredness, the acrid reek of the smoking tallow light on the table, or something else. Thank the Lord the letters had been fairly straightforward, no urgent summons to re-join the war – a couple of weeks ago he’d heard the earl say there had been rumours that Prince Louis was assembling another invasion fleet – or bad news about losses of life or lands. They had mainly been updates from the castellans of the earl’s other castles, or requests from his vassals for permission to marry. Marry. He pushed the bread too hard into the pottage and slopped it over the table.
Once he had finished his meal he nudged Brother William, who was sitting next to him on the bench and still shovelling in huge spoonfuls of pottage and the Friday eel stew which Edwin hadn’t liked the look of. ‘We’d better get back so we’re ready before my lord gets there.’ He looked up to the almost-empty top table, where the earl sat with only Sir Geoffrey for company. Normally the meal up there took much longer, but that was when the Lady Isabelle was there, and Mistress Joanna, and often other guests as well. Neither the earl nor Sir Geoffrey were great or fussy eaters, so although it looked as though they had some fine dishes there, they were nearly finished.
Brother William nodded and took a few last mouthfuls of the stew as he stood; he reached back for another piece of bread and rammed it in his mouth as he walked. Then they made their way over to the keep and up the stairs, deep in conversation until they reached the council chamber and re-checked the correspondence which they had already sorted for the earl’s attention. A small fire was burning in the great fireplace, for the stone keep was chilly in the evenings, even in the summer. Edwin took a spill and lit the candles around the room – fine wax ones in here which didn’t smoke nearly so much as the rushes at home or in the hall.
He had just thrown the remains of the spill back into the fire when the door opened and the earl entered with Sir Geoffrey – no Martin or Adam, of course, as they would be eating after spending the official mealtime waiting at the high table.
The earl saw Brother William and frowned. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’
Brother William looked confused, as well he might. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord – I just walked over from the hall with Edwin a short while ago.’
The earl looked between him and the door. ‘But weren’t you just …?’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. What have you there?’ He sat down.
Edwin took a deep breath and listed, as he had been rehearsing in his head all through the meal, the matters which needed the earl’s attention. He was relieved when his lord nodded approvingly.
‘Very clear. Right – yes to the marriage of Richard of Hooten but no to Simon of Lyndon making a match with the Bolbec girl. He’ll have too great a parcel of land all in one place and I don’t altogether trust him. Tell him he may marry but he’ll have to choose someone whose lands don’t adjoin his own.’
As Brother William was nodding and making notes, Edwin wondered about the lives of the people in the letter. He’d never heard of Simon of Lyndon, but was his intended bride someone he cared about? Had the earl just ripped apart two lovers without even thinking about it? Or was the marriage all about the land? These nobles did things differently.
Sir Geoffrey cleared his throat and everyone looked at him. ‘This may be as good a time as any to broach the subject, my lord, concerning the question of your own marriage?’
There was a brief silence and Edwin prepared to flinch, but the earl merely waved the remark away as though it were a fly. ‘There’s nobody suitable available at the moment. I need to ally myself with good blood – my father might have been old King Henry’s half-brother, but he was a bastard and there are some who will not let me forget it.’ Edwin had only a vague recollection of the old earl, who had died when Edwin was five, as a bright figure on a tall horse who sometimes rode through the village. The earl was now scowling, but he got over it and enumerated on his fingers. ‘Blood, Geoffrey, blood. The young king’s aunts are all dead. His sisters are but tots, and besides, that might be aiming too high.’ And surely they’d be his cousins, thought Edwin, or doesn’t that matter? ‘So realistically it has to be one of Marshal’s daughters, currently all taken, or Chester’s sisters, taken also. As soon as one of them comes on the market I’ll put in a bid.’
And that was that, thought Edwin. He watched as Sir Geoffrey opened his mouth, but the earl cut him off. ‘Yes, yes, an heir, I know. But Gilbert will do for now, and he and Isabelle will no doubt produce a few sons in due course. And besides, I’m good for many years yet. I can wait for the right move.’ He clapped his hands together, signalling that the discussion was at an end. ‘Back to where we were. Just the question of the fishing rights, was it?’
Edwin nodded. ‘Yes, my lord. You were going to give over a tithe of your fish from some of your manors to the abbey at Roche.’
‘Yes. Right, Brother William, take this down.’ He began to dictate in a toneless voice, speaking slightly too fast for the clerk to keep up. ‘William, Earl of Warenne, to his fishermen of Brademer, health. Know that I, moved by charity, have given to God and the church of St Mary of Roche, and to the monks, servants of God in that place, the tithe of the whole of the residue of all my eels from all my fisheries that are in the parish of Hatfield, Fishlake and Thorne …’
Edwin watched Brother William scribbling furiously, glad that it wasn’t his job, as his own penmanship was rather scratchy, and then noticed out of the corner of his eye that the chamber door was opening. It was just Adam, so he returned his attention to the earl. ‘… Wherefore I command you that you ensure they have the aforementioned tithe without any difficulty or delay, and in testimony of this I send you these my letters patent. Farewell.’
There was silence while the sound of Brother William’s quill continued f
or a few moments, along with his heavy breathing. Then Adam spoke. ‘Excuse me, my lord, but Martin is outside with a messenger from the abbey at Roche.’
Edwin saw his own surprise reflected in the faces of the others, and the earl crossed himself, muttering that he didn’t believe in coincidences.
Martin entered together with a monk wearing a robe of Cistercian white. It wasn’t all that warm now, but he was sweating – perhaps being in the earl’s presence was making him nervous. Brother William, on the opposite side of the room, stood and peered in the candlelight. ‘Brother Waldef? Is that you?’
The monk acknowledged him with a nod before turning to the earl and bowing. ‘Brother Godfrey, my lord, sent to bear you a message from Abbot Reginald.’
The earl, looking a little pale, had recovered himself. ‘It must have been you I passed in the chapel earlier. Speak your message.’
The monk folded his hands inside his sleeves, but not before Edwin had noticed that they were shaking. ‘Father Abbot has sent me to beg your help, my lord, in his hour of need. One of our brothers has been murdered.’
Chapter Two
Edwin felt hot and a little faint as he heard the words. This was it. This was another mission the earl was going to send him on. What would he do? Would he come out of it alive this time?
The earl looked confused. ‘But surely the abbot must know that I have no jurisdiction within the walls of his abbey? Shouldn’t he be applying to someone in the Church?’
The monk nodded. ‘Under normal circumstances, my lord, that would be the case. But Abbot Reginald is about to travel to the annual conclave in France, which all abbots of our Order must attend each year. He will need to leave two weeks from today, so he fears there will be no time to get a message to our mother house at Newminster which is many days’ journey to the north. He has heard that you have a man in your household who is experienced in these matters’ – he looked hopefully at Sir Geoffrey – ‘and that you might, as an act of charity, send him to Roche for some while to see what he can discover.’ He bowed his head and fell silent.
The earl beckoned Sir Geoffrey to one side, so that they were standing nearer to Edwin. ‘We don’t need to leave for Lewes for another two weeks. The abbey is what, six or seven miles away? We can summon him back any time if we need to.’
Sir Geoffrey nodded and glanced at Edwin, who looked away and pretended he wasn’t watching.
The earl continued, though Edwin didn’t catch all of it. ‘And it’s about time … some new responsibilities …’ He moved back into the centre of the room to face the monk. ‘Very well. I send my man Weaver to your abbey for one week, to render what assistance he may.’ He gestured for Edwin to step forward, which Edwin did, trying not to notice the surprise and disappointment on the monk’s face.
But the earl hadn’t finished. ‘I also send Martin with him as guard and escort.’ Taken aback, Edwin glanced at Martin, who looked as surprised as Edwin felt, and then back at the earl, realising for the first time that he liked catching people off guard in this way. Perhaps he felt he was better served by keeping them all off balance, which Sir Geoffrey certainly was.
‘My lord …’
The earl clapped, once. ‘Now, Brother … Godfrey, was it? It’s almost dark, so you will stay here and set off tomorrow morning. You may make use of my chapel for your offices if you so wish, and Sir Geoffrey will have a man show you the hall where you can sleep.’
The monk looked startled. ‘Stay the night? But Abbot Reginald will be expecting me back tonight, and —’
The earl gave him a single look, and he faltered into silence, bowing his head. His shoulders were shaking.
As Sir Geoffrey ushered the monk out of the room, the earl turned to the shocked faces around him and laughed. ‘This diversion will do us all some good.’ He addressed Edwin first. ‘Do what you can. It’s Saturday tomorrow – return here once you’ve sorted it out, or on the following Saturday regardless. If the culprit is a layman we’ll turn him over to the sheriff; if he’s another monk then the Church will decide what to do with him.’
Edwin had no time to reply before the earl turned to Martin. ‘I’m relying on you to keep Edwin safe. A man has been killed, and if there’s to be another I don’t want it to be him. Take a sword with you and guard him. I place Edwin in your sole care.’ His eyes bored into Martin’s, and Edwin saw his friend turn pale and clench his jaw, but he didn’t drop his gaze. ‘I swear it, my lord.’
Adam had been standing silently, as he usually did, and now the earl looked down at him. ‘And as for you – temporarily you are my senior squire. See that you do it well.’ Well, at least one of us is happy, thought Edwin, as he watched the slow smile spreading across Adam’s face.
‘Now. Martin, go and look out what you’ll need to bring, and then get some sleep. Adam, get the chess set out – Geoffrey and I will have a game. Edwin, go home now, and meet Martin by the stables at dawn.’ The matter seemed to be over, and the earl was already moving to sit at the table. Edwin bowed, left the room, and made his way down and out into the evening air.
The following morning at dawn Edwin stood outside the stable in the outer ward, waiting. He wore his best tunic and hose and his new cloak, even though it was a bit warm for this weather. He carried a scrip containing a spare shirt, a bowl, a spoon, a rosary, a small aleskin and some bread wrapped in a piece of linen. On his belt were his eating knife and a purse containing twelve pennies – he had no idea whether he’d need any money, but he could afford to bring some now, so why not? A second belt, a brand new and very sturdy one which had been a gift from the earl, held the dagger in its ornate scabbard which he now carried everywhere.
He was nervous.
Just as he thought he might need to head round behind the stable for a moment, Martin appeared, accompanied by Sir Geoffrey, the visiting monk, and Brother William. Martin was dressed for travelling, and he carried a heavy-looking sack which made the tell-tale clinking sound of mail. He had both a sword and a dagger belted around him.
Sir Geoffrey didn’t look pleased. He greeted Edwin briefly and then took him to one side.
‘Brother Godfrey is being difficult. He says his abbot will have been expecting someone … older and may not take you seriously. Therefore Brother William will travel with you, introduce you and vouch for you – Abbot Reginald knows him and will trust his word, though it is an insult to the lord earl that it must be so. Brother William will then return here – he’ll be back before nightfall and can inform my lord that you have arrived safely.’
There didn’t seem much to say, so Edwin nodded and stared at his feet at the thought of the reception which would no doubt await him. Not old enough. Not rich enough, not noble enough. Not good enough.
Sir Geoffrey broke into a half smile. ‘Still, you couldn’t be much safer on the road.’
Edwin looked from the warlike Brother William, who had been a knight of some renown before he took the cowl, to the towering figure of Martin, armed and with his long legs now astride a tall horse, and nodded. But before Sir Geoffrey could move away he plucked at his arm and made the knight pause. ‘Sir Geoffrey. If anything … happens to me, will you see that my mother is looked after?’
A look which Edwin couldn’t quite fathom came over the knight’s face and he patted Edwin on the shoulder. ‘Yes. Yes, that I will surely do. Have no fear on her account.’
Satisfied, but with a vague uneasiness which he couldn’t put his finger on, Edwin turned to the horse which a groom was now holding for him. Fortunately, it looked fairly docile. He managed to mount in a manner which was not elegant but which was at least not embarrassing, and took the reins. There was some altercation behind him, and he managed to turn around to see that Brother Godfrey was making a fuss about mounting the mule which had been provided for him. Monks and priests always seemed to ride mules rather than horses, and in his own discomfort as he tried to face his horse the right way Edwin wondered why. Maybe there was a rule – the clergy seeme
d to have a lot of rules that made little sense to other people.
‘It is not fitting that I should ride, Brother, you know that. I walked here and I can walk back.’
Edwin looked from Martin to Sir Geoffrey and back again, but Brother William, who was already mounted on another mule, was brooking no nonsense. ‘It’s your duty to get these men back to Father Abbot as quickly as possible. It’ll take twice as long if they have to keep pace with you walking, so swallow your humility for now and mount, Brother. You can always confess later if you enjoy it too much.’
Sir Geoffrey, who was talking quietly to Martin – no doubt giving him some last-minute advice – coughed and covered his mouth with the back of his hand to disguise a smirk. Brother Godfrey looked daggers at Brother William and then heaved himself on to the mule’s back, looking uncomfortable as he sat like a sack of beans and muttered a prayer. Brother William slapped him on the back, saying, ‘And no doubt you’ll be glad to return all the sooner. You look odd out here on your own.’ Edwin had no idea what he meant, but when he looked at Brother Godfrey he could see that something was wrong. It wasn’t just his discomfort at being on the mule – it was deeper, somehow. He almost looked in physical pain.
There was no time to think further on the subject. A groom finished tying the reins of the packhorse that carried Martin’s armour to the saddle of the horse Martin would ride, and they were ready to go.
Despite himself, Edwin couldn’t help feeling just a little excited as he went through the village high on a horse’s back and on the earl’s business. Most of the villagers were already out in the fields, but a few women, children and old folk remained, and they came out to stare as the company rode past. Edwin’s mother stood in the doorway of their home and gave a little wave, holding back tears, and Edwin was proud of her. He allowed himself a nod to her as he passed, before the lump in his throat forced him to look straight ahead and concentrate. He had lived in Conisbrough all his life; every stone and blade of grass was familiar to him, but now he found himself staring at it all as though he’d never seen it before. He realised he was seeking to imprint it all on his mind in case he never came back.