Whited Sepulchres

by C. B. Hanley

  He shuddered as he entered the village, either from the thought of winter or at the relief of being safe from attack on the open road, and his head began to clear. Yes, say a harvest of two dozen quarters of grain in total, minus the tithe, save, say, six quarters for next year’s seed, allow ten to feed the family and animals over the winter and spring, and that would still leave … oh, wait. They wouldn’t need so much now. They were no longer a family of three, but only two. A dark shadow hovered at the corner of his eye; he turned quickly to try and catch it, but it was gone.

  He had arrived home. He stood across the street and contemplated it. In the weeks since he’d been back he’d been able to attend to some of the repairs which had been needed, and now the cottage – one of only three in the village with more than one room – looked more like the residence he remembered and less like it was starting to become derelict. Of course, all the things which were women’s work – the garden, the livestock, the cleaning inside – had been perfect all along, but the male tasks had been neglected during his father’s last illness. He sighed as he started to cross the road, only then realising that the sound of hoofbeats was close behind him. He turned to find himself almost under the horses of several men in livery, the advance riders of a large party which was raising a huge cloud of dust as it ploughed through the village’s dry street. He skipped across quickly and flattened himself against the fence to let them pass.

  Behind the advance riders came two men in rich clothing. One was very thin and looked as though he might also be tall once he got down from what was a very fine horse; the other was much burlier and had a huge beard. He was laughing at something the other had said, throwing his head back with mirth, his face lighting up. He then turned to the small boy riding behind him on a pony, to include him in the joke. The boy smiled back but he looked tired, concentrating on sitting up straight and staying on his mount. Edwin could sympathise with that – he still winced when he thought of the long ride to Lincoln and back. If the boy had been a villager, Edwin would have said he was about seven or eight years of age, but given that he was a noble and therefore bigger and more well built, he was probably only about six: he really would be glad to get to his destination. Still, they weren’t far from it now, for surely these were the earl’s relatives who were arriving for the wedding.

  His guess was confirmed when he saw the sumptuous covered wagon which followed the men on horseback. It creaked along, pulled by four heavy-looking horses who seemed to be struggling even though the ground was dry and hard, and as it passed him Edwin saw another boy peering out the back of it. He was slightly older than the one on the pony, and he bore a striking resemblance to Thomas. As the boy saw Edwin he made a rude gesture and pulled his head back inside. As the coloured hanging fell back into place Edwin caught a glimpse of the bright clothing of some ladies inside the wagon, no doubt being jolted by every tiny movement.

  Behind the nobles came a large number of packhorses, servants and guards, some looking curiously around them at the village, others staring doggedly ahead towards the castle gate. Coughing at the dust which had been raised by such a large party, Edwin waited until they had all passed – which took some time – before he stepped out into the street again. A number of other villagers had emerged from their houses to watch the spectacle, and he waved to Agnes, the old woman who was the priest’s housekeeper, as he turned to go into his garden. Before he could get there, however, he was accosted by Godleva, the daughter of one of the village labourers. She bounced in front of him, barring his path, and spoke.

  She sounded out of breath. ‘Oh, Edwin, did you ever see anything so fine? How lovely it must be to travel about the country in such a cart, with so many servants and men around you!’

  Actually Edwin thought that the wagon had looked pretty uncomfortable, but out of politeness he agreed that it had been fine, and made to move on.

  She put a hand on his arm. ‘And how fortunate the ladies are, to have such rich husbands to provide them with such finery!’ She smoothed down a fold of her rather ragged gown and her eyelashes fluttered. He wondered if she had something in her eye.

  ‘Edwin! Are you coming in?’

  It was his mother, coming out of the garden and across the street to him. Godleva scowled but then assumed a sweet smile as she turned. ‘Good day, Mistress Anne. How well you are looking today.’ Her voice was so honeyed you could have put it on bread.

  Edwin’s mother bobbed her head briefly. ‘Good day. I’m sorry I have no time to stand and talk, for there’s always so much to do in the home. Can I not hear your mother calling for you?’ Godleva turned and Edwin took the opportunity to disengage his arm and move towards his mother.

  ‘Well, it was nice to speak with you, but I must be going.’

  She took a step towards him. He took a step back.

  ‘It was lovely to speak to you too, Edwin. We must do it again very soon.’ Her eyelashes quivered again as she swirled her skirts to walk away, revealing one dirty ankle as she did so.

  Edwin’s mother grumbled to herself as they went into the house, but Edwin didn’t catch any of it. Once they were inside he sat as she fetched a cup of ale; as she brought it over he opened his mouth to speak but was surprised when she banged it down on the table with unnecessary force.

  ‘Mother!’

  She looked at him.

  He was confused. ‘What?’

  She sighed. ‘You really must make more of an effort not to keep getting caught by these girls.’

  ‘What?’

  She made a tutting noise. ‘Ever since you came back from Lincoln, or more specifically, since you were employed by our lord earl, every girl in the village has tried to throw herself at you. Obviously you’ll have to marry one day, but I’ll be in my grave before I let the likes of Godleva get hold of you!’

  Edwin choked on the ale he’d just sipped. He coughed and then spluttered as some of it went up his nose. ‘Married? But …’ He tried to set the cup down again without spilling anything, and took a deep breath. ‘Me?’

  His mother rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, you. You’ve always been a good steady lad, and now you’re earning a fine wage and you have the attention of the lord earl himself, you’re the best prospect in the village.’ She softened and smiled for the first time. ‘Hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘Well, no. But I mean … that is to say, what I mean is … married? Me?’

  ‘It comes to us all, Edwin, and you must put your mind to it. There are one or two suitable girls in the village, so you’ll have to choose from among them.’

  Strangely, the room seemed to look different from usual. Was it spinning slightly? He stood and drained the rest of his ale. ‘I have to go to … well, I’m in a hurry. I’ll talk to you later.’ He left the house.

  Joanna had no idea how an hour could have gone by so fast – even though it was midsummer so the hours were longer than at any other time of year – but it seemed like no more than a few moments before she was standing behind Isabelle as the heavy covered wagon creaked to a halt and the accompanying riders pulled up in the inner ward. The earl stepped forward to greet his guests as they alighted: first the Lady Ela, shaking out her skirts and pushing away the spindly arm of her husband William Fitzwilliam as she took her brother’s hand instead; next her younger son Roger, who jumped nimbly down – Joanna saw the earl frown slightly and wondered that a boy of eight should still be carried in the wagon like a child instead of riding a horse – and then the Lady Maud, short and plump, smiling as ever as she disembarked. The ladies’ companions followed, looking pleased to be out of the wagon, as well they might. Little Pierre had already dismounted from his pony and now he skipped forward to hold his father’s stirrup; Henry de Stuteville smiled at his son through his beard as he stood to await his turn to shake hands with the earl. Then they were introduced to Sir Gilbert and the group ascended the steps to enter the great chamber.

  Once inside there was a flurry of activity as the various squires and companion
s sought to make their masters and mistresses comfortable. Joanna was able to steal several glances at Martin as he directed them all to the wine and helped them to move chairs around. Once he looked back at her and her heart leapt so much that she thought she would drop the cup she was holding. But she managed to complete her duties and then retreated to the corner of the room along with Matilda, who was the Lady Ela’s companion, and the vivacious girl who had accompanied the Lady Maud, whom she hadn’t met before.

  It was strange how they seemed to become invisible so quickly. When Isabelle and Joanna were alone they spoke often, but now that there were other people of rank in the room, the companions – and the squires for that matter – were unnoticed as their betters chatted among themselves. Or at least, they were unseen until they were needed: soon both Matilda and the other girl, who had briefly introduced herself as Rosamund, had been dismissed and sent to unpack in the guest quarters. Joanna hoped they wouldn’t notice that the final preparations for the rooms had been a little rushed – she would go over there as soon as she could and see if they needed anything else. In the meantime she took up her embroidery and continued with it while the nobles caught up with each other.

  Isabelle was in her element, and why shouldn’t she be? She was about to regain the precedence over her sisters which had disappeared when she was a childless widow. She sat between them, the skirts of her new crimson gown spread out in a seemingly carefree manner, but one which was designed to show off the eye-catching colour to best effect. Joanna had laboured for many hours on that gown, although mainly on the seams, while the professional seamstress who was summoned twice a year from York had fitted the bodice. It was a shame the colour wouldn’t last – like all bright things, it would fade over time – but just now it looked magnificent, putting the slightly drab travelling clothes of the other two ladies into the shade, as did the new gold filigree headdress holding Isabelle’s wimple in place, which both sisters had dutifully admired. And if you think that’s lovely, thought Joanna, then wait until you see what she’ll be wearing for the actual wedding. She’ll outshine you both.

  Joanna tried to work out what was going on in the Lady Ela’s mind. Both sisters were sipping wine while they spoke with Isabelle, but whereas Maud seemed fully engaged, Ela’s eyes kept turning to where Sir Gilbert was sitting with William Fitzwilliam and Henry de Stuteville. The afternoon sun slanted in from the windows which faced the inner ward and illuminated his profile. He was certainly more handsome than Lady Ela’s skinny husband, but she didn’t seem to be admiring him in that way. So what was it? Joanna realised she was staring, and turned her eyes back to her embroidery in case anyone had noticed. But after a few moments she risked another glance at the Lady Ela, who was still flicking her eyes between Isabelle and Sir Gilbert. And then she realised why the look was familiar – it was the one Isabelle wore when she was looking over new goods to buy, assessing their worth. The Lady Ela was sizing her sister’s bridegroom up as though he were no more than a new set of hairpins.

  Before Joanna could explore this thought further, her attention was distracted by a squabble which had broken out between the boys. At first she thought it was the two visitors, but little Pierre was standing attentively beside his father. No, it was Roger and Thomas. Thomas really ought to have been standing around the edge of the room with the squires, but he’d given up on his duties once his mother had arrived, and sat down with his brother to play at merels and filch from one of the bowls of dried fruit which was set out. It would appear that they now had a disagreement over the game, for Thomas had picked up the board, scattering the pieces everywhere, and was trying to hit the smaller boy with it. Roger started shrieking and crying to his mother, and soon both boys were rolling on the floor striking at one another.

  William Fitzwilliam leapt out of his chair and waded into the fray, telling them to stop and trying rather ineffectually to separate the boys as he was kicked by their flying feet, looking all the while at the earl, who remained aloof. Sir Gilbert looked rather startled, not having heard such a commotion in these chambers before; Henry de Stuteville gave a tolerant shake of his head, slapped his hand on the arm of his chair, stood, looked appraisingly at the two rolling, scratching children, and then swooped, catching each by the neck of the tunic and lifting them into the air.

  Their father smoothed the front of his clothing, which had become ruffled, and opened his mouth to speak. But he was interrupted before he could start.

  ‘William!’ The Lady Ela had risen from her chair and was looking through narrowed eyes at her husband. ‘Don’t bore us all with another of your lectures. They’re just in high spirits, that’s all.’ She looked with fatuous devotion at the boys. ‘Come now, apologise to your lord uncle and play quietly.’

  Apologise to your uncle, thought Joanna. Yes, but not to your father, who was the one who got kicked. That’s the Lady Ela for you. She looked as Henry de Stuteville gave the boys a little shake and then put them down, clapping them on the back. He spoke in his pronounced Norman accent – ‘Yes, yes, just boys playing’ – as he patted Thomas on the head. ‘Come now, come and tell me about being a page here.’ He moved him away from Roger, who went to sit with his mother, and peace reigned once more.

  Joanna looked at the earl, who throughout all of this had remained silent and almost motionless. His face held no expression, but his hands were gripping the arms of his chair, and behind him Martin looked worried. She was relieved when Sir Geoffrey stepped into the room and bent over the earl to speak quietly in his ear. With a very brief and hardly muttered ‘excuse me’, the earl stood and followed Sir Geoffrey out of the room. There was a short pause in all the conversations as he left, but then everyone returned to what they were doing, and there was a comfortable buzz about the chamber.

  From her corner of the room, Joanna could see out of one of the open windows into the inner ward, and she watched as both men emerged from the building. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she saw Sir Geoffrey gesture, and then both of them moved towards the centre of the ward. Some guards were dragging something towards them, and she had to stifle a gasp as she saw what it was – an unconscious man with blood on his face. The guards dropped him on the ground while the earl and Sir Geoffrey stood over him and spoke. Eventually the earl nodded and Sir Geoffrey signalled to the guards to move the man away again. This time they pulled him by his feet, and as his head was dragged along it left a trail of blood in the dusty earth.

  Chapter Three

  Refreshed by his ale, although not by the conversation, Edwin left his mother’s house. Marriage? He hadn’t really thought of it before, or had he? Perhaps it had been at the back of his mind since … strange, as soon as his mother had mentioned the word, Alys’s face had appeared before him, her summer-blue eyes smiling. She was so different from any of the girls he’d grown up with. Well, of course she would be, she was from a different part of the country and she lived in a big city, but even accounting for that she was still … but there was Godleva again, lurking at the side of one of the houses. She looked as though she was about to step over to him again, so he hurried across the green to the street on the other side, entering the yard of one of the village’s other larger houses and calling out a greeting before he stepped over the threshold.

  The door stood open in the warm weather, and the windows were uncovered, but still it was darker than the bright sunlight outside so he stopped to let his eyes become accustomed to the gloom. As he did so, his aunt bustled forward and embraced him, smelling as always of the fragrant herbs with which she often worked. She stepped back and patted him on the cheek, but had barely started on an offer of refreshment before a harsh voice came from the cottage’s other room, demanding to know who was there and what was going on. Cecily rolled her eyes at Edwin and said he’d better go in.

  Edwin stepped into the bedchamber and leaned over to shake the hand of the man in the bed. William cheered up on seeing who his visitor was, but it was almost grudging –
he’d probably been looking for an excuse to take his temper out on anyone else unfortunate enough to get in his way. He motioned Edwin to a small stool which was overturned by the side of the bed, and Edwin righted it and sat down to ask him how he was.

  He expected something of a rant and he wasn’t disappointed. He let it wash over him – the normally even-tempered William was probably entitled to be irritable given his current situation. He’d been crippled ever since Edwin could remember: he’d once been a soldier in the service of the old earl, and had returned from a long-ago campaign with part of his left ear missing, a horrific scar which disfigured the entire left side of his face, and a maimed and twisted leg which caused him to limp heavily. Normally he managed to hobble about fairly well: as the steward his work was almost entirely in the castle rather than out on the estate, and he hauled himself up the hill and back once every day. However, two weeks ago he’d fallen down the stairs which led up to the entrance to the keep, and he’d injured his good right leg. There it lay on top of the bed, the ankle swollen and purple, causing him great pain and preventing him from walking altogether. There was of course a good chance that he would recover, so the earl hadn’t dismissed him from service, but William was both frustrated by his enforced inactivity and worried about his future, so his outbursts were regular.