Whited Sepulchres

by C. B. Hanley

  Edwin sat in silence, not daring to raise his head.

  The crutch gave way and William collapsed back on to his stool. He sat in stunned silence.

  After a few moments he whispered. ‘Sir Geoffrey thinks …?’ He looked so lost that Edwin could hardly bear to meet his eyes as he nodded.

  William lapsed into silence again. Edwin didn’t know what to say.

  ‘But how could he think that? How could he?’ Edwin was about to interrupt, but he didn’t get the chance as William’s voice rose angrily. ‘How could anyone think that of me? Dear Lord, I could cheerfully have killed him many a time, but how could anyone think I’d be cowardly enough to use poison? God’s blood, if I’d wanted to murder him I’d have walked straight up to him and wrung his scrawny neck!’ He thumped his crutch on the floor and leant forward. ‘I will not have my name smirched like that. You and I are going to find out who did this, by God, and we are going to bring him to justice so that all men know I am innocent. We’ll crack every head in the village if we need to.’ He sat back.

  Oh dear, thought Edwin.

  Chapter Five

  Edwin was in need of some peace and quiet. There were too many things in his head at once, and he couldn’t concentrate on them here, not in William’s house with his anger almost lifting the roof. He mumbled something about needing to attend the earl, and hurried out of the door. William’s voice followed him, still shouting about the injustice, and Edwin thanked the Lord, somewhat guiltily, that he couldn’t follow. The sound died away behind him as he strode up the hill to the castle and through the outer ward, crinkling his nose against the stench from the moat, which was even worse than it normally was in this hot weather. The day porter waved him through the inner gate, and he climbed the steps up to the curtain wall and sat in his favourite embrasure. Up here the air was fresher, free from the smells of tightly packed humanity, and he could look down on the busy world and think.

  He let himself drift slightly while the thoughts ordered themselves, and he realised just how little he knew about Hamo. Of course, there was no reason why he should know him well – he’d only been in the earl’s household a few weeks, whereas Hamo had been there as long as Edwin could remember. So what did he know? Hamo was the earl’s marshal, in charge of his travel arrangements. There were a lot of these – like all the nobility, the earl moved around a great deal, although he did spend more of his time at Conisbrough than anywhere else. What else? Hamo was not the most pleasant of men and was very fussy about details; although, thinking about it, that was probably what made him a good marshal, and he’d have to have been good to stay in the earl’s personal retinue for so long. He wasn’t married, or at least Edwin couldn’t imagine that he was, unless he had a wife somewhere whom he never saw. But where did he come from? He lived with the earl, obviously, but he must have come from somewhere. How would he have got his position? He must have come from a landowning family, maybe some minor nobility? The name Hamo would seem to bear this out.

  And that was it. That was all he knew. How in the Lord’s name was he going to find out who might have wanted to kill him? Was it someone who had simply got fed up with his behaviour, someone who had suffered at his hands recently, such as the serving men, or Richard the cook, or (God forbid) even William? Or was there something hidden in his past which had come back to destroy him? If there was, he needed to find out more. How would he do that? Well, there was one obvious person to start asking. Somewhat reluctantly he stood up from the embrasure and headed back down the steps, into the full heat of the sun which reflected from the stone and beat on to him, making him squint. The headache, which he’d almost managed to forget about with everything else going on, was back, but now it wasn’t pounding – it was drilling into his head. How he longed for some cloud, some shade, a cool breeze, anything.

  He heard Sir Geoffrey before he could see him, his voice barking in the armoury. ‘… and look at the state of this! You’d better get these nicks ground out of the blade before I set you to cleaning out the garderobes for a month! Any more gouges on this and you wouldn’t be able to pull it out of the scabbard, and then where would you be? Back in my day you’d have been …’

  Edwin wasn’t sure that this was a good idea. But he had nowhere else to start, so he stopped outside and peered round the door. He was looking at Sir Geoffrey’s back but the knight had some kind of extra sense.

  ‘What are you doing there? You can’t have sorted this out already, can you?’

  Edwin inserted himself into the into the dark, stuffy interior. ‘Well, no, but – ’

  He jumped back as the sword came towards him. For just a moment he thought he was being attacked, but Sir Geoffrey had merely forgotten that he had the weapon in his hand as he turned. He looked at it as if seeing it for the first time, grunted, and shoved it hilt-first at the man he had been talking to, who took the opportunity to escape, almost tripping over Edwin’s feet in his haste to be gone.

  Sir Geoffrey folded his arms. His face was hard. ‘So, why are you here?’

  Edwin was taken aback – he hadn’t expected such hostility. He knew that Sir Geoffrey was a hard man, but he’d always had something of a soft spot for him – maybe because his father had been the knight’s oldest friend. But the stone face, so legendary among the castle’s garrison, was now turned on him. The room felt even more airless than it had done a few moments ago, and Edwin could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead. The combined smells of metal, leather, vinegar and polish made him feel slightly queasy.

  ‘Well, I was … that is to say …’ He cleared his throat. ‘What I mean is, I was just wondering if you could tell me anything about Hamo’s past – where he came from, when he started working here, that sort of thing.’

  ‘For God’s sake, boy, how do you think idle gossip will help you? Our lord earl wants you to find out who killed the man, so get on with it, can’t you? He was killed here, now, not twenty years ago in Reigate.’

  Edwin pounced. ‘Is that where he came from?’

  Sir Geoffrey opened his mouth and realised what he’d said. ‘Yes. Yes it is, though I haven’t thought of it for many years. Why did I suddenly remember that?’ He unfolded his arms and hooked his thumbs in his belt. ‘And do you really think it matters?’

  Thank the Lord, he seemed to have calmed down a bit. Edwin shrugged. ‘To be honest, Sir Geoffrey, I’m not sure. I was just thinking about him, and I realised I knew nothing about him. Someone might well have killed him for something he’d done recently, but then again, the key might lie back in his past.’

  Sir Geoffrey grunted, losing interest again and picking up a scabbard from the pile which was lying on a table. The stitching had come undone at the bottom end and he ran his finger over it before throwing it behind him. He picked up another. ‘Well, whatever you say.’ He kept looking at the scabbard and didn’t turn to Edwin. ‘Thinking about it, though, Father Ignatius might know more – I’ve seen them speaking together a few times. But don’t get too bogged down in all this: our lord wants a quick answer and a resolution to this, and you need to make sure he gets – ’

  Edwin was shoved to one side by a man who ran in and stood, doubled over from lack of breath and inhaling deeply, before Sir Geoffrey. The knight looked him up and down. ‘Well?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. They must have left the district.’

  Sir Geoffrey flung the scabbard back on the table. ‘Damn it, you’d better hope they have. Three patrols I’ve sent out since yesterday, and yet none of you can find a small group of ne’er-do-wells? In your own territory?’

  Edwin could probably have told the man not to push his luck, but he didn’t get the chance. ‘Well, sir, we have got the one in the cell …’ Edwin winced.

  Sir Geoffrey took one step forward. ‘One man? One man in custody? Yes, we damn well have – no thanks to you or the rest of the milksops who call themselves a garrison!’ He was starting to bellow, one fist clenched, and the man tried to creep backwards, standing on Edwin’s
toe. ‘Outlaws on my ground, and my men let them slip out while the only one we have was knocked out cold by a monk. A monk!’ The man was starting to look desperate, and Edwin thought it might be a good time for him to leave, too. ‘And he hasn’t even come to himself yet, and the Lord knows if he ever will. And you stand there saying you can’t find the rest! Get out of my sight before I do something you’ll regret, you pox-ridden –’

  Edwin didn’t stay to hear the rest. He was halfway across the inner ward before the other man could leave the room. He thought he’d go into the steward’s office – after all, there wouldn’t be anyone in there, would there?

  When he got there he was glad to see – and smell – that everything had been cleared up. He sat down on a stool and tried to marshal his thoughts, but he was disturbed by some whispering from just outside the door.

  ‘You need to tell him!’

  ‘Yes, but what if I get in trouble? It’s nothin’ to do with me. I was just at this end of the hall …’

  ‘But you’ll get in worse trouble if you don’t say, won’t you? I know you didn’t like him – none of us did. But he’ll lie uneasy in his grave if nobody finds out who did it, and you don’t want him a-stalking of you in the night, do you?’

  Edwin got up and walked to the door, finding two men standing outside. They stopped whispering and looked guilty.

  He sighed. ‘You’d better come in and tell me what you know.’

  One man virtually shoved the other into the room. ‘Go on then!’ He himself backed away and hurried into the main hall.

  The man stepped forward as Edwin went to sit back on his stool. It was one of the two he’d overheard the other night in the great hall, the one who’d said he would like to murder Hamo. He looked greensick.

  ‘I didn’t do it, sir, honest I didn’t. It was just talk, like anyone would do.’ He ducked his head.

  ‘I’m not trying to say you did anything, er …’ – he dredged his memory – ‘Dickon?’ The other nodded. ‘I just want to know what you heard on the night that Hamo died.’

  Dickon looked at his feet.

  Edwin prompted him. ‘You’ve already said that you were at this end of the hall.’

  ‘Yes, yes I was.’

  There was silence for a moment. ‘And?’

  Dickon took off his cap, revealing greasy lank hair of an indeterminate colour. ‘Well, sir, I can’t swear to all this, ’cause I was so tired, like, I was already half-asleep in my blanket when I first heard him. But I needed to get up to – well, to go outside, if you know what I mean. So as I’m goin’ past the entrance to the office, like, I hears things gettin’ thrown around in the room, so I thinks to myself, there’s someone else gettin’ in trouble, and I’m not goin’ near there. So I creeps out, and after I’ve had a – well, after I’ve come back in, I go past the door and it’s all gone more quiet, but I hears his voice – ’

  ‘Whose voice?’

  ‘Hamo’s voice, sir. It was all hoarse, like, but I’m sure I heard just the one word.’

  Edwin leaned forward. ‘And what word was that?’

  ‘He said “William”, sir.’

  Mass was finished and Martin was ready for his dinner. Actually he’d been ready for his dinner for quite some time – he seemed to be permanently starving at the moment, and his stomach had been growling all through the service. He guessed it must be the effect of all the growing he’d been doing, although, thank the Lord, that seemed finally to have stopped. He was already the tallest man in the castle, and he was having trouble fitting into any of the hauberks in the armoury; he hadn’t tried any of the mail chausses for a while, but he reckoned he’d have a hard time getting any of them more than halfway up his legs. He took stock of himself as he went down the stairs in the keep two at a time. There was something to be said for being taller than most, certainly – much better for any man, but especially a knight – but you didn’t want to go too far. He had to bend over all the time to serve at table, which made his back ache, and he was starting to have dreams about people laughing at him because his feet touched the ground on either side of his horse. But still …

  His thoughts were interrupted as Thomas flew by, tripping him and forcing him to grab at the wall to stop himself falling. People could have nasty accidents on stairs if they weren’t careful, as well he knew, and he didn’t want to be one of them. Damn the boy. He’d been fidgeting all the way through Mass, and the earl had even had to look behind him to see what the noise was, encompassing Martin in his forbidding gaze as well as Thomas. That was not good. Martin supposed he could sympathise to an extent – it wasn’t much fun listening to the priest gabbling away in Latin, which neither of them understood, but it was holy, so the least he could do was stand still and think about God, maybe sending up some prayers of his own. He normally liked to remain motionless in the chapel and enjoy the peace, but not today. Why couldn’t Thomas just learn to stay still and do as he was told? Fortunately none of the guests had been disturbed, or Martin might be looking forward to some stern words from his lord later. Mind you, if the earl wanted to berate Martin he’d probably have to queue behind the Lady Ela – as Martin expected, she’d been doting on the boy and spoiling him again, and the brat had been behaving even worse since she had arrived. Martin also had a gnawing suspicion that Thomas had told his mother about the episode with the birch: certainly she was looking daggers at him even more than usual. He couldn’t be sure, but to be on the safe side he’d vowed not to go anywhere where there might be the slightest chance of encountering her alone. He winced at the thought of what she might say to him.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and strode out into the sunshine, down the wooden exterior staircase which led to ground level. The nobles were still up in the earl’s council chamber, chatting and taking their time, and he was on his way to check that everything was prepared properly in the great hall. Thomas was supposed to be helping him, but he couldn’t see him anywhere. He looked around and realised that Adam was following him silently: well, at least someone knew how to go about his business quietly and well. He opened his mouth to make some kind of remark, but he couldn’t really think of much to say, so he didn’t bother. Adam wasn’t the kind for small talk either, so he wouldn’t mind.

  As they walked through the inner ward, he saw Sir Geoffrey near the gate, and he altered his course, hoping to catch him and ask him about the possibility of going out to the tiltyard later, or maybe even hunting. But then he saw one of the guards greet the knight, and the snarl which came his way in return, so he changed his mind and headed back towards the hall.

  Adam had reached it before him, and was already checking the trenchers and dishes on the sideboard by the high table. As he loped up to join him, Martin wondered if he might be able to sneak an hour off that afternoon so he could go and see Edwin to ask how his labours were progressing. He couldn’t get as far as being annoyed with the earl – it wasn’t his place to judge his lord’s actions or motives – but he did feel a little aggrieved that his request to help Edwin had been turned down so flatly. It wasn’t as though he’d actually enjoyed what had gone on a few weeks ago – nobody could say that – but it had been something very different, and it had given him the chance to make a new friend. Not to mention the chance to spend valuable time talking to Joanna … he sighed as he reached the sideboard and poked at the great salt cellar to see that it was full.

  Everything looked all right for the nobles’ dinner, and Adam nodded to show him that he thought the same. The idea of food made his stomach groan anew, but he tried to ignore it – it would be ages until he got anything to eat, as he’d have to serve at table and make sure the earl and his family had eaten their fill before he could help himself to what was left. Which might be a while if the Lady Isabelle got going. He turned to the wine, and he was just picking up a large jug of the stuff when Thomas appeared again. Somehow he managed to trip on nothing in particular, and he crashed into Martin’s legs just as he was turning. Martin los
t his balance, tried to save himself, and ended up pouring wine all down the front of his tunic. The shock of the cool liquid made him jump, and he bellowed at the boy – who didn’t have a drop on him, of course – both about his tunic and the waste of the wine. Thomas stuck his tongue out and Martin realised he’d done it on purpose. All the irritations of the morning got to him and he raised his fist, really meaning to teach the brat a lesson this time, but his arm was caught from behind him.

  Furiously he turned, but he couldn’t hit Adam, and why was he rolling his eyes and jerking his head like that? Oh.

  The noble party were on their way in, and the Lady Ela was staring at him with even more venom than her son had done after the birching episode. Thomas skipped over to her and Martin admitted defeat. He stamped off to get changed – damn it, he’d have to put on that old tunic which was too small – and wished that he was somewhere else, out in the open, riding a horse very fast, away from all these people.

  It was crowded at the high table, and Joanna squeezed up on the bench to allow Matilda and Rosamund to sit next to her at the end. Lady Isabelle was over towards the middle, and as she had her brother and future bridegroom close to her, and plenty of squires waiting at the table, she wouldn’t need any more assistance. Joanna almost rubbed her hands at the thought of a nice peaceful meal, being able to concentrate on her own food, with a bit of chat with girls her own age – something she didn’t get very often here at Conisbrough, and maybe, if she was honest, the chance to keep looking up to see what Martin was … oh. Where was he? She peered around, trying not to make it look too obvious, but there was Adam, there was Thomas, there was Eustace – who she supposed she’d be getting to know better once she’d joined Sir Gilbert’s household – there were William Fitzwilliam’s and Henry de Stuteville’s squires, but there was no tall figure looming over them. For no particular reason that she could think of, she was assailed by worry. One member of the household was already dead, to say nothing of all that trouble a few weeks ago. What if? How would she – oh, there he was. He hurried in, trying to look unobtrusive, wearing a very ill-fitting tunic that she hadn’t seen for a while, the one which had a rip in the elbow. She had meant to ask him if he would like her to mend it for him, but somehow she had never got round to it … Matilda was talking to her, and she hadn’t heard a word.