by C. B. Hanley
William Fitzwilliam looked pained. He flicked an imaginary crumb off the front of his scarlet tunic and stroked his beard. ‘Yes. It’s time he – ’
‘William! How can you say such a thing!’ Edwin thought the Lady Ela was addressing her husband, but in fact she had rounded on the earl with a tone that would have seen any normal person flogged. Edwin winced, and felt little Peter move even closer to him. ‘He’s too young to be keeping up with the men and all these great lumps of lads you have here. He’s run off to rest, poor thing. You have to …’
The earl’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the stalk of his goblet. He put it down with precise care before turning to his sister to reply. Edwin felt Peter’s arm against his own, and he remembered the time he’d had to search for him throughout the castle grounds. There were many, many places in which a small boy could conceal himself, and if you included the estate, the village and the woods as well, Thomas could be very difficult to find.
The earl was saying something along the same lines, his voice controlled. He finished by telling his sister that the boy would no doubt come back when he was hungry, at which point he could expect to be chastised. The Lady Ela was becoming more indignant and Edwin worried that the scene in front of them was about to turn violent. He tried to remain calm. Peter had certainly never had the chance to turn up again when he was hungry – nobody would have thought to feed him, not before Sir Roger took him on, anyway.
Sir Roger and Sir Gilbert, away to Edwin’s left, were looking at each other, trying to find a way to stop the conversation in its tracks. Sir Gilbert, exhibiting real courage, dared to interrupt his future brother and sister with soothing words.
‘Come now, this may not be all it seems. The lad probably wandered away from the rest of us while we were out riding, following a deer or something, and he’ll find his way back as soon as he realises he’s late.’
The earl and the Lady Ela both paused in their argument and sat back. The Lady Isabelle threw herself into the conversation in support of her betrothed, remarking that she’d be very surprised if Thomas wasn’t there at dinner.
‘And speaking of which …’ Sir Roger had seen the man enter the chamber behind the earl, and he attracted his lord’s attention. The earl turned and nodded to the servant to speak.
The man cleared his throat and announced that dinner was served. There was a flurry of skirts and fuss as everyone got up and went out; Edwin followed them through to the passageway, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could go through to the top end of the hall. As they all paused and started to rearrange themselves in order of precedence he went out the door and into the ward towards the hall’s lower door, entering to look for a seat. He was very glad to be down at one of the lower tables in the hall, away from the nobles. Of course, everyone else down there was already seated, waiting for those who would sit at the high table, so it was a bit crowded. Edwin squeezed himself on to a bench where there was a spare trencher. He looked towards the door to the servery, remembering that he’d seen Hamo standing there on the night he died. He recalled that Hamo had seemed rooted to the spot, looking at him as though he had seen something which shocked him. Now why had he done that? As he had done many times in the past days, Edwin turned over and over in his mind the reasons anyone could have wanted to murder Hamo. But he was less and less convinced – it now seemed to him that Hamo hadn’t been the target, for it just didn’t make sense. Nevertheless he was dead, and even if he had been killed by accident, he deserved justice. Edwin wasn’t going to let anyone get away with this just because the victim wasn’t important enough. He was still haunted by thoughts of …
The noble party finally entered and Edwin stood, along with everyone else in the hall, as they seated themselves at the high table. His eyes were immediately drawn not to the earl and his family, but to the line of squires behind them. Thomas was not there.
Chapter Eleven
Martin reckoned that dinner must be over in the great hall. There had been quiet for some while, but now there was noise and bustle, albeit muffled by the walls which surrounded him. He wished there was a window in the chamber so he could at least see outside to look at what was going on. But the grey expanse of stone to one side of him was the curtain wall of the inner ward, and no builder in charge of his wits would do something as foolish as putting a hole in it. Besides, it would only look out over the moat, which was stinking even more than usual in this weather. The other side of the room was made of wood and faced inwards, but there was still no way he could look out – the door was at the other end. It led to a covered but open passageway which ran around between the chambers and the courtyard, so that some light, air and sound leaked into the room, but that was about it. He didn’t think he’d ever in his life spent so long without going outdoors, and the lack both of air and of ability to stretch his limbs was pressing on him, suffocating him. He was going to have to get out of here.
He managed to heave himself up into a sitting position. He pulled the blanket away from his legs – he hadn’t really needed it in this heat, but he was only wearing a shirt and braies and it wouldn’t be right if Joanna were to come in. He looked down at his legs. The fronts of them weren’t too bad, but as he shifted himself and squinted behind him, he could just about see that the backs of his thighs were almost black. He guessed that his back would probably not look much better, either, judging by the stiffness in it. It felt as though someone had put a plank down the back of his shirt and then tied him to it. But he just had to get out of here. He manoeuvred himself so that his legs were over the side of the narrow bed, and slowly, carefully, he lowered his bare feet to the floor.
Someone came through the open door, and he nearly overbalanced as he started and clutched at the blanket, but it was just Adam, carrying a platter of food. He looked surprised – probably at seeing me the right way up, thought Martin – and shoved the platter on to the low stool before coming over to stand before him.
‘Are you supposed to be getting up?’ He sounded a bit harried.
Martin grunted. ‘I don’t care whether I’m supposed to or not – I can’t stay in this bed a moment longer. Help me up.’
He held out one of his hands for Adam to pull on, and used the other to push himself off the bed. A moment’s dizziness hit him as he stood upright, and he felt a strange draining sensation in his legs. He leaned on Adam’s shoulder for balance until the room stopped moving.
‘Good. Now, stay by me while I try walking.’
Movement was fairly difficult, but it wasn’t as impossible as it had seemed yesterday. As he hobbled slowly back and forth, his legs began to feel like part of him again; and his appetite was returning. He tried to pick the food up off the stool but he couldn’t bend at all and had to grab at Adam to stop himself falling over like a small child.
He stood up again, carefully. ‘I tell you what – you pass me the food, and I’ll stand and eat it while you get my clothes and tell me what’s going on.’
Adam nodded and handed him the meal. ‘I’m sorry it’s not on a proper trencher – I thought that would go soggy and fall apart while I was on my way here so I just put it in a dish.’
Martin didn’t really care, though it was odd to be eating out of a serving platter. He wolfed down the beef and what tasted like some duck as Adam found his hose, tunic, belt and boots and put them on the bed, talking all the while. He was just running his finger round the edge of the dish in order to lick the last dregs of the sauce when he caught the last thing Adam had said.
‘Missing?’
Adam nodded. ‘Yes, he’s been gone since this morning when we all had a ride in the woods after the hanging. Lady Ela is shouting at everyone, Sir Geoffrey thinks he’s done it on purpose, and our lord is furious.’
Well, that sealed it then. He couldn’t leave Adam on his own if the lord earl was going to lose his temper. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. ‘Come on – help me get dressed and I’ll come back out with you.’
H
e was rewarded by a very relieved smile. Adam had to crouch to help him put his feet into each hose and then roll them up far enough so that Martin could reach to grab the lace at the top and tie it on to the drawstring at the waist of his braies. The tunic wasn’t too bad as he could get it over his head without having to move too much, but he gave up when it came to the boots – too small, as his boots always seemed to be – and let Adam deal with them. He was good at it; all that practice serving the earl and his previous master, no doubt. Finally Martin buckled his belt, and, feeling like a man again instead of an invalid, he walked stiffly towards the door, glad to leave the sickbed behind.
Sir Geoffrey was striding about the inner ward talking to various men as Martin made his way carefully down the stairs at the end of the passageway. The knight turned as one of the men pointed, and greeted Martin.
‘So you’re up and about, eh?’
‘Yes, Sir Geoffrey. Adam told me about Thomas and I’d like to help.’
The knight snorted. ‘You wait until I get my hands on that boy. He’ll remember it until the day he dies. But yes, let’s get him found before the Lady Ela’s screeches raise the roof.’ He looked Martin up and down. ‘Most of us are off into the woods – Adam, go and mount up – but I don’t think much of your chances of staying on a horse.’ Adam scurried off. ‘You’d better take some men and search round the outer ward. There are dozens of places there a boy could be hiding.’
Martin refused to allow himself to look relieved, but he had to admit to himself that he’d been wondering how in the Lord’s name he’d be able to ride. He nodded and started to turn away. Sir Geoffrey looked as though he would move off, too, but he stopped and grasped Martin’s arm. ‘It’s good to see you, lad. You had me worried for a while back in the woods, but you’re a strong boy.’ The old eyes, lined with the years, looked into his own. ‘A strong man, I should say. Welcome back.’
With a final squeeze of his arm, Sir Geoffrey moved away. Martin stood looking after him, pain forgotten, floating in the air.
Hours later the afternoon sun was blazing in the sky. Martin had been through every nook and cranny in the outer ward and there was no sign of Thomas. None of the men there had seen the boy; he’d even stopped the imposing figure of Crispin the smith from his work to ask. Now he stood outside the entrance to the kennels and stretched. He ached all over, but the movement was slowly coming back. He nodded to his men to go and get themselves a drink, and they saluted and moved away while he stood looking around him. Another hot sweaty rider came in through the gate, empty-handed, shaking his head. Where in the Lord’s name was that boy? Martin had started off being angry that Thomas was causing everyone so much trouble, but now he was starting to get worried that something had actually happened to him. What if he were lying injured in the woods somewhere? What if …?
He turned as the sound of multiple horses came from the gate. Sir Geoffrey rode in, followed by another man who was leading a pony on a rein. There was no mistaking the small mount with its distinctive forehead blaze, but the saddle was empty.
Edwin sat in the embrasure up on the curtain wall, trying to think. He had joined in the search of the ward, but when it had proved fruitless he’d decided that he was likely to be more useful thinking while others looked. He had last seen Thomas that morning, after the hang– after the events at the crossroads. To start with Thomas had looked elated and Edwin had been shocked at his callousness. But afterwards, he had looked frightened and sick, as well he might after witnessing the executions. Most of the other children, and indeed some of the adults, had been the same. But wait, Edwin hadn’t looked at him straight afterwards – he’d been too busy keeping his own stomach inside himself. No, he hadn’t looked up until after the earl’s final words. What had he said? Something about punishing the malefactors. Yes, and then, as he had turned away, ‘So perish all who disobey me.’ And it was then that Thomas had turned green.
Dear Lord, was Thomas frightened that he was going to be hanged for something? If so, did he have anything in particular that he was guilty of? He was the earl’s nephew, he wouldn’t be punished for stealing food or any such petty crime, it must have been something more serious … oh my Lord. Could he have had anything to do with Hamo’s death? But surely that wasn’t possible. The two of them had had a few run-ins, but that wasn’t surprising given their respective temperaments, and surely such a small child could not be capable of such evil?
He sat back against the wall. As it happened, that might solve one of his problems, as it pretty much put William Steward in the clear. If there was a less likely scenario than William poisoning Hamo (rather than, say, beating him to death), it was him getting Thomas to poison Hamo for him – William loathed Thomas even more than Hamo did. But that wasn’t exactly proof, and if, when he laid his thoughts before the earl, the earl decided that William had murdered Hamo, then he too would be swinging from a gibbet unless Edwin could prove otherwise.
But why might Thomas do such a thing, and who else might be involved? He couldn’t go and tell all this to Sir Geoffrey until he’d straightened it all in his mind. At that moment he looked down and saw the knight clattering through the cobbled area by the gate, with the riderless pony behind him. Edwin felt a jolt. This was serious. Had Thomas, in a panic, run away from the earl’s men after the hangings and then fallen from his horse? He can’t have been attacked by any more outlaws or they would have taken the pony, so it must have been an accident. But what if someone else had assailed him? What if Thomas, rather than being the guilty party, had seen something which incriminated someone else, and that someone had taken steps to ensure he wouldn’t talk? A chill ran through Edwin despite the heat of the day, as he remembered another page, another little boy who now lay silent and still in his grave. He had to stop this evil before anyone else died.
But there was another possibility. What if Thomas were the accomplice of the guilty party, and that man had simply hidden him away safely somewhere? That would make it someone who cared about him, for otherwise the boy might be seen as disposable. Someone who had influence over the boy, who wanted to keep him safe …
It was all going round and round in his mind as he made his way down the steps, so much so that he stumbled as he reached the bottom. His head felt like it was splitting apart again so he stood in the shade for a moment before stepping out into the blinding light of the inner ward. He found Sir Geoffrey in the armoury, being divested of his mail and the gambeson underneath, sopping wet as the soldier dropped it on the floor. He waited until the man had left and Sir Geoffrey had taken a large swig from a wineskin.
The knight nodded to him, still a little breathless. ‘Well?’
‘I think I’ve got an idea.’
The knight wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Good. Tell me.’
‘Well, I think Thomas has disappeared because he knows something.’
‘You mean someone has done away with him?’
Edwin shook his head. ‘No. I think … what I mean is …’ how could he say this about a member of the earl’s family? ‘I think William Fitzwilliam might have murdered Hamo.’
‘What?’
‘Well, a lot of things seem to point that way – John said he’d seen them meeting each other sometimes; Hamo called out “William” when he died; and he doesn’t seem to be very upset that his son has disappeared. Thomas looked greensick after he heard my lord saying “perish all who disobey me”; I think he was imagining his father, or even himself, swinging from a gibbet. When William realised that Thomas had seen him doing something and might tell our lord, he took him away and hid him somewhere.’
Sir Geoffrey stroked his damp beard. ‘Well, it’s possible. But you will need to have something better than that before we can go to the lord earl with accusations against his goodbrother.’
Edwin nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I don’t want to tell our lord yet. For one thing, I still don’t know why William Fitzwilliam might have wanted to kill Hamo, and until I know that
I won’t be satisfied that he actually did it. Something still isn’t right. No, what I’m suggesting is that we watch him carefully to see if he gives himself away at all. Surely if he does know where Thomas is then he will go to him eventually.’
‘All right. We will keep this between ourselves for now, but we will keep him under our watch to see what he does. In the meantime, you see if you can find out more.’
‘Yes, Sir Geoffrey.’
The knight stretched. ‘In the meantime I am going to change my shirt. At my age, if I sit around wet like this, I’ll either get the summer ague or my bones will grow too stiff to move.’ He half smiled. ‘The perils of age, lad.’ As he passed he gripped Edwin’s shoulder briefly. ‘You’ll get there one day, but not for many years, thank the Lord.’
Edwin watched him go, and then went out into the brightness of the ward. He could smell the evening meal being prepared, and sniffed the air.
If anything, it was even hotter in the great hall than it had been the evening before. No fires were lit, of course, but the place was packed with sweaty men sitting shoulder to shoulder, causing a wet fug in the air, and their smell was drowning out the scent of the pottage. Edwin had managed to bag himself a place on a bench which was near the door, so an occasional waft of air came his way, for which he was grateful. He could feel the sweat under his arms, and his shirt and tunic sticking to his back. From his place he had a good view of the door to the service area, and he watched the men scuttling in and out with their heavy loads of dishes, glad at least that he didn’t have to work in the kitchen in this weather.
He recalled that on the night he died, Hamo had stood in that very entrance. He had spoken to the serving men as they went back and forth, and then he had stopped and stared at Edwin, his eyes so wide and his face so pale that he might have seen the very devil himself. Edwin shuddered and crossed himself at the thought.