by C. B. Hanley
William looked on approvingly. ‘Good lad. Your colour’s coming back. Come.’ He held out one hand, and Edwin took it, careful not to pull on it too hard as he hauled himself up, in case they both overbalanced. William clapped him on the back. ‘Now. What do you need to do?’
Edwin managed half a smile. He still didn’t have the pattern complete, but he was starting to see it in his mind. ‘Thank you, uncle. I need to go to the castle, as I have some news for Sir Geoffrey and the earl.’
William nodded. ‘I’ll come with you.’ He held up one hand. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way or start a fight with Richard. But I need to show them that I’m recovering, before they put someone else in my place.’
As they made their laborious way up to the castle, Edwin had time to straighten things in his mind. Nobody had wanted to poison Hamo – that had just been an accident. The real target was Sir Gilbert, who was about to marry the earl’s eldest sister and who would therefore be the heir to the title. He would, as Mistress Joanna had known, have the power. And so who would want him out of the way? The people he had dispossessed, of course. William Fitzwilliam was married to the next sister, and so had been the most likely candidate, but he was not an ambitious man, and he wouldn’t have encouraged his son to do something so vile. So that left one other – Henry de Stuteville. And what better way to assure himself of the earldom than to murder the heir and have the next in line suspected of the killing? His nephews adored him, and he would have had no problem getting Thomas to do something which he’d probably described as a prank. He’d given something to Thomas and told him to put it in the special wine for the bridal couple – probably telling him it would give them an amusing case of the runs on their wedding night or something. But Thomas hadn’t realised he’d been given deadly poison. And Hamo had ordered the wine to be placed in the office, not in the kitchen; and as he’d eaten his solitary meal he hadn’t been able to resist tasting some of it, with fatal consequences.
Presumably, had Henry de Stuteville succeeded in killing Sir Gilbert, he would have shown himself a loyal supporter of the earl so that he would be the ideal person to succeed him. Edwin had it all worked out now, and as he struggled to help the cursing William through the gate to the outer ward – the walk from village to castle was longer than it looked, and William might have been overambitious about his recovery – he knew he could explain it all to the earl. First, though, he’d have to make sure that the poisoned wine was somewhere safe. But there was no particular hurry – it was for the wedding, wasn’t it, so Sir Gilbert and Lady Isabelle wouldn’t be looking to drink any of it until tomorrow. Still, he’d better slip through the hall to the serving room while the meal was taking place in order to check it was still there.
By the time they reached the inner gatehouse William was really struggling and had slowed to such an extent that he was hardly moving. Edwin chafed at the delay, and it was with relief that he left William with the porter on duty to rest, while he made his way to the hall.
The evening meal was in full swing and Martin was busy. With so many people at the high table there wasn’t much room for manoeuvre, and he was continually elbowing the other squires and trying not to trip over. The nobles had almost finished with the savoury dishes – all fish today, of course – and he started to take the bowls off the table and replace them on the sideboard. His own stomach groaned at the sight of all the fine food, and he stuffed a small slice of eel pie into his mouth while nobody was looking, just to keep him going until he was allowed to eat properly.
But before that could happen, there was the business of the toast to the bridal couple to be made on the eve of their wedding; a special barrel of wine had been ordered specifically for this occasion. Martin carefully broached the top of the barrel. Funny, it was looser than it should have been, good thing it hadn’t all spilled on the way here. The aroma of the wine floated up into his nostrils as he removed the lid, and he inhaled the rich, unfamiliar scent. Truly this was an exotic drink, like nothing he’d ever smelled before. He dipped a jug into the smooth, dark, ruby liquid, and filled the two ornate goblets which Adam had placed on the sideboard. He was sorely tempted to have just a little sip, just to try out the enticing drink, but he couldn’t. It was one thing to sneak a bit of pie while nobody was paying attention, but this was the special stuff for the bridal couple, and they alone must drink it.
The goblets were full, so he and Adam carried them to the table and placed them in front of the Lady Isabelle and Sir Gilbert. The other nobles were served with cups of a different wine so all was ready for the toast. Then Martin moved back to watch as the earl stood, followed by everyone in the hall. His stomach was growling so much that he barely listened as his lord made a short speech extolling the beauty and virtue of his sister and the bravery and prowess of her betrothed. Anyway, once the toast was over he would be able to eat something.
Martin watched as Sir Gilbert and Lady Isabelle raised the goblets to their lips.
Chapter Thirteen
Edwin wondered why it was so quiet when he entered the great hall. All the men in there were standing in silence, looking at the dais where the high table stood. To start with he couldn’t see what was going on – he’d always wished he was taller – but when he moved round a bit he could see the earl standing with his goblet raised, speaking of the bridal couple. Edwin wouldn’t interrupt that: he’d find the earl and Sir Geoffrey afterwards and explain about tomorrow’s w– wait a moment. The earl was toasting the bridal couple. All the nobles had cups of wine. Sir Gilbert and the Lady Isabelle had ornate goblets in their hands. A small barrel stood on the side table. Sir Gilbert was about to drink. He was raising the goblet to his lips. Dear Lord.
‘Stop!’
Every head in the hall turned his way, and Edwin realised that the voice he’d heard shrieking was his own. Sir Gilbert had, thank God, paused, the goblet hovering near his mouth with the wine mercifully untasted. But the earl’s face was thunder as he looked down the hall.
Edwin gulped, but he had to go on. He took a few steps towards the dais. ‘Sir Gilbert, please don’t drink the wine. It’s poisoned.’
Immediately there was uproar. Everyone seemed to be shouting. One or other of the ladies at the high table gave a shriek. Sir Geoffrey leapt up, his stool crashing to the ground behind him, and strode round the table to stand by the earl. He had no sword, but stood with a knife in his hand as though to repel any attack on his lord. All the nobles put their cups down, and then Martin and Adam started collecting them and putting them out of harm’s way on the side table. Edwin could see which were the ones the bridal couple had held, as they were distinguishable by their handles. The earl himself, after a brief start of surprise, held his own cup out to be collected, then folded his arms and turned that frightening stare on Edwin.
‘This had better be good.’
Edwin felt his face burning. He shifted uncomfortably, but that gaze was pinning him to the floor. ‘My lord, I think Hamo died after he tasted the wine that was delivered for the wedding. Someone poisoned it, meaning to kill Sir Gilbert, and Hamo …’
At the mention of his name, Sir Gilbert, who had been standing protectively next to the Lady Isabelle, also strode round the table. He reached Edwin and gripped his shoulder. ‘Edwin. Be very careful about what you’re saying. Are you sure?’
Edwin nodded, still without taking his eyes off the earl. ‘Yes. Once you’re married you would be my lord’s heir, and someone wanted to stop that. To start with I wondered how he thought he could do it with poison, but if this wine was just for the bridal couple, then – ’
The earl had moved closer to him. ‘You said “he”. Who?’
Edwin could hardly manage to open his mouth. His voice came out in a squeak. ‘My lord, perhaps we could go somewhere more private?’
A shake of the head. ‘Speak. Speak now, before these witnesses.’
Edwin could feel himself fading, the hall seeming further away. He licked his lips. ‘My l
ord, I …’ Dear Lord, he was about to accuse the earl’s own brother-in-law of murder. But Sir Gilbert was still holding his shoulder, holding it with the sword arm which had saved his life and the life of the woman he loved, just a few weeks ago. He heaved a shuddering breath. ‘My lord, I believe it was Sir Henry de Stuteville.’
A gasp sounded from those men at the near end of the lower tables, but it was drowned out by the bellow of rage from Sir Henry, who stormed round the table and grabbed the front of Edwin’s tunic in one huge fist. His bushy beard scratched Edwin’s face as he propelled him backwards. Edwin felt himself at the centre of chaos, trying to stay on his feet, someone behind him holding him up as he was shoved, and several other men attempting to pull Sir Henry off him. There was a struggle before they eventually succeeded and he could breathe again. The man behind him turned out to be Sir Roger, who placed a calming hand on his arm. Sir Henry shrugged himself free of the restraining hands of Sir Geoffrey and Sir Gilbert and turned in fury to the earl, who had not moved.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the earl raising his hand. ‘Stop. I will hear you, but I will not have this riot under my roof.’ He looked at Sir Geoffrey. ‘Clear the hall.’
Sir Geoffrey gestured to several of his sergeants, who started to shepherd men away from the tables. Most of them moved unwillingly, grabbing food to take with them and turning to witness the spectacle until the last moment as they went out the door, but eventually the lower part of the hall was empty and unnaturally silent, the detritus of the meal scattered everywhere. Those on the dais stood immobile.
The earl looked at the high table. ‘You too, ladies. This is no place for you.’
Edwin watched them as they scuttled away. The Lady Maud looked as though she would protest, but one look from the earl silenced her before she could start, and the Lady Isabelle pulled her away. Edwin could feel his heart throbbing in his throat. He had to explain things. Once the earl knew all the facts, surely he would understand? But he had turned away from Edwin, towards his goodbrother.
‘Henry, now you have gathered yourself, perhaps you would like to speak.’
Henry de Stuteville looked at Edwin as though he were something unpleasant on the sole of his boot. ‘My lord, surely you don’t expect me to demean myself by responding to the mad ravings of this peasant?’ The earl said nothing, but regarded him steadily. Sir Henry smoothed his beard. ‘Very well. If I must put it into words, I did not poison this wine, and I did not attempt to kill Sir Gilbert. Is that satisfactory?’
The earl nodded and turned to Edwin. ‘It must have taken quite some nerve to stand up and make this accusation. I assume you think you can prove it?’
Edwin tried to control the trembling in his limbs. ‘Well …’
Sir Henry laughed derisively. ‘You see? My lord, surely you give no credence to the wild allegations of such a person?’ He looked around, surprised that the other men there had not rushed to his defence. Then he smiled. ‘Will it settle the matter if I drink this wine? Will that prove my innocence?’ He strode over to the side table, lifted one of the double-handled goblets and gulped down the contents so fast that a trickle of the wine escaped and ran down his beard and the side of his neck like blood. Edwin started forward in horror, and noted that Sir Geoffrey and Sir Roger both made similar, albeit smaller, movements – so they’d believed him. But Henry de Stuteville was standing proud, the empty goblet in his right hand, his left wiping across his mouth. He tossed the cup dismissively to one side and folded his arms. ‘You see? I live.’ He smiled at the earl, but the look he turned on Edwin was one which held such malice that Edwin could feel it in the innermost part of his being.
The earl turned back to him, those eyes looking right through him now. ‘I am … disappointed.’ Edwin felt stabbed. ‘Go now, and I will deal with you in due course.’
Edwin stumbled off the dais, all support gone, all eyes on him as he took the longest walk of his life down the empty hall. He could feel the stares of the nobles, and his back burned. Once outside he was surrounded by men wanting to know what had happened, but he pushed blindly past them and did not stop until he reached his cottage. He barred the door, fell on to his palliasse, and, despite the heat of the evening, pulled a blanket over his head, curling under it like a babe and shuddering with an emotion he couldn’t even name.
Martin tried to stand as still as possible. Thank the Lord his stiffness was wearing off now so he didn’t feel the need to shuffle around to a more comfortable position, which might have drawn attention to himself. For the air in the room was like dry tinder, and it would only take one spark to set it all ablaze.
He felt sorry for Edwin. All along he hadn’t seemed happy with the task laid upon him, and obviously the pressure had got too much for him – he’d been forced to make a guess which had turned out to be wrong. And there would be no coming back from it: he was disgraced in the eyes of the earl and would surely never work for him again. The earl himself was absolutely furious at the public embarrassment and, since they’d all retired to the great chamber, he’d spent his time stalking about, alternately swearing and apologising to Henry de Stuteville. Martin had the feeling that it was only the presence of the ladies that was keeping the earl from flinging cups around and breaking things.
Meanwhile the Lord Henry was (understandably, Martin supposed) livid about the insult to his honour and was demanding drastic punishment for Edwin. Martin trembled at some of his more violent suggestions. But both Sir Geoffrey, who was unusually in the chamber, unwilling to move away from the earl, and Sir Gilbert had tried to calm the situation with a view to saving Edwin’s life and limbs. And, thank the Lord, Sir Henry’s insistence on retribution was having the opposite effect on the earl to the one intended – he didn’t like people making demands to his face, so he was veering away from any specific promises of punishment. Martin began to breathe a little more easily.
Eventually everyone stopped striding about and sat down to wine, quieter conversation, and, in the case of Sir Roger and Sir Gilbert, chess. Martin listened to the sound of the pieces being moved as the talk swirled around. Click. The consensus in the noble party now seemed to be that Hamo had died by accident after ingesting something which didn’t agree with him. Click. Edwin had been wrong all along about it being poison. Click. ‘Check.’ After all, it had been four days now and nobody else had died – if there was poison in the castle supplies, they reasoned, someone else would have been affected. Click. ‘Checkmate.’
Martin took the risk of looking up from his feet and gazing around him. Sir Roger was wryly acknowledging that his game had been poor, while Sir Gilbert smiled. Most of the nobles were nodding sagely at the lack of evidence of poisoning, but over to one side, his face illuminated by a torch on the wall, Sir Geoffrey was looking down and shaking his head.
An argument was breaking out on the other side of the room. Martin tried to swivel his eyes to see what was going on without moving his head. It was the Lady Ela, haranguing the lord earl again. Martin was glad he hadn’t turned round.
‘William, you need to do more to find Thomas! The poor boy is still out there somewhere, lost and lonely, and you don’t seem to care!’
The earl bunched his fist, and Martin gulped. But his voice remained level. ‘Sister, as I have said – repeatedly – we are searching for the wretch, not that he deserves it. He’s on foot, so he can’t be far away. And when we find him, if he’s alive, he’ll wish he weren’t by the time I’ve finished with him, I can tell you. And if he’s dead, frankly you should rejoice at losing such a troublesome and useless boy so early in life, before he can do any real damage.’ He raised his hand to forestall her as she opened her mouth to speak, and looked instead at William Fitzwilliam. ‘You’ll need to do a great deal better with your other son if you want him to be worthy of any inheritance later.’
William Fitzwilliam nodded without speaking, but the Lady Ela shrieked. ‘Him! Why, he’s never – ’
She was cut off abr
uptly as her husband took three steps towards her, brought his arm back, and slapped her across the face as hard as he could. The smack of his hand on her flesh echoed round the room, which fell silent.
Martin risked a fuller glance, still trying to remain immobile. The Lady Ela was leaning back in her chair, her hand to her face, white, staring up in disbelief at William Fitzwilliam, who was shaking with rage. ‘Be quiet!’ He leaned over her, his face close to hers. ‘I will not take this disrespect any longer! God knows I’ve put up with you long enough, flaunting your higher birth at me, but I will be the master in my own household, damn it, and you will learn!’ She flinched further away. ‘Dear Lord, I’ve even been praying for the strength to deal with you and that cursed boy, wondering why I’ve let you cosset him so much. Just look how he’s turned out, bringing shame on me, and all because of your foolishness. No more, I tell you!’
Everyone else was observing the scene while pretending to look away. Joanna and the other girls buried their faces in their sewing. The Lady Ela cast a glance at the earl.
William Fitzwilliam followed her gaze, stood up straight and made a small bow. ‘Begging your pardon, my lord, under your roof.’
The earl merely flicked his fingers, a cold glance passing over the lady without engaging. ‘Something you should have done a long time ago, evidently. She’s your wife and it’s up to you to control her, my sister or no.’
William Fitzwilliam straightened his tunic and smoothed his beard before turning back to his wife. ‘Now, you will go to your chamber and stay there until tomorrow, and we will have no more whining about the boy. And from now on you will remain silent and obey me as a wife should.’
The Lady Ela stood and gave a stiff curtsey to her husband and to the earl before turning and leaving the room without speaking. She was still white, except for the scarlet mark of his hand on her face. Her companion – Martin couldn’t remember her name – also stood and bobbed a hasty curtsey herself before following her mistress out the door. Martin felt sorry for her, having to walk the whole length of the room like that with everyone looking on in silence. For silent it was. There were, what, over a dozen people in the room, but you could hear a flea jumping in the rushes and a dog yawning over by the fireplace.