Whited Sepulchres

by C. B. Hanley

  A home near the Sprotborough road.

  He ran after them, shouting for them to stop. They turned in surprise as he barrelled up to them, Godleva smiling as though he’d come to speak to her. He ignored her and addressed John. ‘You live near the Sprotborough road.’ John nodded. ‘But you didn’t actually say it was him, did you? You just said a lord.’

  John looked confused. ‘What you talkin’ about, boy?’

  Edwin started again. ‘You said you’d seen Hamo talking to a lord. And because you live out that way, I assumed you meant William Fitzwilliam. But you didn’t mention his name, did you?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know what he were called. Just a lord.’

  ‘What did he look like, this lord? Tall and very thin? Neat little beard?’

  John shook his head. ‘Nay. A big man, not thin. And a great bushy beard.’

  Edwin’s mind was racing. John was still looking at him. ‘Is that all you needed? We’ve a way to go before dark.’

  Edwin came back to himself. ‘Oh, yes, of course. Thank you.’ He looked at Godleva. ‘And … good luck.’

  He watched the new family set off on the long road to their holding. They would have a hard life there, especially in the winter, but they would be together.

  In the meantime, he had some more thinking to do. Henry de Stuteville had been seen talking to Hamo. He needed to go up to the castle.

  As he neared the great hall his pace slowed. He’d been let through both the outer and inner gate without a problem, so maybe word of his disgrace hadn’t spread too far yet, or at least not enough to see him arrested. But his courage failed him and he stopped outside the door. Everyone in there would have seen what happened last night, and they’d all start whispering about him. What would F – , but no, he wasn’t going to think like that any more. He was his own man. He would go in, however difficult it was.

  Edwin could feel his face become hot as he entered the hall. Everyone was looking at him, faces turning as he trudged past, shoulders hunched. He changed his mind and was about to turn and leave, but a white-robed arm reached out to stop him.

  It was Brother William. ‘Come now, come. There’s no need to run away. The Lord visits humiliation on us sometimes, and we have to face it like men. Come, and sit.’

  Edwin didn’t really want to, but Brother William’s arm was strong, so he lifted his legs over the bench and sat down.

  Fortunately not too many people had noticed him, as the kitchen servants were now bringing in the sweet dishes for the nobles and the spiced wine to go with them. The greatest spectacle was a huge marchpane in the shape of the castle keep, which was carried in by two men who heaved it up on to the centre of the high table. As it went past, Edwin could see that it even had little shields around it, presumably made of sugar paste or something edible, coloured with the coats of arms of the earl and his guests. It was a masterpiece, and the ladies on the dais clapped their hands in appreciation.

  Brother William pushed some stew towards him. ‘Now, eat something. It’ll do you good.’

  Edwin didn’t think he’d be able to force any of it down, but he took his spoon out of his belt pouch and pushed the food around. Brother William, who was tucking in heartily, nudged him. ‘Come on, it’s very good – not as nice as that gigantic marchpane on the high table, maybe, but tasty. And better for your soul, as well. Just look at that thing up there – with the cost of the sugar on that, you could feed a poor family for weeks.’

  The spoon stopped moving. Edwin stared at his bowl. He wasn’t seated in the same place he had been on the evening when Hamo had died, but he could still picture the scene. Hamo had stood and stared at him and at Brother William; he hadn’t eaten as he would do so later once everyone else was fed. And while he stood, Thomas had slipped out behind him, his mouth full of stolen sugar. Thomas, who had run away in terror after realising the consequences of using poison. But he hadn’t poisoned the wine.

  Edwin looked up to the high table. Slices of marchpane had been carved and were being served to the nobles. The earl was there, his sisters and brothers-in-law, Sir Gilbert, Sir Geoffrey, Sir Roger, Mistress Joanna and the other lady companions. He couldn’t do it. After what had happened yesterday, he absolutely could not stand up and make his accusations again, only this time about the sugar. He couldn’t. He would never, ever live it down. He’d have to leave Conisbrough. The earl would kill him, and if he didn’t, the humiliation would.

  He looked again at the guests. They all now had trenchers in front of them with slices of marchpane on. They were looking at the earl to wait for him to start eating first. All those faces. The earl, who had taken him from his ordinary life and made him into more than he’d ever thought to be. The Lady Isabelle, torn between looking eagerly at the marchpane and lovingly at her bridegroom. Sir Gilbert himself, who had been with Edwin at Lincoln, saved his life and brought him home. Sir Roger, who had been his friend and introduced him as an equal to knights. Joanna and the other ladies, innocents all, who might die for nothing. And Sir Geoffrey. Sir Geoffrey, the knight who had been his father’s best friend, who had watched from afar as he himself had learned to walk and to serve his lord. Sir Geoffrey, who didn’t like sweet foods but who would eat it anyway out of politeness to the bride and groom, and so as not to shame the lord whose family he’d served all his life.

  It was all so unreal. His legs would hardly hold him up, but Edwin felt himself rising from the bench and walking to the middle of the hall. Would his voice even function? Everyone was looking at him again. Dear Lord, he prayed. Give me strength. He took a deep breath as he saw the earl pick up the slice that would kill him.

  ‘Stop!’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Only once had Edwin seen his lord so furious. It would take him a long time to get over that memory. And this time it was directed at him.

  The earl shoved his chair backwards, knocking his trencher to the floor as he pushed away from the table, and strode round to the front of the dais. Edwin wanted to flee but there was no chance; he was too close. Henry de Stuteville was also standing, fists clenched.

  Edwin’s first thought was that the earl was going to hit him, but of course he wouldn’t sully himself doing such a thing in front of his guests. Instead he impaled Edwin with the look which had sent men to the gallows.

  He had to say something, but it was all reminding him too much of last night. Henry de Stuteville was looming towards him. ‘My lord, if this is another of this peasant’s futile attempts to – ’

  But he was cut short by a dreadful whining scream. Even the earl jumped, and they all turned to look back at the dais, whence the noise emanated. A dog had seen its chance and headed for the earl’s dropped trencher; it had been eating the marchpane but was now throwing itself around in a dreadful agony.

  ‘Put it down!’ The voice was Sir Geoffrey’s, taking charge of the situation and barking an order at the nobles, heedless of rank. The Lady Isabelle was sitting almost stupefied with her marchpane halfway to her mouth, but Sir Gilbert knocked it out of her hand, looking up and down the table to see that everyone was doing the same.

  And so it was that both the knights were concentrating on the noble party, and neither of them saw what Edwin saw: Henry de Stuteville, watching the earl watching the final thrashing of the dog’s death throes, drawing a knife from his sleeve and lunging at the earl’s unprotected back.

  Edwin wanted to move, wanted to shout, but he was stunned, rooted, his feet somehow mired in the rushes and made of lead. He could see the blade, he could see his lord half-turning but off balance and unable to get out of the way, he could see the earl’s eyes opening wide at the sight before him, he could see the open mouths of the men trapped behind the table as they realised what was happening and that they were powerless to help.

  But suddenly Henry de Stuteville was hurled backwards, the arm holding the knife mercifully thrown up and away from the earl. He crashed down in a heap with his assailant on top of him. While everyone e
lse had been watching the dog, Martin had not taken his eyes off the earl, and he had thrown himself forward to tackle de Stuteville to the ground.

  They were thrashing around on the floor, the knife still in de Stuteville’s hand, and Edwin belatedly realised that he should do something to help. He took a step towards them, but already the men from the lower tables were swarming up and he got knocked over in the rush. He fell into a mass of bodies and felt a sting to the side of his face before a hand grabbed the back of his tunic and yanked him out of the melee.

  Fighting had broken out in the lower hall as well, as de Stuteville’s men were jumped on and held back by others. The struggle on the dais had reached its conclusion; Henry de Stuteville was hauled to his feet, his arms twisted behind him by four men, his knife in Sir Gilbert’s hand. Sir Geoffrey was helping Martin up. Edwin looked anxiously at him – as, he noted, did Mistress Joanna at the end of the table, her hand held to her mouth in horror – but although the sleeve of his tunic hung torn and loose, he didn’t look like he was bleeding. Thank the Lord.

  The earl, who had stood aloof from the brawl, looked around him at the carnage of his sister’s wedding feast. He turned to Edwin. If he’d looked angry before, then now … but praise God and all the saints in His heaven, the fury was not for him. The earl merely took one step towards him and asked, ‘How did you know?’ But as Edwin opened his mouth to reply, he was cut off with a gesture. ‘Never mind that now. It will keep. See to your face and report to me later.’

  His face? Edwin put a hand to his cheek and was surprised to see the sticky redness on his fingers. Somebody was still holding his tunic and he saw that it was Brother William. The monk smiled. ‘I told you you’d get yourself in trouble throwing yourself into a rescue like that. But don’t worry, it’s only a scratch – you won’t even have a scar to show for your pains.’ The voice was jocular, but Edwin felt the grip on him tighten. He should go, but he was drawn to the scene before him, the family split asunder. Something still wasn’t quite finished, but he knew it would come to him in a moment.

  The earl strode forward to within inches of his would-be murderer. He was shaking with the effort of controlling his fury, and Edwin knew that the rage wouldn’t be held in check for much longer. De Stuteville struggled and heaved in his captors’ grasp, but he couldn’t move. Instead he spat on the floor and swore.

  ‘Oh Henry, you idiot!’

  Along with everyone else, Edwin looked round to see the Lady Maud, face contorted, shrieking at her husband. ‘You fool! That poison was our only chance! And now look what you’ve – ’

  Edwin nodded to himself as uproar broke out again.

  Edwin stood in the earl’s council chamber. It was dark and cool; even the hot midsummer sunshine couldn’t penetrate the thick walls of the keep, so they had no residual warmth now it was dark. The room was lit by more candles than his mother would use in a year, and proper wax ones too, so that they cast a more even light without spluttering and making everyone’s face jump about. He’d been with Sir Geoffrey after the meal as he’d questioned Henry de Stuteville; initially he had been worried that they might have to use force, but it had been easier than he expected – the formerly larger-than-life lord had deflated, and he confessed everything.

  ‘So,’ Edwin concluded, ‘to start with I thought he wanted to kill Sir Gilbert, so he wouldn’t be my lord’s heir, but of course he still wouldn’t be next, so that didn’t make sense. Then I wondered if his plan was to have William Fitzwilliam accused of his crime, but surely that was too feeble a premise to stake his future on.’ He looked at his audience: the earl in his great chair, flanked by Sir Geoffrey and Sir Gilbert, with Martin, Adam and Eustace looming in the outer reaches of the light. The earl nodded for him to continue. ‘It was when I accused him of poisoning the wine, my lord,’ he winced at the memory of his humiliation in the great hall, ‘he was so happy to drink it – surely an innocent man might have wondered if the wine really was poisoned, even if he hadn’t done it himself? But he was so sure it wasn’t poisoned that he must have known. And he could only know that if he was the perpetrator himself, and it was something else he’d tampered with. And then the sugar – the marchpane – I knew. He did want to kill Sir Gilbert, but he wanted to kill the rest of you as well. Then he and the lady M-M – ’ he couldn’t bring himself to say her name out loud, not in front of the earl – ‘they would have your earldom now, my lord, your lands and your power.’

  He stopped for a moment while they took this in. Eventually the earl nodded again and Edwin continued, his voice shaking at the enormity of what he was saying. ‘So they needed you gone, my lord, and Sir Gilbert; they couldn’t leave the Lady Isabelle in case she married again; and they needed to kill your other sister and goodbrother to make sure. The way the realm is at the moment they could talk their way out of a mass poisoning – especially if they’d made themselves a little ill at the same time – and especially if they promised all your lands and men in support of the king and the lord regent. Henry de Stuteville said himself, my lord, that he believes in forward planning, and I think they’ve been working on this ever since you announced that Sir Gilbert was going to marry the Lady Isabelle.’

  The earl exhaled. ‘And they were this close to succeeding.’ Edwin knew he didn’t need to bother answering that. The earl looked at his companions. ‘But here we are, and we must move on from here.’

  Sir Gilbert spoke first. ‘What will you do, my lord?’

  The earl shrugged. ‘She is my sister, and he her husband. I can’t execute my own blood, and nor will I deliver them to the lord regent to do so.’

  Edwin was shattered. This was all happening like it had before. Nobody cared that Hamo was dead – his conscience pricked him a little, knowing that he hadn’t had Hamo uppermost in his thoughts either – and a nobleman could escape being brought to justice because of his birth. But he didn’t attempt to argue or protest: this was the way of his new world and he needed to get used to it.

  The earl was continuing. ‘But I will make sure they leave these shores and travel to their lands in Normandy, never to return.’

  Sir Geoffrey nodded. ‘He can’t harm you in exile, my lord.’ He paused. ‘And Sir William?’

  The earl looked up at Edwin. ‘Well, from what you say he had nothing to do with it?’

  Edwin nodded. ‘Yes, my lord. When Hamo shouted for “William” in his death throes, it was his brother he was calling for, the brother he thought was dead but had seen in the hall. Maybe he thought it was a ghost who was killing him, seeing as there was nobody else in the room. The noises weren’t a struggle, they were just him kicking things over as he died. As you saw from the dog in the hall, my lord, it must have been very painful.’ He swallowed. ‘I thought at first that Sir William had persuaded Thomas to put the poison in the sugar, but I soon realised he wouldn’t do that to his son. Then I found out that Henry de Stuteville had been seen talking to Hamo – I can’t think that he tried to get Hamo to do anything deliberately, my lord, otherwise he would have said something – he wasn’t popular in the household but he was loyal to you.’ Maybe his conscience would rest a little easier for that. ‘But there was probably some discussion of how Lord Henry would pay his donation for becoming a monk’ – the earl looked surprised, but he didn’t interrupt – ‘if Hamo would assist him in some way. But obviously he didn’t get anywhere, so he turned his attention to Thomas instead. My guess would be that he framed it as a joke, as Thomas loved – loves – a prank. And when Hamo ate his meal that night, he just couldn’t resist the temptation to help himself to some of that sugar to go with it.’

  There was silence for a moment before the earl spoke again. ‘So, William shall go free. But I will not have that cursed boy in my household any longer, even if he doesn’t turn up dead.’

  The other knights indicated their agreement. ‘But how will we find him, my lord?’ asked Sir Gilbert.

  Edwin couldn’t help interrupting. ‘I think I can help you there, m
y lord. I mean – I don’t know where he is, he ran away when he realised what he’d done, but he’s been gone so long that he must have found a hiding place or we’d have found him by now. And I know someone who knows every haven for a small boy for a mile around.’

  The earl nodded once more, then stretched his arms out and yawned. ‘Good. Search again at first light. If you find him, send him to me, and you yourself report here after dinner tomorrow morning.’

  Edwin bowed, a little less awkwardly than he had a few weeks ago, and left the room.

  At the outer gate he had to rouse the porter to let him out, and then he walked down the road to the village. For the first time in many nights the moon was covered by cloud, so he couldn’t really see, but he was used to the walk and didn’t stumble. It would be light within an hour or two, so there wasn’t much point in going to bed – he didn’t think he’d sleep, anyway. He made his way back to the cottage and sat down outside it, under the eaves, his back against the daub wall. Families. What terrible things could be hidden within them. It was almost worth not having one. But, as he leaned against the wall which his father had made, lovingly, as a shelter for his beloved wife and son, he realised that wasn’t the answer either. His parents had been two halves of the same whole, and he wanted that for himself, he knew that now. Not for him the life of the priest, or even that of the man so dedicated to his work that he didn’t marry, like Hamo, who had died alone and in pain.

  He put his head back and allowed himself, finally, to bring Alys fully into his mind. He could see her so clearly that it was as if she were there. He savoured her smile as he savoured the quiet of the sleeping village. There was something oddly comforting about being the only person awake, as though he were watching over them. Slowly, he allowed himself to relax as he waited for the sun to come up.