B00B9BL6TI EBOK

by C. B. Hanley

  He cast her a look which was filled with daggers. ‘Perhaps, Miss Alys, I could speak with your father. He will have more pity on a hard-working man.’

  She was on the verge of blurting it out when she remembered the children. She ignored him and stepped towards them, reaching out her arms. They came to her and she held them all close. ‘Children, I’m afraid I have to tell you some bad news. Papa has died. He has gone to the Lord.’ There was no other way to say it, no way to soften the blow. Little Randal started crying. Edric, a year older and trying to be manly, sniffed back his tears. Margery looked like a ghost, but said nothing.

  Gervase looked on with sympathy, while Mistress Guildersleeve clucked around them like a mother hen. ‘Now then, have no fear! Alys is here to care for you all, and Gervase and I are only next door, and Master Pinel the other side; we will all be able to look after you. You will be safe, and all will be well.’ Alys thought that she didn’t sound convinced, but the children seemed comforted. Mistress Guildersleeve turned to her again. ‘I forgot to ask you, Alys, did your poor father never regain his wits before he died?’

  It was a simple question but a little warning chimed in Alys’s head and something – perhaps it was the sly way Aldred was looking at her? – kept her from telling the truth. For the first time in her life she told a deliberate lie. ‘No, Mistress, he didn’t. He just slipped away in his sleep.’

  Mistress Guildersleeve crossed herself. ‘May God bless him and take him into His kingdom.’

  Alys looked at everyone in the darkened kitchen and decided it was time that she started to undertake her responsibilities as head of the family. She spoke with as much dignity and as little wavering as she could muster. ‘Children, wash yourselves and come upstairs to say goodbye to Papa. Mistress, perhaps you would help me prepare him? And Gervase, would you be so good as to ask Aldred to leave?’ To her surprise they all acquiesced, although Aldred looked less than pleased at being shoved roughly out of the house. With a sinking feeling, Alys realised that she probably hadn’t heard the last of him. Well, she had more pressing matters to worry about at the moment. She lit one of the remaining precious candles, so that her father should not go to his rest in the dark, and led the way upstairs.

  There she watched as the children each kissed their father on his cooling forehead. Margery took the boys away to put them in bed, and Alys and Mistress Guildersleeve turned themselves to the task of preparing the body for burial, washing and straightening the limbs and wrapping him. Later Gervase returned with Father Eustace, who said the prayers for the dead and promised to return on the morrow; once he left, Mistress Guildersleeve and her son departed with many promises of help and support – Alys should call if she needed anything or if there was any trouble – and finally Alys was left alone. She barred the kitchen door behind them and checked twice that the shop was locked, before returning upstairs to settle herself and begin a lonely vigil over the body until dawn.

  Snatches of the earl’s words played in Edwin’s head as he looked at the fire. ‘The other nobles distrust me, as I returned to the Royalist cause so recently … the regent doesn’t want me on this campaign … he’s told me to keep my troops in reserve … we won’t join the host as it makes its way to Lincoln …’ To start with, Edwin had wondered why he was being favoured with this information, rather than Sir Hugh or Sir Roger or any of the other knights. The earl was obviously concerned, but what was it to Edwin that they should pack up and leave, and not put themselves into danger? He wasn’t the one who would order the camp to be broken. But the earl hadn’t finished, he continued with words that now burned in Edwin’s mind. ‘I need to get myself back into favour with the regent; he will surely win this war, and if I’m not of his party then all will be lost. I had to do something … he noticed you particularly, said you were a man of quick wits … the plan is for a small party to approach the town ahead of the rest of the host, to try to gain access to the castle to find out what’s going on and to report back before the attack is carried out … a group will be noticed, but one man might be able to get in … I’ve volunteered your services, assured the regent that you’re an able man who will find a way to help, who will discover something which can be used to our advantage …’ The words tailed away as Edwin stared again into the glowing ashes. He was to leave the rest of the earl’s household, leave Martin, Adam, Sir Roger, everyone whom he knew even slightly, and was to travel with the host of strangers towards Lincoln, where he would ride forward with an advance party and try to gain access to the besieged castle – the castle which was surrounded by hundreds of French and English troops, all ready to kill him on sight. Even if he did get in he would need to find some piece of information, some crucial tactical advantage which would aid their cause, for without this they might fail – the nobles all agreed that their forces were outnumbered by their enemies. How was he to manage? What was he to do? How would he face the earl if he failed? He tried to pass quickly over the bleak thought that if he did fail, he would have no need to confront his lord, as he would be dead and facing a far greater judge.

  He shivered, remembering the most chilling words of all. The earl had leaned forward and gripped him by the shoulders, his face close to Edwin’s own as the slate-grey eyes bored into him. ‘My reputation, my future, your livelihood – everybody’s lives – might well depend on this. Don’t let me down.’

  It was dawn but Edwin hadn’t slept. At least, he’d managed a couple of hours of restless dozing, but he didn’t feel as if he’d gained anything from it. His head was heavy and his eyes were full of sand. Added to this, the farewells were turning out to be more difficult than he’d anticipated … after the events of the previous week he’d thought it impossible to say any more affecting goodbyes, but here he was again. At least he’d eaten a fine breakfast – Hamo hadn’t been able to do enough for him that morning – so he had the strength to endure the earl wishing him Godspeed, Sir Roger and Sir Hugh clapping him on the back, Adam offering shy good wishes, and Martin shaking his hand with a bone-crunching grip as he bade him take care of himself. Even the taciturn squire seemed to feel some of the emotion as he shook hands and clasped Edwin about the shoulder. He bent his head to speak quietly but earnestly; ‘I’ve lost too many companions in these past days. Make sure you don’t join them.’ Edwin could barely reply, managing only a nod. So consumed had he been by his own feelings that he’d forgotten that Martin too had lost much. Martin also appeared lost for words after his speech, and turned away.

  And then they were leaving. The earl’s host mounted and rode away from the encampment, leaving Edwin staring forlornly at the backs of the last group of people from his home. He was now totally alone in a host full of strangers. The morose thoughts returned. Surely he would never see them, or his home village of Conisbrough, again. He would die in this insane endeavour to penetrate the besieged city, and his body would lie forever in this alien place. What would happen to his mother? He would like to think that somebody would look after her but times were often hard, and what if she were left by herself? Would she starve?

  So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he barely registered the fact that he too was mounting and riding away from the main host. He was now in a small but diverse retinue led by John Marshal, the regent’s nephew, who would command the party that would attempt to infiltrate the castle at Lincoln. Blindly, Edwin sat on his horse and followed the man in front, noticing neither his companions nor the distance he travelled. He sank further into his solitary reflections.

  After some time he became aware of a man riding close next to him. He looked up and saw that it was Sir Reginald, whom he’d met the previous evening, with his friend Sir Gilbert on his other side. The younger knight looked at Edwin and smiled sociably. ‘You seem deep in thought, my friend.’

  Edwin didn’t know how to reply. These knights would be used to leaving friends and family behind; it was what they did all the time. He would sound stupid if he tried to explain his concerns to them, so he sa
id nothing.

  The more serious Sir Gilbert edged his horse forward slightly so that he could look past his companion to see Edwin. ‘Let me guess. You’re worried about what lies ahead of us, and your worries have been made worse by the fact that the people you know are not accompanying you and you’ve been left among strangers. Am I right?’

  Edwin nodded miserably. Was it that apparent? What ridicule was about to come his way? But he had misinterpreted again, for both knights were nodding.

  Sir Gilbert continued. ‘It’s always the way. The first time I rode on a campaign I was numb with fear. And as for Reginald here, I could barely get him on his horse.’ Half a smile flickered across his face as his friend started a mock protest. Then, serious again, ‘And possibly this is all made worse again by the thought of someone you have left behind at home?’ Edwin nodded again. ‘A wife? Sweetheart?’ At these words Sir Reginald, still riding between them, smiled at him slyly.

  Here Edwin felt that he had to correct the knight. ‘No, my mother.’

  Sir Reginald seemed to bite back whatever comment he had been about to make, and spoke seriously. ‘Ah, yes – Roger said that you lost your father last week. My condolences – it must be a terrible thing.’

  ‘It is.’ Edwin couldn’t think of anything to say as a lump rose in his throat.

  Sir Reginald continued. ‘Thank the Lord, my father continues to enjoy excellent health, but Gilbert here lost his some years ago, so he’ll understand.’

  Edwin looked at the other knight, who sighed. ‘Yes, it’s a difficult time, although it’s the natural way of things. More difficult when you have to take on the responsibility for your lands and family. I was young, but fortunately my father had given me good advice and guidance, so I was able to take over as he would have wished. When I struggled with problems to start with, I was able to think of what he might have said or done had he been in my place.’

  All of a sudden Edwin was awash with memories of his father, the things he’d achieved, the problems he’d solved, the tasks he’d carried out, and the advice he’d constantly issued – even if it hadn’t seemed so at the time, disguised as it might have been as a throwaway remark. What had his father taught him? Always to think about a situation before rushing in headlong, for that was why the Lord had given him a mind to differentiate him from the beasts of the field. Things are often not as they seem. People are often not as they first appear. Look not just at what has occurred or may occur, but why. As the recollections continued, the day seemed imperceptibly brighter. Perhaps he wasn’t in an impossible situation. It would be a fine thing to survive and return to the earl in triumph.

  Perhaps noticing that he had cheered somewhat, Sir Reginald changed the topic. He said he’d heard something of Edwin’s role from Sir Roger the previous evening, and was interested to learn more. He quizzed Edwin about the events that had led to his promotion, and seemed impressed by the tale, although Edwin certainly didn’t feel like boasting.

  The knight had a question, though. ‘But while you are doing all this work with your mind, how do you find the time for weapons training?’

  Edwin was nonplussed. ‘Training? I practise with my bow, as do all the men in the village, but my work involves letters, pen and ink, not weapons.’

  ‘But, I mean, never? You never train?’

  Edwin wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. ‘No.’

  ‘So you mean – you don’t use weapons at all? How will you fight? How do you defend yourself?’

  Edwin realised he was talking to someone who came from a different world. He would have to be clearer. ‘Fight? If you gave me an axe or sword I would be more likely to cut myself than to do any damage to anyone else. I have never even picked one up.’ He smiled, but was then struck by a thought. ‘As to defending myself, I’ve never had to.’

  The knight was aghast. ‘But we’re going into battle! Jesu, you’re going to get yourself killed! You must – I – we – what I mean is, when we encamp today I’ll have to give you some lessons. You must at least be able to look after yourself and get out of trouble.’ He shook his head and spoke more to himself. ‘I can’t believe it. How can anyone …’ He shook his head again and looked to Sir Gilbert for support: the other knight had been watching the exchange with interest, but he merely spoke in an inscrutable tone. ‘That’s a good idea, but I suggest that you remember to wear your gloves this time.’

  Sir Reginald held up his hand and looked at it. ‘Curse you, Gilbert – I’d just managed to forget about it, but now you’ve reminded me of it, all the pain has come back.’ He explained to Edwin that one day not long ago he’d been so keen to practise that he’d started sparring before anyone could fetch his gloves, and the result was a broken hand. He dismissed the injury. ‘It’ll heal. Have no fear, it certainly won’t stop me fighting once I get to Lincoln, even if I can’t hold my sword properly! And it won’t stop me teaching you, for if you don’t learn something quickly, you’ll never get through the battle alive.’

  Edwin rode on in silence.

  It was the middle of the afternoon when they arrived at Torksey. Edwin awoke from his daze and looked around him: he had travelled so little that any new place was of interest to him. He couldn’t decide at first whether the place was a large village or a small town: it was bigger than Conisbrough, certainly, but smaller than Newark. A river ran through the middle of it, filled with loaded craft making their way upstream, and the whole was overlooked by a small castle which stood on a motte on the eastern bank of the river.

  As their retinue had outstripped the pace of the main host, they had arrived first and had their pick of the area for making camp, so they moved down towards the river to pitch their tents in the open space there. Edwin again had nothing to do, so once he had dismounted stiffly (was it his imagination or was that slightly easier than it had been yesterday?) and dealt with his horse he was free to look around him. He wandered along the riverbank, looking over at the edge of the town. There was no wall enclosing it, and the neater and compact streets gave way to a straggle of untidy dwellings which stretched out alongside the water. Here he was upstream from the town, so the river wasn’t fouled and full of refuse, as it might have been further down; nevertheless there was a certain smell attached to it which wasn’t particularly pleasant. He was wondering about this when he saw a man on one of the boats throw a pile of rubbish overboard: some of it sank but the rest floated towards the water’s edge and became entangled in the weed there. A couple of small and very ragged children were wading in the shallows, and they dragged their attention away from the wandering stranger long enough to go and investigate the debris.

  Edwin looked further out into the middle of the river and gazed with interest at the boats on it, being unfamiliar with large waterborne craft – Conisbrough wasn’t a port. The people on the river stared back at him suspiciously, watching the military encampment being set up. Edwin could understand their anxiety – it would have been the same in his home village if a strange host had suddenly arrived. Folk were concerned to protect their own homes and families, whatever the concerns of the great men of the kingdom might be.

  A thump on the shoulder distracted him: it was Sir Reginald. Lord, but he wished people would stop doing that. He rubbed it.

  ‘Come, no time to waste! Let’s begin your lesson.’

  Edwin felt awkward again. ‘Really, there’s no need …’

  The knight snorted. ‘No need? You’re about to go into enemy territory, man! Granted, we’ll have to keep you out of the actual battle if we can, but you never know when you might need to defend yourself, or someone else. Now come.’

  There was no sense in arguing, and Edwin conceded to himself that Sir Reginald probably had a point. He hadn’t really considered what he would be doing in the castle or the city if he did, by some miracle, succeed in getting in. The mere idea of gaining entry seemed so huge and impossible that he hadn’t thought past it. But what would it be like? What would he do? He had never even bee
n in a city before, never mind one that was overrun with enemy soldiers.

  They found themselves an open space at the edge of the encampment where they wouldn’t be observed by too many people. For this Edwin was profoundly glad, being certain that he was about to embarrass himself in some way.

  Sir Reginald had brought a selection of weapons which he tossed on the floor. They all looked unfamiliar and menacing to Edwin, but the knight crouched and looked them over appraisingly like a carpenter choosing the best tool for a job. He looked up at Edwin. ‘This is going to be interesting. I’ve never trained anyone from the beginning before, or at least not a grown man. The only people I’ve taught who have been so inexperienced have been small boys with years of instruction ahead of them.’ He ran his eye over the weapons again. At last he sighed and picked up a dagger. ‘There’s no point in teaching you to use a sword, or at least not until after all this is over. You’ll never have the time to gain a correct technique or understanding in a few short hours. Besides, if you’re going to be in a city then any fighting you might need to do will be in a confined area, so you’re better off learning something which you can use without needing too much space.’ After carefully donning a pair of gloves and instructing Edwin to do the same with a second pair, he handed the weapon over, and drew the dagger which was at his own belt. ‘Now, let’s begin.’

  The change in his demeanour was immediate. Up until now Edwin had seen him only with an affable, carefree manner, but as soon as he drew a weapon all of that vanished and he was in deadly earnest. Abruptly Edwin realised why knights were so feared on the field of battle. The man was wearing no armour, had no weapon but his dagger, and had no serious intent to hurt him, but he still felt a shiver of fear. When Sir Reginald grasped the weapon and raised it over his head as if to strike down at him, he was shocked by just how terrifying it was to have somebody attack him with a blade. Nothing in his previous experience had prepared him for this. He couldn’t help himself; instead of raising his own dagger, he ducked back out of range.