by C. B. Hanley
He had lost track. He needed to concentrate more on the conversation, where William was speaking.
‘… and such a shame about those boys being missing.’
On one side of Edwin, Gervase opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak before his mother cut in. Edwin felt trapped between them. ‘Oh yes, such fine boys. But no doubt they will come home once all the trouble is over.’
Edwin thought to himself that everyone he had met today was talking about ‘when the trouble would be over’, but he wasn’t sure whether this was just a common phrase in the city, much in the way of the villagers at home saying ‘once the winter is over’, or whether they really knew something about what was going on. He glanced furtively at the slight man – what had his name been again? Pinel? – and wished he could develop the ability to judge people just by looking at them. It would make his present situation much easier, that was for sure.
He had missed another part of the conversation. They had apparently stopped talking about boys and were speaking of a girl, William interrupting the flow from Mistress Guildersleeve. ‘It must be such a comfort for her to have you nearby, for is she not betrothed to your son?’
To Edwin’s left, Gervase started to put his hand out towards his mother, but dropped it again; to his right, Mistress Guildersleeve took in a sharp breath and looked as though she were about to launch into some kind of tirade. The words that came out of her mouth did not match, though, for they were platitudes about nothing being formal yet, things needing to be settled, and the inevitable aside to ‘waiting until all this was over.’ William didn’t seem to have noticed anything strange, so Edwin thought it was of no great importance. After all, William knew these people much better than he did.
Gervase spoke for the first time, touching his mother on the arm and pointing out yet another citizen whom Edwin didn’t know. He had no idea how he was going to keep track of them all. This latest was a youngish man who craned his neck forward and peered at them carefully before stepping over a pile of muck in the street to join them. Gervase greeted him, but infuriatingly he didn’t say the man’s name. Edwin listened as the newcomer was told all about the funeral that afternoon, and was firmly instructed by Mistress Guildersleeve to tidy himself up and be there.
The conversation turned to the late Nicholas Holland, with Pinel wondering aloud what he could have been doing when he was struck down. Mistress Guildersleeve seemed ready to gossip, but Edwin happened to be looking at the man whose name he didn’t know, and he was interested to note that at the mention of Nicholas he looked immediately wary, almost backing away. Edwin tried desperately to think of some way to engage him in conversation to find out more about him, but the man made a quiet nod to the others and slipped away before he had the chance to think of something. Damn!
The rest of the party was breaking up now, with promises that they would see each other that afternoon. Pinel and the others nodded as they departed, and after they had all gone, William decided it was time to go home for something to eat. As they trudged back to the house, and as the silent Juliana put bread and ale down in front of them on the table, William quizzed Edwin about everything he had seen. What did he think of the town and its people? What did he think was going on? Did he have any ideas as to who might be in league with the castle?
Edwin said as little as he could. Firstly, he had scarcely had time to think things through himself, and wasn’t really sure what he thought; and secondly, William seemed just a little over-eager to hear his impressions. It was like having an elderly puppy fawning round him, and it was a little disconcerting. Edwin was not quite sure that he wanted to share everything with his host – if the last couple of weeks had taught him anything, it was to trust absolutely nobody.
After they had eaten their frugal meal, and Edwin had thanked Juliana and received no reply, William rose stiffly and announced that it was time he went to Nicholas’s funeral. Edwin decided not to accompany him – not only had he not known the man, but he could use the extra hour or two to wander round the city free of his host, to see if there was anything else he could pick up. So, as William shuffled off towards the southern end of town, Edwin walked the other way, towards the castle.
He couldn’t get too near it of course, but he would get something of a closer look to see if anything was to be gained by observing the men besieging it. First he went round to the north-eastern edge, but as all the houses there had been razed, he would look suspicious loitering in the rubble, so he turned to walk towards the southern side. As he turned, he noticed a large dark stain on the floor which had a cloud of flies buzzing over it. He stooped and looked at it, realising it was dried blood. Someone had been struck down here, perhaps even the very man they were burying this afternoon. He looked up at the castle and saw that he was pretty much as close as he could get without moving right out on to the open ground. Nicholas, if it was he, had been attacked within shouting distance of the castle. Had he been trying to contact them? Or was he a spy for the French? Or could there have been another explanation? He needed to think. Over to one side was a stone, also smeared in blood. He picked it up. On examining it more closely he saw that there was hair stuck to it and what looked to be flesh – this was presumably what had been used to hit the man over the head. It was fairly weighty but he could lift it in one hand – probably why Nicholas had been knocked senseless but hadn’t died straight away. He didn’t want to take it with him but couldn’t bear just to leave it there in the open. He put it in the rubble of wooden spars where a house had once stood, and stirred the debris with his foot to cover it.
Next he set off for the south side of the castle. Here the houses approaching the open ground were still intact, so he had more cover, although one or two people on the street were looking at him strangely. He tried to appear nonchalant as he looked over towards the besiegers, crouching to fiddle with his boot.
Along the flat ground, a number of machines were lined up, with men moving round them. They were strange contraptions made of wood, with ropes round them here and there. As he looked more closely he could see that they were of two different types. One or two had long arms balanced in the middle, with a sling at one end and a weight at the other. These did not appear in use at the moment, but he could see how they would work: if you put a stone in the sling, and then lifted and dropped the weight, it would cause the stone to be thrown at the walls. Fascinating. He wondered how someone had thought of such an idea, and what else such a machine might be used for … people were looking at him. He had better move on. He supposed that the engines had become a regular sight for the citizens, so by staring so openly he was marking himself out as a stranger. Fortunately none of the men at the machines appeared to have noticed him. He moved into a shaded alley and fumbled as though he were about to relieve himself. That was better – he would not be so obvious here. He kept to the shadow as he looked back at the machines.
Some men were working on one of the other type of engine. Again there was wood and rope, but the arm which would carry the stone was pivoted at one end instead of in the middle. That end was stuck in the middle of what looked like a pile of rope, but as he watched, the men started to winch the arm backwards, and he could see that the rope was tightly twisted, and that as they turned they were winding it ever tighter, so that it was exerting greater and greater force on the machine. Still they pulled, straining themselves and grunting with exertion, and the timbers of the engine started to groan and creak with the force. For no reason that Edwin could think of, John Marshal suddenly came to mind – all that tightly wound, pent-up energy just waiting to explode.
The men were putting a stone in a sort of cup attachment which was at the end of the arm. Then they all moved back to a safe distance, except for one who held the end of a line, which was joined to a pin holding all the wound-up rope in place. At the command of the man who seemed to be in charge, he pulled it and the pin flew out. All the force was released at once, and the arm of the machine shot round so quickly that
Edwin couldn’t follow it with his eye. The great stone was flung out and flew towards the castle. Edwin felt a stone in his own throat, but was pleased when the missile appeared to miss the wall, sailed right over it and into the bailey. But his relief was short-lived as a terrible scream came from inside. Dear Lord. He closed his eyes and gulped, listening to the cheers of the men at the machine and the congratulations given to the man in charge. He prayed in silence for whoever had been hit by the stone, and swore revenge on those who were doing such evil things and enjoying it. His resolve hardened into a knot in his heart. He would find out how to help those people in the castle, and in the Lord’s name he would help them to fight against that evil bombardment. He slipped out of the alley and away down the street.
It had been a very small and plain funeral. Her father had been a popular man in the city, but Alys wasn’t surprised that so few people had attended the burial, for everyone was too frightened to come out of their homes unless they were forced to do so. Apart from her and the children there had only been her neighbours from both sides, plus William, the two Peters and Ralf – and, strangely, Master Michael – but none of her father’s other acquaintances or fellow merchants. As she had been turning to leave the church she thought she’d also glimpsed a woman slipping out of the door, but she couldn’t see who it was – possibly someone who wasn’t even there for the funeral, but had just come in to pray. Still, at least Papa had been properly buried with the due sacrament, and she supposed she should feel grateful that Father Eustace was still willing to bury the dead, and that he had managed to find another man to help him shovel the earth back over the grave. It was done now, and her father had gone forward to everlasting peace – something which was in very short supply for the rest of them. She walked with the neighbours back towards the Drapery, her thoughts dwelling on her father and his love for them all. The sight of Master Pinel in his red hat saddened her, reminding her of those better times – the red had been a new dye he’d been trying out, and he’d tested it on a piece of wool only big enough for two hats, passing the other on to her father as a gift for his birthday, once he was satisfied with it. How they had all laughed at the garish colour and joked about them being seen as popinjays in the town …
Suddenly they were approached by a group of soldiers, and the children crowded around her in terror. She too felt a wave of fear and tried to disguise it for their sake. How fortunate that she was also with the others: although Master Pinel was small, and sought to hide behind his wife without anyone noticing, Gervase stepped out boldly, and at the sight of the strong young man escorting the women and children, the soldiers backed down from a confrontation and contented themselves with standing arrogantly by while they passed. How she wished that Thomas and Nick were there, so that she didn’t have to rely on the pity of neighbours. Close as they were, family was better. But they weren’t here, and they might never come home. She said yet another prayer for their safety and took the children home.
Now it was the middle of the afternoon and Alys could put off her task no longer. She couldn’t bring herself to tell the children that she was going out on such a potentially dangerous errand, so she contented herself with saying that she was going out to try and find some food – the Lord knew they needed that as well – and slipped out of the street door. Immediately she felt suspicious, as though she was marked in some way with a sign saying that she was up to something. She had an urge to try and creep quietly up the street. This was ridiculous. She must calm herself down. Although there were not many people on the streets, she was perfectly entitled to be out there on a quest for food, as were others, and to act differently would only arouse suspicion. She must try to quell her racing heartbeat and act normally. She hitched her basket higher on to her arm and walked on.
Their home was on the eastern side of the Drapery, so once out of the door she turned right and walked – calmly, she hoped – up towards the top of the street and then rounded the corner to start up the steep hill which led up towards the higher part of town. She was struck again by just how strange and alien the city looked. Normally there would be people everywhere, noise and traffic: carts and porters bearing goods which had been delivered at the staithe by the river; traders and apprentices bellowing about their wares; children and animals milling round and getting under everyone’s feet. Now the place was almost deserted – not even a chicken pecking round in the gutter. All the edible animals had disappeared, and she even had a feeling that there were fewer stray dogs than before.
She looked around her again, in case anyone was following, trying to tell herself that there was no reason why anyone should be. Her path was the way to the castle, to be sure, where nobody who was in control of their wits would be going, but it was also the right direction for the great cathedral, and it was there in the open space of the minster yard that the remnants of the market could be found, so it was an entirely sensible place for a respectable woman to be going. So far so good; nobody seemed to be giving her a second glance. The few people who were on the streets were busy hurrying about their own errands, keeping their heads down and eager to reach the safety of their own houses again. The danger in the city was ever-present, and as Alys reached the top of Steep Hill she heard a deafening crash coming from the direction of the castle: the French were unleashing their fearsome siege machines again, in another attempt to batter down the curtain wall. It was alarming from out here; it must be terrifying for those on the inside. Hastily she crossed herself and muttered a brief prayer for those who were trapped, before realising that she should perhaps also be praying for herself. As she reached the junction with Michaelgate, her courage failed her and she turned right towards the cathedral instead of left towards the castle.
Once in the open space of the minster yard she forced herself to calm down. Here there was a scattering of people, visiting the sparse stalls which still remained of the market, in search of food or other necessities. Alys took a short while to walk around, looking at the scanty wares on display, and was appalled to hear the prices. She would need to spend some of the stock of pennies on provisions, but should she do it now? By the time she got back after her errand, everything might be gone and the children would be hungry again. She drifted towards one of the stalls as the man behind it looked at her in hope, calling out what he had to offer. But then she became aware of the dangers of purchasing now: she would have to walk through the town on her own, past the homes and hiding places of hungry people, with a basket of food. That was no good – she would have virtually no chance of getting home with it unmolested. She would carry out her errand first and then return to buy whatever she could before hurrying home as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.
It was only a short distance from the cathedral, but as she reached the area near the castle it was a different world. Almost immediately she began to pass houses which had been badly damaged when the city had been taken, and further on there was nothing but charred ruins and a foul smell. She shuddered at the thought that some of the destroyed buildings might hide corpses under the debris, and crossed herself once again.
The French had cleared an area near to the castle which she would have to pass. There were no people here: she was alone. What was she going to use as an excuse if somebody should ask her what she was doing? She moved back into the partial shelter provided by the rubble of a destroyed house to think, and it was then that she heard the sound.
She froze. Silently she listened, straining her ears, but it didn’t come again. Perhaps it had just been a rat or something, but she was sure that the noise must have been made by something bigger. Was somebody following her? Who could it be? What would she do if …? Her throat was constricting. With terror she realised that she was more or less in the same place as her father had been when he had been attacked – murdered, she should say now that he was dead, for the man who had struck him had surely caused his death, albeit three days later. Dear Lord, protect me from harm, I am trying to do what is right for the city a
nd for my family. She dared not move.
She continued to crouch in fright, but for long agonising moments she heard nothing. Perhaps she had imagined it. But it was certain that there must be evil-doers in the city somewhere, for who else would have struck her father down? Somebody must have followed him into this very street and lain in wait for him, raising a weapon to crush the back of his head and take him away from his family. The thought of him lying there in the dark, alone and mortally injured, made her want to weep. But mixed together with the sadness she felt the first stirrings of – what? An indignation, an anger that one of his fellow citizens should have done such a thing; for surely it was a townsman – had it been the French forces themselves, they wouldn’t have left him there in the street, they would have dragged him off to their area of the city to try and get information out of him. She had heard of it happening. But the French were one thing; they were invaders, and one must expect them to be enemies. The people of the beleaguered city, on the other hand, should be working together to rid themselves of the invaders, not joining with them to do their dirty work. The anger became more pronounced and she felt a determination to do whatever she could to help the city’s cause. She would deliver her message no matter what the cost.
She peered cautiously out of her hiding place and looked over at the castle wall. Perhaps there might be some possibility of signalling to them, but there was nobody there. Even if there had been, it was too far to be able to hold any meaningful conversation: she could wave her arms perhaps, but the distance across the deserted open space was too wide to shout anything. If she tried she would merely alert the whole city, and soldiers would come running. No, she would have to come back once it was dark, and try to get closer. If she could only get to the north side of the castle, close to the walls and away from the French forces, she might be able to communicate with those inside. She would return later to carry out her task. Her mind made up, she stood, only to be seized by a pair of hands.