by C. B. Hanley
Martin found himself nodding in agreement. ‘It’s so small in there that I’d probably have to do that anyway, but yes, good idea.’
The knights exchanged a glance. ‘I and my men will take turns at the back, Sir Hugh, if you and yours would do the same here. And that leaves Edwin free to … pursue any enquiries he might want to make.’
Sir Hugh nodded and scratched absent-mindedly at the wound on his arm, now scabbing over and making his torn tunic stick to the skin. He spoke to Alan. ‘See to it.’ The squire bowed and left, and Sir Hugh clapped Edwin on the shoulder. ‘Good. Off you go, then. If you need anything, ask Alan.’
Martin watched as Edwin slipped out into the night. He and the others looked at each other before Sir Hugh spoke once more. ‘To work, gentlemen, and let us pray we all survive the night.’
It was late the following afternoon, and Edwin was dozing in his saddle. He had been awake most of the night but had discovered nothing at all beside what he already knew. John had finished the carving, stuck the knife in the back of the log on which he had been sitting, and had spoken with the boy and the cook. He had moved to the firewood stack and then back again. It had been dark, and many men from the camp had been passing by. Nobody had seen the knife being taken, but equally, nobody could account for it later being thrown at the earl. There was no other explanation.
On the positive side, there had been no further attack on the earl during the day so far. He had told all to Brother William – who had enjoyed a good night’s sleep – so he was confident that the monk would keep his eyes open for trouble even if Edwin didn’t.
They had heard Mass that morning before setting off, as it was Sunday, and then continued on their way. The circular detour was now almost complete and they were around to the south of London; even at this distance Edwin could see the smoke rising from the hundreds – no, thousands – of hearths in the great city, and he wondered what it was like there. Perhaps it was similar to Lincoln, the only other city he had ever visited. Remembering that naturally led to thinking of Alys, and his mind was pleasantly engaged until it was time to stop for the evening once more. The light in her summer-blue eyes as they held hands at the wedding feast …
Good news awaited the earl as the camp was erected: Humphrey’s man had done his work and two carts containing the pieces of a second pavilion and various items of furniture had arrived from his castle at Reigate. There would be no more need to share with the Earl of Salisbury, thank the Lord. Once it was erected and the earl installed inside, lord of his own domain once more, they had a new visitor: the Earl of Arundel.
Edwin was pleased to note to himself – thank you, Sir Geoffrey – that he would have recognised the newcomer by his device. He wasn’t armoured or wearing his surcoat, but both of his squires and a few other household members who accompanied him wore a patch on their tunics that was red with a gold lion. Arundel – another William, of course – was about the same age as the earl and was greeting him like an old friend. Which he was, of course: the earl’s wife, who had died when Edwin was a child but whom he vaguely remembered seeing at Conisbrough, had been Arundel’s sister.
‘And so to business,’ Arundel was continuing. ‘I bring you your new page.’
Edwin looked on expectantly: a new member of the earl’s close household was always of interest, and he surely had to be better than the last page, who had been sent away in disgrace.
‘Where is he?’ Arundel was looking around him in irritation, his dramatic flourish spoiled. ‘Step forward, Hugh, and greet your new lord.’ He located his son, pulled him out from the group of retainers behind him, and shoved him into the centre of the space.
There was a long pause.
The silence was in danger of stretching to an embarrassing length, but eventually the earl broke it by saying what Edwin, and surely everyone else, was thinking. ‘And he’s seven, is he?’
The boy was tiny. If he’d been asked, Edwin would have put him at around five years of age, if that. Surely he wasn’t old enough or strong enough to be sent away from his home? These nobles did things differently from normal people, but still …
Arundel tried to laugh it off. ‘He’s a bit of a runt, I grant you, and so is my elder son. But when a man has seven daughters he’ll take whatever he can get.’ He poked the child in the back. ‘Make your obedience, then! As you’ve been taught.’
The boy – Hugh, had his father said? – managed to bow before the lord earl, who still looked nonplussed. He turned to Martin, who was as ever standing behind him in silence. ‘Can you do anything with him?’
Martin was still staring, but he collected himself. ‘Of course, my lord. My lords,’ he added, hastily, with a look at Arundel. ‘I’m sure he’ll be a fine addition to your household.’ He tried to give the boy an encouraging smile, but Hugh took one look at the looming figure and immediately bit his lip as though trying not to cry. Edwin felt sorry for him, but there was nothing he could do now. He would try to be reassuring if he saw him later.
The earl sighed. ‘Very well then. Martin – no, Adam – go with him to collect his things, bring him back here and show him what’s what.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Adam bowed and beckoned to the boy, who, thought Edwin, still looked near to tears but with at least the relief of having been publicly accepted into service and then sent out with the less intimidating of the two squires.
The earl was also standing, intending to take a walk through the camp with the Earl of Arundel. Edwin exchanged a glance with Martin, who put one hand on the dagger at his belt, nodded silently and followed them out, so close to his lord that he almost trod on his heels.
Edwin wasn’t sure what he should do while the earl was away, but he hadn’t been invited to follow, so he would have to wait here until he was needed. He busied himself tidying up a few cups, replacing them on the side table, and straightening the chairs.
After some while a man entered, sent through by the guard outside. It was Turold, one of the Conisbrough garrison who was often employed by the earl as a messenger. He was carrying a leather bag of correspondence, which he held out to Edwin.
Edwin took it from him. ‘Have you come all the way from home? I thought I’d seen you with us.’
Turold shook a dusty head. ‘No, you’re right, I was here – got sent out a few miles to meet with two others and collect it all together so they could get back. Anyway, it’s all there and I’m off to see if I can find a drink.’
Edwin thanked him, watched him go, looked at the bag, and then almost jumped out of his skin as Brother William appeared suddenly before him.
‘No need to raise your eyebrows at me like that, Edwin. I’m not possessed of supernatural knowledge – I saw him arriving and knew what must be in the satchel. Come.’ He led the way through to the service area and hummed under his breath as he tipped up the bag and emptied the letters on to the table.
Recovering himself, Edwin smiled. ‘Such cheerfulness, Brother – what would the lord abbot say if he heard you? And on a Sunday, too?’
Brother William pursed his lips. ‘Something about precept fiftyfour, probably. Or have I just made it worse in saying that?’ He shuffled through the pile. ‘These have come in from different places, I think. Yes, look, this one is from Sir Gilbert down in Pevensey, but this is Sir Geoffrey’s seal. Some of these have come all the way from Conisbrough.’
Edwin moved closer to the table.
The monk held up two letters with the same seal. ‘Two from Sir Geoffrey, in fact. Why would he …?’ He turned them over. ‘Ah, that explains it. One is for the lord earl, and the other’ – he held it out – ‘is for you.’
Edwin had never received a letter before. Why would Sir Geoffrey be writing to him? Was something wrong? Something must be wrong. He felt panic rising, panic that was made worse when, astonishingly, Brother William pushed a second folded parchment at him. ‘And another one for you. Plain wax seal, but also in Father Ignatius’s hand. My, you are popular today.’
Brother William paused and spoke less flippantly. ‘Edwin. Don’t look so worried. No doubt this one is a message from your lovely wife telling you how much she misses you. And the other – well, if Sir Geoffrey knew that someone had to ride all the way here to bring his letter to the lord earl, maybe he thought it would be no extra trouble to dictate one to you too.’ He patted Edwin’s arm before turning back to the rest of the correspondence. ‘I’m sure everything is fine.’
His fingers trembling, Edwin moved to break the seal on Sir Geoffrey’s message, but just at that moment the earl entered the pavilion, and the chance was lost. He tucked both letters into his belt. They returned to the central space, where Martin gave him a quick shrug to indicate that nothing untoward had happened. Edwin stood straight while the earl settled himself. He could feel the letters burning a hole in his tunic, but he must wait. He must. However long it took.
The earl held out a cup for Martin to pour wine into, and flicked his fingers at Brother William to begin.
‘Sorry, my lord, these have only just arrived this moment, so I have not yet had time to open and read them. Some may not be worthy of your personal attention.’
The earl sighed. ‘Well, I’m here now and we’re not going anywhere for a few hours, so we may as well get on with it. You can skip any that aren’t important as we go along.’
Brother William nodded and broke the first seal. ‘From Sir Gilbert, my lord.’
The earl sat forward with more interest. ‘Let’s hear that one, then. Is my sister with child yet? No, too early to know, I suppose. But anyway, continue.’
The monk scanned his way down the parchment. ‘He greets you well and offers his respect … he will not be joining the host as he has been asked to remain at Pevensey in case any of the French fleet sails that way –’
‘Shame,’ interrupted the earl. ‘But yes, makes sense. Go on.’
‘Ah, let me see … your sister is in good health, my lord, she is grateful and thanks you for arranging the match … all is well, though she has had to find a new companion as the girl Joanna has been recalled by her cousin and married off …’
He continued, blithely unaware of the life that had just been shattered. At the mention of Joanna’s name Edwin looked across at Martin, standing behind the earl as usual, and now he watched in sympathy as his friend’s face registered first fleeting pleasure, then shock and dismay, and finally collapsed into ragged, total despair. Martin didn’t move or make a sound, but Edwin knew what was going on in his mind as he stared straight ahead. His heart wrenched for him. And for Joanna.
Brother William started on another missive, but Edwin wasn’t listening and he didn’t think Martin was either. He longed for the audience to be over so that Martin could escape, knowing he’d want some time and space to himself, but there was still a pile of unopened letters and the earl looked settled in his seat.
Edwin tried as hard as he could to concentrate, despite feeling Martin’s turmoil. He was helped by Brother William’s next words: ‘From Sir Geoffrey, my lord.’ He became acutely aware once more of the letters in his belt. Maybe the message for the earl would give him some clue.
‘The usual greetings, my lord … all is well at Conisbrough … harvest … new bailiff has arrived … he craves your attention in a personal matter, asks your permission to —’
He stopped dead.
The earl looked up impatiently. ‘Well, get on with it – he asks my permission to what?’
Brother William cleared his throat. ‘He asks your permission to get married, my lord.’
There was a collective intake of breath.
Rather unexpectedly, the earl burst out laughing. ‘Does he indeed?’ He slapped the arm of his chair. ‘Well, the old dog. What is he, sixty if he’s a day? Sixty-five? There I was thinking that manor would come back to me, and now someone’s caught his eye and he might get himself an heir.’
Edwin could hardly believe what he’d heard. Sir Geoffrey? Married? Good Lord. He’d been a bachelor all his life, utterly dedicated to the earl’s service. He did have a manor of his own, but he only visited it for two weeks a year to check it was still functioning. Married? Edwin shook his head.
The earl was continuing. ‘Let’s hear it, then. Who? A widow of sensible age? Or the pretty young daughter of a neighbour?’ He seemed in good humour as he sipped his wine. ‘Do tell.’
Brother William bent his head back to the letter and found his place. He ran his finger along the text. ‘Craving your attention … married … he wishes to wed …’ he tailed off again, but this time it was with a choke and an expression of absolute horror. He looked at the earl, then at Edwin, then back to the earl again. Edwin went cold. Surely …
The earl’s good mood was fading. ‘Well? Come on, man!’
Brother William managed a sort of strangled noise. ‘My lord … Sir Geoffrey asks your permission to marry Anne, the widow of Godric Weaver and the mother of Edwin.’
For one moment, everything was still.
Edwin wondered how close he was to the doorway, but his feet seemed pinned to the ground. He couldn’t move. He watched as the earl put down the cup he was holding, very slowly and very precisely. Edwin would never forget the noise it made as it touched the table. Such an everyday sound for such a life-changing moment.
The earl stood and turned towards him, still moving with that slow deliberation. Oh Lord. Waiting for the eruption was almost worse than enduring it.
‘You.’ It was a low growl of a word, but there was venom behind it. Edwin took a step back. Behind the earl, Martin was shaking his head, desperately trying to communicate something to him, but he had no idea what.
‘You. I take you into my household. I raise you up. And this is how you repay me?’ The finger was pointing in his face, accusingly, sharply. Too close. Edwin gulped and tried to step back again, but he was already against the canvas wall.
The earl was working his way up. ‘You’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? Standing in at my councils, working out how you can get more, how you can get rich, how you can rise above your station?’
Edwin shook his head and tried to gabble out a denial, but there was no point.
‘But this? Getting your mother into Geoffrey’s bed? A manor to inherit? A woman only just widowed, for God’s sake, and a peasant to boot. Why, she —’
‘Don’t say anything about my mother!’ Dear Lord, had those words really just burst forth from his lips? In his terror, had he dared talk back to the lord earl, one of the most powerful men in the kingdom? Martin was really shaking his head now. Edwin wasn’t sure his legs would even hold him up any longer, never mind allow him to escape.
In any case, it was too late. Hell was unleashed. Edwin wasn’t conscious of most of what was going on, but it involved shouts, curses, strikes, kicks, things being thrown … he staggered, took the blows, covered his head as best he could and tried simultaneously to curl up and to run away. The earl’s family was said to descend from the devil, and at this moment Edwin could well believe it. The noise, the shock was too much for him. It was overwhelming. He could feel panic rising, hear his voice gabbling and begging and denying. What was he saying? He didn’t know.
Something hit him in the face as he cowered, something with a hard metal edge which stung and left him with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He had to get away. But where? How?
Brother William was also in the earl’s service, but he was a monk and therefore in slightly less physical danger than anyone else. Edwin felt, rather than saw, the muscular body pushing its way in between him and the furious earl. The blows stopped, although the cursing continued. He stumbled towards the pavilion entrance and reached it to the accompaniment of the words ‘Out! And never come back! Ungrateful – disloyal – treacherous – get out! And think yourself lucky!’ Something hit him between the shoulder blades and he stumbled through
the flap. Martin was there, shielding him, pushing him, whispering as best he could. ‘Get away but stay in the camp. He might cool. I’ll try to find you. Go now – quick as you can. Go!’
And then Edwin felt a final, powerful shove which landed him on his hands and knees outside the door. The cursing was still going on inside. Tears were streaming down his face, mixing with the blood. Somehow, he managed to get to his feet and then he ran, blindly, into the dark.
Martin couldn’t think straight. He had no idea what he was doing. What was he supposed to be doing? He stared right through an overturned stool as he restored it to its place and picked up the scattered cups. The metal goblet that had hit Edwin in the face had blood on it, so he wiped it with his sleeve.
Brother William was there. He was speaking soothing words to the earl – a Godsend, for Martin didn’t think he could get a word out of his own mouth if he tried. Edwin’s mother. And Sir Geoffrey? And had Edwin …? Surely not. But if not, then that meant that the lord earl was wrong and had just accused a good man unjustly. That couldn’t be right, either. And Joanna …
He felt himself swaying and reached out to steady himself against one of the tent poles. Pull yourself together, man. If some talk makes you collapse, how will you manage in battle? But Martin knew he would much, much rather be facing a fight than standing here feeling the way he did right now.
Adam came in, the tiny new page in tow and a cheerful expression on his face. Well, thank God they’d been out of the way while all this happened.
The space was a bit tidier and the earl had stopped shouting, but he was still fuming, and Adam sensed something. His smile faded and he looked enquiringly at Martin. Martin had to do something. Say something. ‘It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll tell you later.’