by C. B. Hanley
Realisation dawned and Edwin sighed. ‘You were hiding, weren’t you? So he wouldn’t tell you specifically to stay there.’
Peter scowled. ‘He’s mine and I need to look after him.’
Now was not the time for a complex discussion about the dangers of Peter investing his whole life in one knight, a knight who was master, father-figure, brother and saviour all in one. Now was the time to get the child out of this crowd of armed men preparing for battle. ‘What if I tell you to go back?’
‘You can’t give me orders.’ And then he was away, twisting out of Edwin’s grip and disappearing expertly into the crowd.
Damn! Edwin tried to force his way through, but the men around him didn’t take kindly to being shoved, and he was awkward with the bow on his back and quiver at his belt, so he got nowhere.
He was by now almost at the edge of the dock, near to where the gangplank led up to the earl’s ship, and he felt himself being pressed back as those around him made room for the earl and his knights, who were pushing their way through to board first. There were many men close around him, their voices loud and their breath sour. He was starting to get carried along despite himself, but he felt a hand on his back, stopping and steadying him. Once he had regained his feet he turned to see John.
‘Still looking out for your precious earl, are you? You’re supposed to be with us now.’ He jerked his head to where the rest of the archers were forming a solid and unmoving group about ten yards away.
‘No, I was – oh, never mind.’
He watched as the earl, Sir Hugh and Roger reached the bottom of the plank. Martin was a few paces behind, making sure that the crowd didn’t rush forward at them while they were at the water’s edge. The earl turned to speak with someone, indicating that the other two should go ahead, and Sir Hugh stepped on to the gangplank.
When Edwin had seen it before it had bowed and bounced a little under the weight of men and baggage, but it had still seemed secure. But now …
‘Is it supposed to bend as far as that? It looks like it’s about to crack.’
John shrugged. ‘I’ve been on a few ships before and getting on and off them is always the worst bit. You worry too much – keep your voice down or you’ll draw their attention, and that’s never good.’
Edwin knew the shame of public embarrassment, and he had no desire to experience it again, so he said nothing. Sir Hugh was now nearly at the top, anyway; Sir Roger was behind him and the earl was just stepping on to the plank.
A loud, sharp report rang out, causing exclamations all around. Edwin watched in horror as the plank snapped in two, dropping without warning the three men standing on it.
Sir Hugh just managed to grasp something on the side of the ship and was left dangling, his feet kicking in the air.
The earl fell into the water near the dockside, shouting and flailing.
Sir Roger, too far from either shore or ship to reach anything, and heavy in his armour, splashed into the water and sank like a stone.
Chapter Ten
There was uproar. Edwin somehow found the strength to shove aside the shouting and gesticulating men in front of him so he could reach the water’s edge. An enterprising foot sergeant had reversed his spear and reached out the butt end for the earl to catch hold of; he was hauled back towards land and Martin extended a long arm to seize a fistful of his tunic and heave him up out of the water.
Edwin wanted to feel relief, but the real tragedy was unfolding further out: he could see nothing breaking the surface of the water where Sir Roger had gone in.
Behind him were two soldiers he didn’t know. Their voices sounded detached.
‘They never stand a chance if they’ve got their armour on.’
‘But it’s not that deep there, is it?’
‘Deep enough if it goes over your head. A halfpenny that he never comes up.’
‘It’s a shame about the boy, though. What did he think he was doing? Fool.’
Edwin was out of his mind with worry already, but the words sent ice through his blood. ‘The boy’ could only be …
The men behind him were thrust aside by a frantic John, who grabbed hold of Edwin’s arm. ‘The lad! Get him out of there! Can you swim?’ He pointed at a stream of bubbles.
‘Hardly at all. You?’
‘No.’ But John was unslinging his bow and untying his quiver. Edwin looked round helplessly for something – anything – that might help. Oh dear God, why hadn’t he said something? Why hadn’t he shouted a warning when he had had the chance?
It felt as though an age passed, but in fact, as Edwin was to realise later, it was only moments before there was a huge upheaval in the water and Sir Roger’s bright blond head broke through the foaming surface. There was a huge shout, and a man who had had the wit to tie a rope around his waist jumped in. He reached the flailing knight, caught hold of him, and was pulled back to shore by many willing hands.
Behind Sir Roger was a smaller figure, paddling, gasping now with the effort and in danger of going under again.
‘Here! Quick!’ John was holding out his bow. Peter took an unsuccessful swipe, eliciting groans from the spectators, but he managed to clutch it at the second attempt, at which point John towed him in and Edwin hoisted him out. One of the men now trying to help was the one who had wagered on Sir Roger’s death, and Edwin elbowed him angrily out of the way.
Peter was alive. John was thumping him on the back – had he gone mad? Edwin tried to stop him.
‘No, leave me – dirty water – he needs to spit it all out or he might die anyway …’ he continued the sharp blows between the boy’s shoulders until he was satisfied that it had all been choked up.
Sir Roger was lying face down on the cobbles, likewise spewing up brown filth, but as he drew near, Edwin heard him take in a rasping breath of air. Thank God and all the saints.
Once he’d finished retching, Sir Roger managed to turn over and he saw Edwin. He didn’t even have time to frame the question before a small figure shot through the crowd and flung itself at him, wrapping its arms about him and sobbing as it buried its head against his chest.
Sir Roger gripped Peter in a tight embrace, crushing him against his mail, tears in his eyes.
Edwin rubbed the back of his hand across his own face. A few moments only and he’d nearly lost two of the only people he’d known since before all this madness started.
The crowd around them was packed, noisy and intense. Edwin tried ineffectually to move them away but they were yelling, waving their arms and paying him no attention. It was good-natured – they all wanted to congratulate the boy on his efforts and the knight on his escape – but it was too much.
Martin suddenly appeared. Oh Lord! The earl! Edwin had nearly forgotten him. But Martin wouldn’t have left him unless he was all right … and yes, there he was over there with Adam and some other men.
The crowd recognised Martin’s authority – and his huge fists – and, aided by John’s brusque shouting, he managed to clear a space.
Edwin knelt by the two soaking figures. He was wet through as well by now, but he didn’t care. He looked from one to the other, trying to reassure himself that he wasn’t imagining the incredible good fortune.
‘Sir Roger! Are you – and Peter, how in the Lord’s name did you do that?’
Despite the warmth of the day, Peter’s teeth were chattering. ‘S– s–swimming. Did a lot of it. Sometimes those eels were the only thing we had to eat.’
Edwin knew what he meant, even if Sir Roger didn’t. But that still didn’t explain … ‘But the weight! His armour!’
Someone had found a blanket from somewhere, and it was passed to Sir Roger. He wrapped it around Peter as the boy continued. ‘Not that deep. Father sh– showed me what to do if you got stuck. Push up. Thought it m– might be … same.’ He burst into tears and buried his face in the knight’s chest again.
‘It’s all right, Peter, it’s all right.’ Sir Roger murmured soothing words into the t
op of the boy’s head before lifting his face to Edwin’s. ‘Help me up.’
Edwin put out a hand and hauled him to his feet as he clasped Peter in his arms. Once the sobs and the shaking had subsided a little Sir Roger put the boy down.
‘Peter. I owe you my life.’
Peter scrubbed at his face, angrily. ‘I told him,’ he gestured at Edwin, ‘that you have to have someone to look after you, and he didn’t believe me.’
Edwin had the sense not to interrupt.
‘I believe you. I believe you now.’
‘So I can stay?’ Peter looked up at the looming ship.
But the knight was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, Peter, you must go back.’
Peter looked like he was going to cry again, reaching out his hands to hold tight to his lord.
Sir Roger crouched so they were eye to eye. Water was still dripping off him and pooling on the ground. ‘You can swim better than me. Better than anyone. And you’re brave. But the battle will be full of armed men, blades, arrows – I owe you my life, and I won’t see you die out here on the sea. We still have too many adventures to look forward to.’
Peter opened his mouth but Sir Roger held up one finger. ‘Orders.’
There was a moment of silence before Peter nodded, looking at the floor now. Sir Roger stood again and looked around him. ‘Now, how to –?’
John stepped forward. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, I can take him through the town and put him in the care of one of the grooms to take back to the camp. You’ll need to stay here.’
The one person, thought Edwin with relief. The one person he respects almost as much as Sir Roger. He watched as they parted, the knight folding the child in an embrace one more time before he watched them go.
Edwin caught some of the conversation as it floated back to him. ‘Come on, you. Brave lad you are – the camp will need you to protect it.’
‘But what about you?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be straight back here. Don’t want to miss …’
They passed out of earshot, and Sir Roger finally turned his attention to Edwin. His eyes looked even bluer than usual, reflecting the afternoon summer sun, and they almost bored through him. ‘I swear to you, Edwin, I swear on the cross and on everything I hold dear that I will guard that boy and keep him from harm until my dying day.’
Edwin nodded, feeling choked by all he’d just witnessed. He was saved from replying by the arrival of the earl; he melted back into the crowd to avoid confrontation.
The earl looked Sir Roger up and down. ‘Glad we didn’t lose you.’
‘Likewise, my lord, I can assure you. And Sir Hugh also.’
Edwin had almost forgotten about Sir Hugh, but there he was, safe and dry on board the ship and watching as the sailors laid out another gangplank.
The earl was continuing. ‘Get on board, then, and get out of those wet things. That mail is going to be hell to clean, but I’m sure I can find you a volunteer.’
They were both standing at the bottom of the new plank, and there was the barest hesitation. Then the earl seemed to remember that they were in full view of a crowd of men, so he spoke loudly. ‘Onwards, then, to defeat the enemy!’ He strode up the plank and on to the ship without looking to either side.
Edwin realised he was holding his breath; very slowly, he exhaled.
Martin followed the earl up on to the deck of the ship and then down inside it, to the one private space it afforded. With two knights and two squires in the cabin as well as his lord it was overcrowded, but the others wouldn’t stay long.
He had managed a brief exchange with Sir Roger, and as he searched through a couple of stacked boxes for dry clothes, Martin heard the knight broach the all-important subject.
‘My lord, may I speak?’
‘You may. Adam, help him out of that mail before it rusts solid.’
Sir Roger’s voice was muffled as he tried to continue from halfway out of his hauberk. ‘My lord, I – we – think you might be in danger.’
The earl looked nonplussed. ‘Danger? Of course I’m in – no, not that one; I’ll keep that for after the battle. See if there’s a plainer one in there.’
There was a thump of mail hitting the floor, and Sir Roger straightened and continued. ‘No, my lord, if you’ll excuse me – we think it’s possible that someone on our own side has been trying to kill you.’
The earl was in the act of holding out his arms ready for the tunic, and he stopped. ‘Say that again?’
The sopping gambeson had now joined the hauberk on the wooden planking, and Adam passed Sir Roger a cloth to dry himself. Like all knights he had a brown neck and forearms, and a pale body. ‘My lord, with everything that’s happened in the last few days – the fire, the thrown knife, the poisoning, and now this – we think there might be a traitor in the host.’
Martin had finished adjusting his lord’s tunic and was now stooping to attend to the belt buckle. The voice, coming from close above his head, was sceptical. ‘So who is this “we”?’
Sir Hugh broke in for the first time. ‘Both Sir Roger and I think the same, my lord. And so does … well, never mind that.’
‘Seriously? You both consider this a real possibility?’
They murmured assent.
‘Then who?’
‘That we don’t know, my lord, but I’ve been on campaign often enough to see when “accidents” are too frequent.’
‘Hmm.’ The earl gave them both a hard stare. ‘All right, you may go, both of you. Get something to eat and some sleep – we’ll be sailing before dawn tomorrow.’
Martin watched as both knights left the cabin, shutting the door behind them. That created a little more space and air, but it was still very close in here. And the ceiling was too low.
There was one folding chair, and the earl now sat in it. He drummed his fingers on the arm. Martin and Adam waited.
‘Right. Adam, get all that wet stuff cleared out of here and find someone to dry that gambeson and oil the mail. He’ll need it tomorrow.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ And Adam was gone, leaving Martin alone with his lord. He busied himself repacking the extra clothes.
‘So, what is your opinion of all this?’
Martin dropped two shirts and jumped upright too suddenly, just remembering at the last moment to keep his head down before he cracked it on a beam. ‘Me? You want to know what I think, my lord?’
‘Yes. Come now, you’re not far off becoming a knight and you need to get used to the idea. What do you make of Sir Roger and Sir Hugh’s assertions?’
‘I —’ This was such an unfamiliar situation that Martin didn’t know how to respond. Should he say what he really thought, or what he thought the earl wanted to hear? ‘They are both loyal to you, my lord, and I don’t think they would say such things to you unless they really thought they were right.’
The earl grunted. ‘Agreed. But are they right, though? Or are they just worried about a lot of hot air? Yes, accidents have happened. But nothing you might not see on any campaign.’
He was still looking at Martin, still seeming to invite his opinion, so Martin risked continuing. ‘You’re right, of course, my lord. But I think it’s more that so many of these “accidents” have happened, and so close together – all within the last few days. And it’s difficult to see how the knife could have been an accident at all.’
‘Could have been. Men making sport in camp, that kind of thing. Not noticing I was there.’
‘Even so, my lord, we should remember that we’re in a host that contains men who have changed sides before.’ Martin winced at his own audacity, for of course his lord had been one of those men himself, talking to Salisbury on that very subject on the night of the fire.
But fortunately the earl didn’t seem to be thinking of his own action, only those of others. ‘Well, yes …’
‘And, my lord, Edwin thinks —’
Damn, it had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it, and it was too much.
The earl became curt.
‘Enough. I don’t care what he thinks – nothing that isn’t to do with his own advancement, I’ll wager. Get me a drink now and see about something to eat.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ There was wine in a little niche in the corner, the jug stoppered to prevent it spilling as the ship moved. ‘Sorry, my lord.’
He expected a further outburst, but the earl relented. ‘All right. You mean well, I know. But look: whether someone means me harm or not, there’s nothing he – or we – can do about it now. I’m here in the heart of my own ship, surrounded by my own men, and nobody else will get on board before we set sail. And after that we’ll all be too busy fighting the French. If necessary we can return to the subject after all this is over.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Martin could do no more, say no more. At least Salisbury was on another ship and could get nowhere near. But there were many soldiers above decks, and Martin didn’t know all of them by sight. What if one was a stranger who had been sent by the earl’s enemies?
He looked about the cabin. He could make this secure, surely. The walls were of wood so nobody could cut their way in from the back; he could sleep across the doorway. His sword would be of little use in here – he’d already unbelted it and stood it in the corner near the earl’s armour – but he would keep his dagger. And he’d be up before dawn to arm his lord, which would help to protect him against any direct attack. It was the best he could do, for now.
Edwin found himself a space on the crowded deck. He and John had rejoined the rest of Sir Hugh’s men, and between them they formed a solid and somewhat belligerent block that managed to carve itself a distinct area. He let everyone else around him talk as they would; he wanted some time to himself to think.
The plank had been fine when he’d seen and helped with the loading of the ship. The plank had snapped when three men stood on it several hours later. It could be just the difference in weight. But some of those barrels had been quite heavy, and he certainly recalled that several burdened sailors had been on it simultaneously. Therefore, the plank had, at the later time, failed to carry the same weight as it had earlier. But was this natural, some fault in the wood that had been worsened by the earlier load and had just happened not to break until later? Or had someone tampered with it? Had anyone pulled the broken pieces out of the water? Maybe he could look at it.