‘I think we can take it,’ said Benedict, ‘that Hugo knows there is a sewer outlet somewhere about here, but he’s not sure where. He thinks he can get into it through Dead Man’s Cave. Now why?’
Several men smiled. ‘Because of the stench, that’s why! They call it Dead Man’s Cave because way back a vagrant died there, and wasn’t found for weeks … Phew! But the smell’s still there. They reckon it’s some seepage from the castle sewers, that gets into the water as it trickles through a fault in the rock at the back of the cave.’
‘And if Hugo follows that trail of water by widening the fault into a tunnel he’ll come eventually to our sewer. And when he arrives at our sewer he’ll come up into the castle that way. Humph! We’ll have to see what we can do about that.’
He measured distances with his eye. ‘Well, he’s got some way to go yet. Set basins of water all along here, at intervals of two or three feet. I want to know how fast he’s going. And if the picks stop at any time let me know at once.’
‘Why should we bother, if they stop?’ asked one.
‘Because,’ said Benedict. ‘We have no map to show us the course of our sewer. It may bend inwards a little—I rather think it does. If the picks stop, it will mean Hugo’s broken through. Where is Simon Joce?’
‘Here,’ said that stalwart.
Benedict drew him aside. ‘You heard? We might have learned of this days ago. Why were my orders disobeyed … or need I ask?’
‘Sir Reynold fell over one of the basins early one morning, while you were otherwise engaged. He ordered them taken away.’
‘I thought as much.’ Benedict’s hands clenched into fists. ‘It is time we had a reckoning, he and I!’
‘One moment,’ said Sir Henry. He took Benedict’s arm and urged him towards the stairs. ‘We have not finished our meal. Come back to the garden. Yes, I know you want to wring Reynold’s neck, but I think we had best talk about it first.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sir Henry seated Benedict and sent Barnabas for more bread and ale.
‘You think I am being an interfering old man,’ said Sir Henry, exercising charm. ‘But I take a great interest in you, young Benedict, and I don’t want to see you making a mistake.’
‘Have I not good cause to break him?’
‘Oh, certainly. He has behaved very badly.’ Sir Henry spoke of Reynold’s behaviour as one might refer, with indulgence, to the misdeeds of a naughty boy.
‘Has he not done his best to undermine my authority in every way? Has he not spoken slightingly of me to your men?’
‘The stupid fellow!’ Sir Henry shook his head at Reynold’s folly. ‘He went about it quite the wrong way. My men of Salwarpe like to make up their own minds about people, and Reynold’s silly talk merely made them dislike him the more, without diminishing in any way the respect they have come to feel for you.’
Benedict’s jaw dropped. Respect? For him?
‘Oh, dear me, yes,’ said Sir Henry. ‘I don’t say they’d willingly die for you. They wouldn’t willingly lay down their lives for anyone. Not even for me or Ursula. But if you asked for a party of volunteers to follow you down into the sewer to fight Hugo’s men, in all that filth—which I suppose is what it will come to in the end—why, you’d get your quota. They wouldn’t enjoy it, of course. They’d grumble and swear. But they’d do it, for you.’
‘But wouldn’t they rather follow Reynold?’
‘No, he hasn’t the knack of commanding men. He can only shout and bluster and order men to be whipped. Doesn’t do any good around here. It might go down all right on his own estates, but not here. Also, those of my men who’ve seen service abroad have been watching Reynold. They say he’s no care for men’s lives. Every time they look at those outposts, they shake their heads. Soon Reynold won’t be able to get anyone to go out there, to man them.’
Benedict put his head in his hands. ‘I knew there was some criticism of him, but I didn’t think it had gone that far.’
‘I know you didn’t. You came here with a preconceived idea of Reynold, and unless you modify it you’ll destroy him. Not that he’d be much loss. I agree with Simon Joce and Merle that we could do without Reynold easily. But there are some small remnants of manhood in Reynold that you might like to save. He could be useful about the place when the attack comes.’
Benedict stared at the ground. Barnabas brought more food and ale and then sank out of sight. Benedict ate and drank without seeming to realise what he was doing.
‘There is bad blood between you, I believe,’ said Sir Henry, when all the food had gone. ‘Will you tell me about it?’
Benedict’s hand jerked. ‘I … he tried to make love to my wife. But that’s not it, really. We have never liked one another.’
‘Yet I suppose you rubbed along well enough till he trespassed on your territory. I must say, I’m surprised he’s still alive, if he made love to your wife.’
‘I wanted to challenge him, but Aylmer stopped me. Reynold is my superior in the tourney, but I’d have killed him, even so. Only …’ He stopped.
‘I have heard something of the affair. It was more her fault than his?’
Benedict flushed. ‘Yes,’ he said, in a dull tone. ‘It was more her fault than his. And he never got any further than flirting.’
‘Have you ever talked to him about it?’ Benedict looked at Sir Henry as if he thought the old man mad. ‘Obviously not,’ said Sir Henry. ‘Well, why don’t you do so now?’
‘What good would that do? She’s dead.’
‘A good thing, too.’ He went on, apparently unaware of Benedict’s indrawn breath. ‘After all, you wouldn’t have wanted children by her.’
There was a long pause. ‘You know, I never thought of that. No, I don’t think I would have wanted children by her. Not now. I did at the time, of course. I thought that if I could only get her pregnant she would settle down.’
‘I heard something about that, too. She said you didn’t make it. You said you had. Did you?’
Benedict had gone a sickly white. ‘Yes. I am sure of it. It was very hurried, but I. … I swear I did. Only, afterwards, I began to wonder, because she was so very insistent, you see …’
‘Dear me! What a very naughty little girl she was!’
Benedict hadn’t thought it possible he could laugh about Idonia. But now he did. At first the laughter hurt, and then it eased him.
When he had done laughing, Sir Henry said, ‘I do trust that you took a woman to bed with you immediately afterwards; two or three women in fact. To take the taste away.’
‘Not till I got to France. That was all right. I mean, I was all right. But the bad taste remained. Especially when I heard she’d died.’
‘Someone told me she was running away to meet her lover when she caught a chill, and died.’
‘Nothing so romantic. I questioned her servants closely, as you can imagine. They said she used to ride out in a certain direction every day, and linger on a hill-top, looking to the north, but that no-one ever came. They say she got wet that night by accident. She had not intended anything but wilfulness. She went out on the moat in a punt to gather water-irises. The gardener had said he would get her some on the morrow, but she wanted them there and then. At once. And so …’ He spread his hands. ‘She couldn’t bear to be kept waiting for anything. She wanted me at first, and was all impatience till my looks were marred, and then she did not want me any more. She could not bear the sight of anyone ill, or deformed.’
‘Perhaps she would have learned wisdom in time.’
‘I think probably not. The nuns at the convent looked grave when they spoke of her to Aylmer, bidding him be very careful about choosing a husband for her. Aylmer thought I would be best for her. If it hadn’t been for the accident … no, I must try to think clearly. If it had not been that accident, it would have been something else. The moment her will was crossed, she was unmanageable.’
‘It was your ill fortune to love an unprincipled girl. If
she had not died, you would have found her out, and ceased to love her.’
‘She wanted an annulment. I refused. All these years I have thought I was right to refuse. But, perhaps … if I had let her go, she might not have died.’
‘To misquote you, “If it hadn’t been water-flags, it would have been a horse too spirited for her,” or some other dangerous toy. You did not cause her death.’
‘I am not so sure about that.’
‘Be sure. And neither did Reynold. Presumably you have held it against him all these years. No wonder he is afraid of you.’
‘Afraid of me? Reynold?’
‘Perhaps he wasn’t when you first came here. But he is now. That is why he drinks. He can’t face you, and he can’t face the duties you have laid upon him. And so I say, destroy him if you like, but remember that he is a much weaker man than you; it is easy to squash a fly under your heel, but difficult to raise a sinful man up from the dust. Or even to forgive him the wrong he has done you. Yet you can do it. You are a bigger man than he, in every way. You have power over him, in more ways than one. Use your power wisely.’
‘Or? Is there a threat behind your advice?’
‘No. No threat.’
‘No warning, even?’
Sir Henry laughed. ‘You have an over-tender conscience, young Benedict. I like that in you. But you must learn to look forward now, instead of grieving over the past.’
‘I do. I have. My estates, my new house on the Downs … the mill I am building … I take great pleasure in all these things, I assure you.’
‘And you had a great inheritance to look forward to, did you not? Are you not Aylmer’s heir?’
‘He said I was to be his heir, but of course when he marries Ursula … if he has children. …’ He shook his head, as if to clear it. ‘It is good that he should find happiness in a second marriage. He brought me up, you know. I have always thought of him as my father, for that is what he has been to me.’
‘Perhaps that is as well,’ said the old man, in a soft voice. Then, in his normal tone, ‘Look how you gobbled up that bread! For all you know, it may be the last we have in the castle!’
‘Then I will teach you to suck nectar from the honeysuckle, instead. Did you not know that you can take nectar from the trumpets of these flowers? That is, if the bees have not been there before you. Aylmer taught me that.’ He got to his feet, rubbing his bad leg to ease it. ‘Well, I must be about my business, I suppose. I’d best sober Reynold up, before I talk to him. When is high tide? I must be at the quayside by then.’
Ursula was expected to return that evening on the high tide.
Sir Henry also got to his feet and, equally openly, rubbed at the small of his back. He yawned. ‘The sun has made me sleepy. I’ll go take a rest. And Benedict—God go with you!’
‘And with you.’ Benedict put his hand on the old man’s shoulder for a moment, then turned and limped away.
The old man looked after Benedict for a while. He said to himself. ‘I wish you had indeed been Aylmer’s son. The sooner you are married again, the better I’ll be pleased.’
Benedict found Reynold splashing in a tub of cold and dirty water. The contents of a basin on the floor proved that Reynold had recently been sick. His squire lay on the trestle-bed, snoring. There was no other servant present.
‘I know, I know,’ said Reynold, hauling himself out of the tub and reaching for a towel which was already sodden. ‘I’m leaving when the boats return to the abbey.’
He snatched up a soiled shirt and pulled it over his head.
‘Why?’ said Benedict. ‘I haven’t asked you to go. In fact …’
‘I know you haven’t. You’ve been very forbearing. I think that’s the right word. Simon Joce used a harsher term. I’ll give Aylmer all the news, when I see him. He’ll understand. After all, it’s not as if we ever get on well together, is it?’
He sought for hose and shoes, turned his squire’s inert body over, and finally located the things for which he was looking under the bed.
Benedict sat down on the big bed—which was unmade. He rubbed his head.
He said, ‘Reynold, it is true that you and I have had our differences over the years, but …’
‘Say no more. Just let me get out of here. You said you couldn’t order me to withdraw. Well, I’m saving you the trouble.’
‘What if I ask you to stay?’
‘That’s not likely.’ He began to throw bedclothes about, looking for. … ah, his belt.
Benedict studied Reynold. The man was sober enough now. He was neither sweating with fear, nor was he blustering as he had done recently. He was angry with himself. There was still plenty of energy in his movements. Yet there was a pickety, sparrow-boned look about him, which made Benedict think of what Sir Henry had just been saying … “You are a bigger man than he is, in every way.”
‘No need to look at me like that,’ said Reynold, tying up his hose. ‘I don’t want your pity.’
‘Pity?’ Benedict shook his head. ‘Reynold, sit down and listen to me.’
After a moment’s hesitation Reynold cleared dirty clothing off a stool and sat.
Benedict said, ‘Reynold, if you think you have been at fault in your dealings with me, then I must confess the same to you. I have not taken you into my confidence as we went along, as I ought to have done. Because I knew more of siege warfare than you, I thought it best to take the major decisions by myself, and leave you in charge of the area I thought best suited to your talents; that is, the gatehouse. Now in this I was wrong …’
Benedict was looking at Reynold, but the latter had turned his head away. His neck was red, though, so presumably he was listening.
‘Yes, I see now that I was wrong,’ said Benedict. ‘You are a brave man, you have brains and energy, and you could have carried some of the burden for me, just as Aylmer planned that you should. I thought it would seem a waste of time to you, to construct jetties and build stone walls and dicker with fisherfolk. It is hard for a fighting man to stand by while clerks scratch their heads counting bags of flour and calculating tides. But at any moment now Hugo will strike. He will not just strike at the gatehouse, but also through a tunnel he is driving under the castle, and possibly also on the cliff-front as well. In two hours’ time this peaceful scene may be turned to one of fiery chaos, with arrows impaling women or children, with men screaming and tumbling from the ramparts, with horrors such as you have never known in the tourney. Will you not stay to do your part?’
Reynold’s head was still averted. He shrugged. ‘Everyone knows that you want me out of the place.’
‘They know more than I do, then. You are needed at the gatehouse now. At this very minute. Who will give the orders there, if I am on the quayside when Hugo’s trebuchet throws its first stone?’
Benedict rubbed his leg, rose to his feet and picked up the steel-and-leather jerkin Reynold had been lent by Sir Henry. Without a word Reynold put it on. Benedict helped him with the buckles.
Reynold said, ‘After all, we got on well enough when we were young.’
‘Of course,’ lied Benedict.
‘I want you to know that I did not write to her, after. She wrote to me, but I did not reply. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, when you were in France. And it never went further than a flirtation, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Benedict, forcing a smile.
‘Yes, I’ve often thought of telling you that, about there being nothing in it, and that I didn’t write to her. They said she was running away to meet me. That’s not true. Is it?’
‘No, you need not feel guilty about that. She wanted to gather some flowers at the edge of the moat. She fell in. And so … a chill.’
‘I’m glad about that. I mean …’
‘Yes,’ said Benedict, stony-faced. ‘It does make it easier, doesn’t it?’
‘I’ve wanted to say I was sorry about … you know! But somehow the right time never. … you understand?’
‘Of cour
se!’
Reynold clasped Benedict around the shoulders with an abrupt movement, and as suddenly released him. Then he stalked out of the room.
There was a rustle and Barnabas rose from behind the bed.
‘See if his hand-mirror’s around, Barnabas.’
Barnabas handed his master the mirror. Benedict sighed.
‘I could have sworn I’d have grey hairs by now …’
Ursula de Thrave lay curled up in the prow of the boat. Beneath her was the cargo that was to bring fresh hope to the besieged garrison. She lay on her back, looking up at the darkening sky and trying not to think. She was so tired that when she tried to make plans her mind went round and round … Benedict—Aylmer—Benedict—her grandfather—Benedict.
She had always liked to watch the great arc of sky above her, while she lay cradled in a boat. True, Dickon was not steering today. But Dickon was sitting with his dog beside the helmsman and theirs was the leading boat of the convoy of seven, so she was in safe hands.
She had volunteered to leave the castle in search of food because she had felt it wisest to put some distance between her and Benedict. A few days away, concentrating on more important issues, would do her good. And they had indeed been a hard four days, bargaining, brow-beating, cajoling—she felt a dozen years older than when she had fled from Salwarpe the first time with her aunt by her side.
She touched the wallet at her belt. Inside lay letters from Aylmer and her aunt; letters addressed to her, to her grandfather and to Benedict. The one from Aylmer to her was particularly touching. He had written the first few words himself, but had been forced by pain to surrender the quill to a secretary, that it might be completed. He wrote that notwithstanding his injury—which was proving more tiresome than he had expected—the muster of weapons and men would take place on Michaelmas Day as planned. Salwarpe could look to be relieved either the following day at dusk, or at any rate within forty-eight hours thereafter.
The Siege of Salwarpe Page 19