B00B9BL6TI EBOK (16 page)

Alys fidgeted as she watched the children eat. How could Ralf say such things about Papa? They couldn’t possibly be true, for she knew what he’d been doing on the night he was attacked. Or did she? Perhaps … no, he wouldn’t have lied on his deathbed. But maybe there had been other nights, other times where he had slipped off in the dark to visit the woman – after all, hadn’t she said in the street the other day that she knew Papa? Surely not; it was unthinkable. He wouldn’t have forgotten Mama that way. But …

She needed to stop thinking about that. There would be time enough in the future to try and unravel the threads of what had happened, but for now she needed to concentrate on the task ahead. First she needed to get the children fed and in bed, for she couldn’t leave them otherwise. They’d grown to depend upon her so much that they gathered close around her all the time, as though she were a rock and they adrift in the river. Even now, small hands clutched at her skirts. She would put them to bed first and then go out, although she chafed at the delay. Forcing herself to be patient, she shepherded them upstairs and into her father’s bedroom. It seemed eerie and somehow wrong for them all to be in there, but he no longer needed the large bed – Lord rest his soul – and they may as well sleep in it rather than on the straw mattresses on the floor in the other room. She settled them in the bed and drew the covers around them. Margery and Edric looked wan and Randal was crying again, so she sat by the side of the bed holding his hand, seeking to give comfort where there was little to be had, and waited for them all to fall asleep.

She awoke a little later, having fallen into a light doze. She felt exhausted, drained. And yet she must try again.

What was that?

A noise had sounded from outside, from the yard which was shared by the four houses. Her heart thumping as though it would force itself from her body, she crept down the stairs into the kitchen and peered out between the cracks of the shuttered window. It was night, but the moon was nearly full, and as the clouds came and went across it in the stiff breeze the garden was illuminated in stark black and white. She could see nothing untoward as her eyes swept the yard; perhaps her fear had made her imagine things. She was preparing to move away from the window when something caught her eye to one side of her: something had been left by the door. She couldn’t make out what it was: a large, shapeless object.

She looked again out into the garden, more suspiciously, but could see nothing, no movement. She ached with the dilemma facing her, but eventually curiosity won out. Cautiously she unbarred the door and began to open it.

Edwin knelt in the cool silence of the cathedral, thoughts scattering like sheep in his mind as he tried to order them. Start from the beginning. There was some sort of resistance in the town which was meant to help the castle. But what exactly is it I’m supposed to be looking for? Is it a cache of weapons? Some kind of information that would stop the siege engines or that would help a relieving force? There was no way of knowing. But someone in the city knew what it was, and he’d failed in his task of finding out who. Try as he might, he kept coming back to Nicholas Holland. Had he really been going out that night in search of his mistress? Ralf seemed to think so, and the others had all been ready to believe him. No, not all – Alys had been certain that that wasn’t it. But was she just a naïve girl who wouldn’t believe any ill of her father? He tried to summon up an image of her face. It wasn’t difficult. He saw her as he’d seen her this afternoon, tried to analyse her expression again as it had been when she heard Ralf’s tale. There had been anger, surprise, and something else. What was it? He screwed his eyes up even tighter as he tried to look more closely at the picture in his head. Surprise, anger, and … yes – that was it. A look of relief. But what did that mean? He sighed, shifted his position and started all over again. Someone had tried to help the castle …

As the afternoon drew on into evening, and the cold of the hard stone floor seeped into his knees, he tried one last prayer. Please Lord, help me. Help me not for myself, but for all the people here who will suffer and perhaps die if I don’t succeed. It’s growing dark and I need to be back at the castle tonight, yet I have nothing to say. What is the missing clue? This is probably blasphemous, but Father, if you are up there among the saints and the blessed, please ask one of them to intercede for me. I need your help.

He felt a touch on his arm and saw an aged, wrinkled hand. His breath stopped. But the hand belonged not to a spirit. It was William.

‘Edwin – there you are. I have been looking for you every-where. Master Michael said he had seen you enter earlier, but I had not thought you would still be here.’

Edwin tried to rise, but his knees were stiff. William put out a hand to help him, but his balance wasn’t good, and the two of them were nearly bowled over by a slight man in a dark cloak and red hat, who stopped to offer an apology and help them up. Edwin recognised him as being the neighbour of Alys. Not the young man Gervase, but the other one, the one who lived on the other side. Pinel, that was it. As the man assured himself that they were both all right and turned to move away, the Lord finally whispered in Edwin’s ear. He gripped William’s arm.

‘Nicholas Holland. Was he shorter than most men? Perhaps a little smaller and slighter than me?’

‘Why yes, if you must know. But what has that got to do with –’

‘I have to go.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now. I have only a short time left and there is someone I must speak to.’ He reached out and gripped the old man’s hand. ‘Thank you, William, for what you’ve done for me, and may the Lord keep you safe in the days to come.’

He turned and ran out of the cathedral into the darkened streets.

Alys gulped as she unbarred the door and started to open it. She was cautious, pulling it softly, but all of a sudden the weight of the object shoved the door inwards and opened it fully. A corpse collapsed into the room, thumping on to the floor in front of her, and before she could help herself she screamed and screamed and screamed.

She knew she was doing it, and knew she had to stop, but somehow she had lost control of her voice, and she had to gather up her apron and stuff it into her mouth to control her frenzied outburst. Eventually she managed to quieten herself and stood, huge shudders running through her body.

Sounds of alarm came from upstairs. She’d woken the children. They must be terrified up there, thinking someone had got in the house. She must go to reassure them. She was halfway up the stairs before she wondered what in the Lord’s name she was going to tell them. She couldn’t reveal the truth. She reached the top and just stood as they gathered round her. But merely seeing her alive and unharmed seemed to quell their fear a little, and they allowed her to calm them with soothing words which came unbidden to her lips. They became content enough to be put back in bed, so she tucked them in and went back down. As she stood at the bottom of the stairs, a vague hope stirred in her that she’d been imagining things and that a normal kitchen scene would await her. She closed her eyes as she entered, praying before she opened them.

The corpse lay spread on the floor, face down, the door behind it gaping into the night. She stood, unmoving. She knew who it was, knew who it must be, but somehow, if she didn’t touch it, didn’t turn it over to see the face, it wouldn’t be real.

Time passed.

She knew she had to face it. Standing here would do no good. She moved forward towards the body, then stopped. She stoked the small fire to get as much light as possible, and knelt down.

She took a deep breath and reached out gently to touch the boy’s shoulder. For boy it was: there was no doubt of his identity. He was wearing the familiar tunic of best scarlet which was slightly too small, which he had been wearing when he went missing. Oh Nick, what has happened to you since that day? Her hand lingered tenderly on his shoulder for a moment before she turned him over.

He rolled on to his back, and she scrabbled away in horror. His dear face was almost unrecognisable, bloody, lacerated and swollen. More blood crusted the front of his tunic, and both of his hands were covered in it. What had he been through? Fourteen years old and beaten to death in the town that was his home. She gathered her brother to her, his head in her lap, and embraced him as she rocked back and forth, weeping.

Once the storm inside her mind had subsided a little, Alys was able to realise that sitting on the kitchen floor with the back door wide open might not be the safest place for her to be. Especially given that somebody had already been in the yard once that night to leave Nick’s body on the threshold. She laid his head down carefully, unwilling to cause any further damage, and forced her shaking legs to straighten and carry her to the door. She shut it, checking several unnecessary times that the latch was firmly in its place, and then barred it and wedged a stool under it as well. Then she turned back to Nick’s body. There was no way she would be able to carry it upstairs on her own, and anyway she was determined not to wake the children again. Let them sleep if they could, giving them a few more hours before they needed to return to their waking nightmare to find that another loved one had died –had been murdered.

With some difficulty she lifted him into a sitting position and put her arms around him, clasping her hands in front of his chest. Then she heaved him backwards out of the kitchen and into the shop, his feet dragging in the rushes on the floor. Once inside the front room she laid him down again and considered how best to proceed. The shop counter was too high, and besides, that would be somehow unseemly. The small part of her mind which had retained its wits wondered how on earth she could consider something unseemly when here she was in the middle of a war, dragging a dead body through the house in the dark on her own, but there it was. And he was too young to be laid out in such a formal way. He was barely a year younger than her; of all the family they had been the closest in age, and the memories of their childhood came rushing at her, the cold body making way in her mind for the imp with the roguish smile, the tricks he’d played and the scrapes he’d dragged her into.

She knew what she would do. Heedless of the value of the cloth, she dragged a bolt of linen down from its shelf and unrolled yards and yards of it, making it into a soft bed in front of the hearth. Then she hauled him over to it and laid him down, rising again to position two thick rolls of broadcloth between him and the rest of the room. There. Now he had his own cosy little den next to the fire, like the ones he used to make as a little boy, whenever he could get away with it. Then she knelt by him and prayed for his safe passage into God’s grace, another soul who had passed over and left her alone.

The hill was getting steeper, and Edwin slipped down the final few feet as he neared the bottom. As he regained his balance he thought he heard a noise. He paused. There it was again. Footsteps and a jingling sound – a group of men heading this way; armed. He peered about him for somewhere to hide. In the darkness he made out a narrow alley between two houses and ducked into it, just in time. He stood as still as his heart would let him, trying not to breathe too heavily, as a group of soldiers tramped by. They were French; their accent was difficult to make out, but he understood enough to learn that they weren’t searching for anyone in particular – it was a routine patrol, and they were bored. They passed very close to the opening of the alley, and he held his breath until they moved on, but just at that moment his stomach made a loud growling noise and he clutched it in a panic, screwing up his eyes with fear. He waited. They hadn’t heard it. They were continuing on their way, and the sound of their feet gradually receded. Edwin became conscious of the fact that all his muscles were clenched and he tried to make himself relax. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was, but now he came to think about it, it was a fair while since he’d had anything to eat and he was starving. This was hardly the time to go looking for a meal, so the quicker he completed his mission, the quicker he might be able to fill the void in his stomach. Cautiously he peered out from the alley, nervous in case the men should have left one of their number watching silently, but he couldn’t see anyone. He stepped out on to the main street to continue on his way.