Whited Sepulchres (16 page)

Edwin wasn’t quite sure how to react. His mother’s sister had always been there to offer him comfort when he needed it, had watched over him, and now she was looking to him. He did the only thing he could think of, which was to put his arm around her and wait until she had stopped crying.

The shaking of her shoulders grew gradually less, and he patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘Come now. Come, let’s get up and walk, it’ll be better than sitting here too long. And besides, a wash will do you good.’ He helped her to her feet, and supported her as they moved towards the gate of the churchyard.

As they neared the road through the village, Edwin became aware of the sound of many hooves, and he turned to see Sir Geoffrey at the head of a party of men. Yes, they’d been out in search of the outlaws, hadn’t they. Well, it looked like they’d found them. One of the men had a body lying across the horse in front of him, but there were, thank the Lord, no empty saddles, so the corpse wasn’t one of the castle men. Behind the riders came seven or eight men on foot, their hands bound in front of them, tethered by long ropes held by several guards. As they passed, some of the villagers came out of their houses to see what was going on, and one or two of them spat at the bound outlaws.

‘You bastards!’ The voice was high with emotion, and Edwin wasn’t quick enough to catch John as he hurtled past, throwing himself at the group of prisoners, knocking several of them to the ground as he screamed that he would kill them all. At once there was a melee of bodies and of shying horses, ropes becoming entangled around thrashing limbs. Edwin leapt forward to try and restrain John, who was struggling to draw the eating knife at his belt as he was borne down by the press of men. Eventually he managed to grab the enraged man, and together with one of the guards, who had by now dismounted, he pulled John’s arms behind his back and held him still, panting.

Sir Geoffrey, still on his horse, watched as his men regained order, and then nosed his mount along to where Edwin was standing. He looked grim, and Edwin hastened to explain. ‘He didn’t mean to cause trouble, Sir Geoffrey, I’m sure he didn’t. His wife has just died, and the baby too, so to see them coming past must have been too much. Please, Sir Geoffrey.’

The knight’s face was stony, but Edwin thought he saw a glimmer of compassion as he looked down at John, weeping and now on his knees, moaning his wife’s name. ‘John, get up, you are forgiven. These men are outside the law, so even had you succeeded in wounding one there would have been no charges. Your actions are understandable, and I promise you they will face justice.’ He turned his horse back towards the castle. ‘Forward, men, and get them all inside the gate.’ He looked back again. ‘Edwin, see that John and his son …’ – Edwin turned to see that the boy had emerged from the church and was standing with Cecily – ‘have somewhere to rest.’

Edwin’s ‘Yes, Sir Geoffrey’ had hardly left his lips before the men were off again. The guard who had helped him restrain John gripped his shoulder in sympathy and remounted to follow the others. It suddenly struck Edwin that he hadn’t seen Martin – surely he would have dismounted to help hold the distraught man? Where was he? He looked at the riders and spotted Martin among them, drooping in his metal hauberk. He was bare-headed and his face was completely white, eyes half-closed; he was swaying in the saddle. He seemed to be using all his strength just to stay on the horse, and he didn’t even look at Edwin as his mount plodded up the hill behind the others.

Cecily and the boy stepped forward to John’s kneeling form. She looked at Edwin. ‘I don’t know how to comfort him, but I can take him home with me for now. Agnes has been laying out the bodies, and he’ll want to see them. Thank the Lord Sir Geoffrey didn’t rebuke him as well.’

Edwin felt his own voice coming from far away. ‘I think Sir Geoffrey realised that when you’ve lost something, you want revenge.’ Lord, but he was tired. He thought he’d go home and get some rest; he seemed to have no energy at the moment, and he was starting to ache all over. But he was to get no respite – as he started to put one leaden foot in front of the other he heard urgent footsteps pounding behind him, and a breathless voice. ‘Edwin, Edwin!’

Edwin turned to see Dickon, the serving man he’d spoken to about Hamo, hurtling towards him. Dickon reached him, skidded to a halt and grabbed Edwin’s arm. ‘You have to come. You have to come right now.’

Joanna was enjoying the last of the evening sunshine on her face as she followed Isabelle and Sir Gilbert through the main gate, toying idly with the flower she’d picked. They had been out for a walk around the outside of the castle, where there was a sort of pleasure garden on the north side. It wasn’t formally laid out like the one at her cousin’s residence, where they had lived when Isabelle had been married to him, but at least out here they could talk in peace for a while, away from the cramped inner ward and the crowded outer one, and there was something of a meadow which ran down towards the river. She had ambled along behind them, ready in case she was wanted, but mainly keeping a discreet distance and daydreaming. Isabelle had been the beneficiary of a colossal stroke of fortune – imagine falling in love with the very person you were told to marry! How many women did that happen to? She didn’t know, but not many, to be sure. All right, so some of them eventually achieved a kind of contentment, especially if they had a lot of children – well, a lot of sons, anyway – to look out for, but really, the kind of heart-singing, joyful love that poets sang about was either non-existent or aimed catastrophically at the wrong person.

Her thoughts turned to Martin and she sighed. She just couldn’t see a way out of the situation they were in. Her heart leapt every time she saw him, and he remained in her mind’s eye even when he wasn’t around, but it was impossible. For a start, no squire was ever married, and it would be a good few years before he became a knight and was maybe awarded a manor of his own. Then there was the difference in station – although he was in the earl’s household, his own family was not among the foremost in the realm, and hers was; admittedly, she was but a lowly distant cousin of the head of the family, but she bore the de Lacy name and she would be expected to form a suitable political union. She supposed she could get away with marrying someone with a lesser name if he happened to be very rich, but that wasn’t likely to happen either. And quite apart from all this, her place was with Isabelle, and once she married Sir Gilbert they would all move to the south coast, and virtually the whole length of the realm would separate them. There might be the odd fleeting glance whenever the lord earl stayed at his castle at Lewes, but he didn’t do that very often, and anyway, how would they ever get to talk to one another? She sighed again, more heavily this time, and realised she’d shredded the flower between her fingers. She threw it aside as they entered the inner ward.

Isabelle had heard her, and turned. ‘Joanna, whatever is the matter with you today? If you start huffing any more than you already are then you’ll – ’ She was stopped by a gentle touch on her arm from her paramour. He smiled at Joanna in some sympathy, and her heart groaned again at the notion of having a strong, capable and tender man to look after her. Of course, Martin didn’t have that assured grace and authority, but he was younger, he would grow into it, and he did have that deep voice, and the way the muscles in his forearms moved when he reached forward to pick something up from the table …

There was shouting going on. Mounted men were arriving in numbers in the outer ward, and three of them rode straight up through the inner gate. Sir Gilbert made sure his betrothed was safely out of the way, and then reached to pull Joanna from the path of any possible harm as well. As she stood she looked up at the riders. One was Sir Geoffrey, shoving his helm towards one of the guards who’d appeared in order to take his reins, and dismounting with the ease of a much younger man. One of the others was Martin, and she felt her heart beating a little faster. He was swaying in his saddle, and as she watched Sir Geoffrey and the other man move towards him to help, he fell sideways off the horse and crashed, unmoving, to the floor.

She heard Isabelle give a little scream beside her. The urge to throw herself forward was almost overwhelming, but she had to resist it, she must, or she would be ruined. She couldn’t show favour like that. Sir Gilbert had moved swiftly, and he and Sir Geoffrey were kneeling next to the prone figure. He came back to them. ‘He’ll be fine, but he’ll need some looking after for a while. They’ll take him to Sir Geoffrey’s chamber.’

Isabelle started to speak but then stopped and cast a long look at Joanna. Joanna knew she must look terrible, had felt the colour draining out of her cheeks, but she was rooted to the spot and couldn’t open her mouth. And then, blessedly, miraculously, Isabelle was telling her to find cloths and water, herbs and poultices, and to go and tend the stricken squire as was her duty in the household. Could this really be happening? She stammered something which even she didn’t understand, picked up her skirts and ran.

The heat hit Edwin like a wall as Dickon dragged him into the castle kitchen. It was oppressive, beating him back as sweat started to pour from him – and it was evening. Dear Lord, it must be like hell on earth when the cooking fires were roaring during the heat of the afternoon. Dickon spoke in his ear before melting away. ‘You’re the only one who can stop them.’

In the centre of the room, Richard Cook and William Steward were squaring up to one another, in the middle of a furious argument. William had his crutches under his arms and was leaning on the kitchen table as he bellowed, ‘… and poison, he said.
Poison!
Where can that have come from if not from here?’

Richard, huge, choleric, sweat dripping, loomed with his red face inches from William’s. ‘Don’t you
dare
slander my name! He was in
your
office when he died, and …’

Edwin looked around him. The kitchen staff, wearing only their braies and looking exhausted after their labours since daybreak, were clustered around the walls. Often a fight between two castle men would be an occasion for raucous cheering, with spectators encircling them and egging them on. But this was different; nobody moved. The men were white-faced, and the potential for real violence lay heavy in the stifling air. Edwin edged around so he could place himself between the argument and the row of shining knives laid out on the table.

The tipping point came. William’s voice was getting hoarse, and it rose in pitch. ‘I’ve never trusted you anyway, you foreigner, coming here and …’

Richard’s lungs reached full capacity, drowning him out. ‘At least I can do my
job
! My lord brought me here because I’m the best – not some cripple who can’t count! You only got yours out of
pity
.’ He raised his hand and poked William in the chest, hard.

Edwin lunged. Fortunately he was quicker than William, who had to drop one crutch to free his hand, and he managed to throw himself between the two men before the fist connected. He pinioned William’s arms and tried to drag him away, shouting to the men around to help as Richard took a step forward. But not one of them would dare touch their master; Edwin was on his own.

Richard hesitated and made no move to strike. Edwin spotted the moment of weakness and hissed in a low voice. ‘Richard, for God’s sake, can we move this away from all these men? Haven’t you got a side room or something?’ He stumbled. William was now concentrating more on trying to stay upright than on attacking Richard, and he was heavy.

‘No, there isn’t one.’ Richard looked around him. ‘All of you – out! Get some air. You can come back in to sleep when it’s dark.’ As the men started to shuffle out, he bent to pick up William’s crutch, handing it back to him without looking in his face.

Edwin felt some of the weight lifted, though he still kept his arm round William to help him balance. ‘Can we sit down?’ He scanned the room but there were no chairs or stools – the kitchen men worked standing up at the fires or round the giant table. But against one wall was a low bench, currently holding baskets of trenchers, so he started to move towards that. Richard hefted the baskets out of the way and they all sat, Edwin placing himself between them.