Whited Sepulchres (28 page)

Edwin watched them as they scuttled away. The Lady Maud looked as though she would protest, but one look from the earl silenced her before she could start, and the Lady Isabelle pulled her away. Edwin could feel his heart throbbing in his throat. He had to explain things. Once the earl knew all the facts, surely he would understand? But he had turned away from Edwin, towards his goodbrother.

‘Henry, now you have gathered yourself, perhaps you would like to speak.’

Henry de Stuteville looked at Edwin as though he were something unpleasant on the sole of his boot. ‘My lord, surely you don’t expect me to demean myself by responding to the mad ravings of this peasant?’ The earl said nothing, but regarded him steadily. Sir Henry smoothed his beard. ‘Very well. If I must put it into words, I did not poison this wine, and I did not attempt to kill Sir Gilbert. Is that satisfactory?’

The earl nodded and turned to Edwin. ‘It must have taken quite some nerve to stand up and make this accusation. I assume you think you can prove it?’

Edwin tried to control the trembling in his limbs. ‘Well …’

Sir Henry laughed derisively. ‘You see? My lord, surely you give no credence to the wild allegations of such a person?’ He looked around, surprised that the other men there had not rushed to his defence. Then he smiled. ‘Will it settle the matter if I drink this wine? Will that prove my innocence?’ He strode over to the side table, lifted one of the double-handled goblets and gulped down the contents so fast that a trickle of the wine escaped and ran down his beard and the side of his neck like blood. Edwin started forward in horror, and noted that Sir Geoffrey and Sir Roger both made similar, albeit smaller, movements – so they’d believed him. But Henry de Stuteville was standing proud, the empty goblet in his right hand, his left wiping across his mouth. He tossed the cup dismissively to one side and folded his arms. ‘You see? I live.’ He smiled at the earl, but the look he turned on Edwin was one which held such malice that Edwin could feel it in the innermost part of his being.

The earl turned back to him, those eyes looking right through him now. ‘I am … disappointed.’ Edwin felt stabbed. ‘Go now, and I will deal with you in due course.’

Edwin stumbled off the dais, all support gone, all eyes on him as he took the longest walk of his life down the empty hall. He could feel the stares of the nobles, and his back burned. Once outside he was surrounded by men wanting to know what had happened, but he pushed blindly past them and did not stop until he reached his cottage. He barred the door, fell on to his palliasse, and, despite the heat of the evening, pulled a blanket over his head, curling under it like a babe and shuddering with an emotion he couldn’t even name.

Martin tried to stand as still as possible. Thank the Lord his stiffness was wearing off now so he didn’t feel the need to shuffle around to a more comfortable position, which might have drawn attention to himself. For the air in the room was like dry tinder, and it would only take one spark to set it all ablaze.

He felt sorry for Edwin. All along he hadn’t seemed happy with the task laid upon him, and obviously the pressure had got too much for him – he’d been forced to make a guess which had turned out to be wrong. And there would be no coming back from it: he was disgraced in the eyes of the earl and would surely never work for him again. The earl himself was absolutely furious at the public embarrassment and, since they’d all retired to the great chamber, he’d spent his time stalking about, alternately swearing and apologising to Henry de Stuteville. Martin had the feeling that it was only the presence of the ladies that was keeping the earl from flinging cups around and breaking things.

Meanwhile the Lord Henry was (understandably, Martin supposed) livid about the insult to his honour and was demanding drastic punishment for Edwin. Martin trembled at some of his more violent suggestions. But both Sir Geoffrey, who was unusually in the chamber, unwilling to move away from the earl, and Sir Gilbert had tried to calm the situation with a view to saving Edwin’s life and limbs. And, thank the Lord, Sir Henry’s insistence on retribution was having the opposite effect on the earl to the one intended – he didn’t like people making demands to his face, so he was veering away from any specific promises of punishment. Martin began to breathe a little more easily.

Eventually everyone stopped striding about and sat down to wine, quieter conversation, and, in the case of Sir Roger and Sir Gilbert, chess. Martin listened to the sound of the pieces being moved as the talk swirled around. Click. The consensus in the noble party now seemed to be that Hamo had died by accident after ingesting something which didn’t agree with him. Click. Edwin had been wrong all along about it being poison. Click. ‘Check.’ After all, it had been four days now and nobody else had died – if there was poison in the castle supplies, they reasoned, someone else would have been affected. Click. ‘Checkmate.’

Martin took the risk of looking up from his feet and gazing around him. Sir Roger was wryly acknowledging that his game had been poor, while Sir Gilbert smiled. Most of the nobles were nodding sagely at the lack of evidence of poisoning, but over to one side, his face illuminated by a torch on the wall, Sir Geoffrey was looking down and shaking his head.

An argument was breaking out on the other side of the room. Martin tried to swivel his eyes to see what was going on without moving his head. It was the Lady Ela, haranguing the lord earl again. Martin was glad he hadn’t turned round.

‘William, you need to do more to find Thomas! The poor boy is still out there somewhere, lost and lonely, and you don’t seem to care!’

The earl bunched his fist, and Martin gulped. But his voice remained level. ‘Sister, as I have said –
repeatedly
– we are searching for the wretch, not that he deserves it. He’s on foot, so he can’t be far away. And when we find him, if he’s alive, he’ll wish he weren’t by the time I’ve finished with him, I can tell you. And if he’s dead, frankly you should rejoice at losing such a troublesome and useless boy so early in life, before he can do any real damage.’ He raised his hand to forestall her as she opened her mouth to speak, and looked instead at William Fitzwilliam. ‘You’ll need to do a great deal better with your other son if you want him to be worthy of any inheritance later.’

William Fitzwilliam nodded without speaking, but the Lady Ela shrieked. ‘Him! Why, he’s never – ’

She was cut off abruptly as her husband took three steps towards her, brought his arm back, and slapped her across the face as hard as he could. The smack of his hand on her flesh echoed round the room, which fell silent.

Martin risked a fuller glance, still trying to remain immobile. The Lady Ela was leaning back in her chair, her hand to her face, white, staring up in disbelief at William Fitzwilliam, who was shaking with rage. ‘Be
quiet!
’ He leaned over her, his face close to hers. ‘I will not take this disrespect any longer! God knows I’ve put up with you long enough, flaunting your higher birth at me, but I will be the master in my own household, damn it, and you will
learn!
’ She flinched further away. ‘Dear Lord, I’ve even been praying for the strength to deal with you and that cursed boy, wondering why I’ve let you cosset him so much. Just look how he’s turned out, bringing shame on me, and all because of
your
foolishness. No more, I tell you!’

Everyone else was observing the scene while pretending to look away. Joanna and the other girls buried their faces in their sewing. The Lady Ela cast a glance at the earl.

William Fitzwilliam followed her gaze, stood up straight and made a small bow. ‘Begging your pardon, my lord, under your roof.’

The earl merely flicked his fingers, a cold glance passing over the lady without engaging. ‘Something you should have done a long time ago, evidently. She’s your wife and it’s up to you to control her, my sister or no.’

William Fitzwilliam straightened his tunic and smoothed his beard before turning back to his wife. ‘Now, you will go to your chamber and stay there until tomorrow, and we will have no more whining about the boy. And from now on you will remain silent and obey me as a wife should.’

The Lady Ela stood and gave a stiff curtsey to her husband and to the earl before turning and leaving the room without speaking. She was still white, except for the scarlet mark of his hand on her face. Her companion – Martin couldn’t remember her name – also stood and bobbed a hasty curtsey herself before following her mistress out the door. Martin felt sorry for her, having to walk the whole length of the room like that with everyone looking on in silence. For silent it was. There were, what, over a dozen people in the room, but you could hear a flea jumping in the rushes and a dog yawning over by the fireplace.

The earl broke the quiet, slapping the arm of his chair. ‘Good. Adam, wine.’

The spell was broken. Martin realised he’d been holding his breath. The room went back to normal as the nobles began to chat again and the wine circulated. The earl turned to the Lady Maud, sitting nearest him and with a strange look on her face. He patted her hand. ‘Ah, Maud, the last and least of my sisters, but the one who has always given me least trouble.’ She smiled at him. ‘Although,’ he joked, ‘I have high hopes of Isabelle from now on!’

Sir Gilbert ventured a small laugh, and Henry de Stuteville made some comment or other about making sure he started off right, to avoid trouble later. All was well, all was jocular.

Martin wondered why he felt so shocked. After all, every man from the king to the lowliest serf had the right to chastise his wife, and most did so physically. He thought back to when he’d been little and the earl had been married, and couldn’t recall any specific instances such as the one he’d just witnessed, but then again, she’d done as she was told, hadn’t she? So she hadn’t brought anything on herself like the Lady Ela had. A man couldn’t put up with disrespect like that, and certainly not in front of his peers and his overlord. William Fitzwilliam certainly looked happier, or at least more relieved, and the other men were congratulating him in their words and gestures.

Slowly the room began to empty as the nobles headed off to their beds ahead of the wedding tomorrow. The earl and Sir Gilbert were last out, waiting until Joanna and the Lady Isabelle had disappeared off into the curtained area at the end of the room. Various squires trailed out, and Martin moved to follow, but was stopped by Sir Geoffrey’s hand on his arm.

The knight kept his voice low. ‘Something is still not right.’

Martin was confused. ‘The Lady Ela …?’

Sir Geoffrey shook his head. ‘No. No, that’s not important. I mean Edwin, and what he said.’

Martin’s mind gave a jerk. Lord, he’d almost forgotten about that! It already seemed long ago. ‘But he was wrong, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes. But wrong in what? Certainly that wine wasn’t poisoned. But Edwin wouldn’t be so far mistaken as to invent that whole tale he told. Some part of it may well be right, and what if it’s the part about somebody trying to kill Sir Gilbert? And I am not convinced of this idea that Hamo died by accident. If Edwin thinks it was poison then I am inclined to believe him.’

Martin wasn’t quite sure what he was meant to say. ‘So you think there’s still danger?’

Sir Geoffrey glanced towards the bedchamber and gestured to him to keep his voice down. ‘Yes. I don’t know what or who, but this game is not yet played out. Edwin is gone, so it will be up to us. Keep your eyes and your ears open,’ he dropped to a whisper, ‘and trust nobody.’

The sun shone through the windows of the great chamber as Joanna combed Isabelle’s hair. For her wedding day she would wear it loose and flowing around her shoulders and back, so Joanna wanted to make sure it looked as beautiful as possible. Isabelle was already wearing her wedding gown; the earl had spent a fortune on a length of blue silk, and the colour was fabulous, mesmerising. It was set off by a necklace and a gold headband inlaid with jewels which would hold the hair in place in the absence of a wimple.

As she drew the ivory comb through Isabelle’s hair, Joanna reflected on the events of the previous evening. She’d been shepherded out of the hall along with the other ladies, and so had not seen the end of the scene on the dais, but Martin had told her of Edwin’s humiliation and expulsion from the hall. She felt sorry for him – she didn’t know him all that well, but he seemed a nice, gentle sort of man, and both Martin and Sir Geoffrey respected him, which was a recommendation in itself. The rest of the evening in the great chamber had been awful, and she’d been glad to escape once Isabelle had decided to retire.