Whited Sepulchres (18 page)

The earl grunted and waved one hand. The storm seemed to have been averted, thank the Lord. ‘Hamo? Haven’t you sorted that out yet? What do I pay you for?’

Even Edwin wasn’t foolish enough to respond to that. The earl spoke again. ‘Although that does remind me that I’ll need a new marshal or we’ll never get the household out of Conisbrough again.’ He flicked his fingers at Adam, who sprang forward. ‘Go and find Sir Geoffrey and bring him here.’ Adam sped away, and Edwin felt a flicker of sympathy for the dead man. He certainly hadn’t liked Hamo, but it was an ill thing that not one person seemed to be upset by his death.

The earl was continuing, almost to himself, as he walked through a shard of bright sunlight to look out of the narrow window-slit. ‘God knows I’ve got enough to do when I’d rather be out hunting on such a fine day.’ He turned again. ‘Are you still here?’

He was half-amused rather than angry, but Edwin wasn’t taking any chances. He bowed and backed towards the door until his heel touched it, and then went out and ran down the stairs as quickly as he could.

Edwin left the earl’s council chamber and walked across the inner ward towards the great chamber, his dread increasing with every step. He stood outside the door for some while, wondering whether he was supposed to knock, or whether he should just open it and go in as quietly as possibly. In the end he compromised, knocked so quietly that nobody could have heard him anyway, opened the door a crack and peered round. The room was empty.

Puzzled, he went back outside, but he couldn’t see anyone in the ward either. But there was noise coming from the great hall – of course, it was dinner time. He had so little appetite at the moment that he hadn’t noticed. Oh well, they wouldn’t want him until afterwards. He moved into the shade cast by the buildings and looked around.

A wet, retching noise sounded from quite near him and he jumped, thoughts of poisoning and death leaping into his mind. He looked further into the shaded corner where the wall of the great chamber met that of the hall, to see the minstrel vomiting out a stream of liquid. Oh dear Lord. He raced over and grabbed the man’s arm. The minstrel gagged, spitting out more liquid and bending over double while Edwin looked on helplessly.

Eventually the coughing subsided and the minstrel looked up. He spoke in a strangled voice. ‘What in God’s name did you do that for?’

‘Oh, thank the Lord you’re all right! Er, what?’

‘Grabbing me like that, you fool! You could have choked me!’

‘But I thought you were choking already – that’s why I ran over. I heard you being sick.’

The minstrel held up an empty cup. ‘I was gargling, you halfwit. A hot infusion with honey in it, for my voice.’

Edwin wasn’t sure whether he felt more relieved or stupid. ‘I’m sorry. We’ve had a man die by poisoning recently and when I heard you making that noise and then saw you spitting it out, I thought …’

‘Yes, well, you were wrong.’ The minstrel cleared his throat. ‘Happily, it looks as though I will be all right to perform, no thanks to you. I have Roland’s death to tell of, so I must be in perfect condition. It’s one of the greatest scenes ever composed.’

‘He dies? Oh … I haven’t been listening to all of it so far, but isn’t he the hero? Isn’t that going to be a bit of a sad way to end?’

The minstrel laughed. ‘End? It’s only halfway through. Don’t you know anything? He dies, yes, but the mighty French army returns to crush the Saracens in revenge. The second battle is even better than the first one.’ He moved towards the entrance to the hall, listening. ‘It sounds like they’re nearly ready for me, so stop pestering and let me prepare.’ He picked up his musical instrument, which Edwin hadn’t noticed lying on the ground, and stood by the door, ready to make his entrance.

Edwin went back up the steps and into the passage between the hall and the great chamber. It was a strangely shaped space, covering a corner and under the flight of stone stairs which led from the ward up to the wall-walk. If he waited here, he’d hear when the nobles were approaching, and he could slip in among the squires, hopefully without anyone noticing. He sat down with his back against the wall. Death. Blood. Fighting. Revenge. This was entertainment? He didn’t think he’d ever understand these nobles.

He had no idea how long he’d been there when he heard the sound of people approaching from the great hall. The door opened – the one which led from the dais at the top end of the hall, so the nobles didn’t have to go out the same door as everyone else – and the party swept through to the great chamber. Edwin joined the end of the group and went in. He looked surreptitiously at what everyone else was doing, and then took up a position at the very edge of the room, his legs as weak as grass in the wind, his trembling hands clamped behind his back, hoping that nobody would notice him. The Lady Isabelle settled herself in the centre of the room – the Lord knew what sort of response he’d get from her if he did anything wrong – together with the earl’s other two sisters, their husbands, the two boys he’d seen arriving the other day, and Sir Roger and Sir Gilbert. To one side were Mistress Joanna and two other young ladies, who had taken up their sewing and were talking in low voices, and ranged around the walls were some other boys and young men, pages and squires. Eustace was one of them, and he’d given Edwin a slight if somewhat confused nod as he entered and took up his station.

Edwin had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. He stared at the nobles. What would they do if they wanted him to do something? What would be the signal? Did they actually ask, or were you supposed to just know?

He jumped as the tall thin man snapped his fingers at him. Edwin looked round in confusion. What did he want? The finger-snapping intensified and the man looked round in irritation. Edwin felt himself starting to panic. His eye was caught by a sudden movement across the room, and he looked to see Mistress Joanna gesturing to him out of the line of sight of the nobles. Once she saw he was looking, she mimed pouring something, and then pointed to a table near him. He saw on it a jug of wine and understood, thank the Lord. He picked it up and moved towards where the man – the earl’s brother-in-law, but he didn’t know which one – was sitting. There was an empty goblet near his elbow, so Edwin poured wine into it as carefully as he possibly could, and then stepped back to the safety of the wall, replacing the jug on its table. The nobleman didn’t even look round at him, so he must have done it right. His hands were shaking so he put them behind his back again, picking nervously at his fingernails.

The men were discussing the episode from the Roland story which they had just heard. From what Edwin could gather, they’d all heard something completely different, and now he wished he’d gone back in to listen so he knew what they were talking about.

Sir Roger was arguing his point. ‘But don’t you see? Roland is inspired by our Lord God: he’s fighting for the Christians against the pagans, so he dies a martyr.’

Sir Gilbert shook his head. ‘I take leave to disagree with you, Roger – yes, he’s fighting against the pagans, but he’s fighting for his lord, doing as he was ordered. He’s a vassal who obeys his king’s commands to the end.
And
he was the victor in the field, because the pagans had fled.’

The tall thin man joined in. ‘Yes, but what good did it do him? You say he was the victor, but he lost every single one of his men and left the Saracens alive so they could fight another day. What sort of service is it to one’s lord to deprive him of twenty thousand of his men, and of Roland himself, for that matter?’

Sir Gilbert raised a finger. ‘All right, Sir William, I concede your point. But what would you have him do? If your orders are to fight to the last man, how do you reconcile service to your lord with disobeying him to stay alive?’

Edwin made a mental note that the thin man must be William Fitzwilliam. He watched him shrug. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure – fortunately I’ve never been in that position, so I don’t know what I’d do if I were. But I do think that caution and prudence are the best courses of action on most occasions. That way you live to fight another day.’

Sir Gilbert sat back, a look of sadness on his face, and Edwin knew whom he was thinking of. A little thorn scratched his own heart as he remembered the merry smile and devil-may-care attitude. He put one hand on the dagger given to him by the knight who had saved his life.

The other brother-in-law, the one with the huge beard who must be Henry de Stuteville, was disagreeing with both of them. ‘The point is, you should never get yourself in an impossible situation in the first place. A bit of forward planning from young Roland might have helped everyone.’

Sir Gilbert smiled despite himself. ‘But you must agree, sir, that that wouldn’t have made anything like such a good story!’

They all laughed. But Sir Roger, unsurprisingly, was still trying to push his own, more religious, view. It was common knowledge – even Edwin knew it, so it must be common – that Sir Roger had ambitions to go on crusade himself one day; it was easy to imagine him smiting the heathen with the divine light of righteousness on his face. Edwin caught some of what he was saying: ‘But you haven’t mentioned the crucial point, which is that as Roland dies, our Lord God accepts his glove in tribute, and sends His angels to bear Roland to Heaven. And
that
is because he’s fighting for the Christians against the pagans, not because he’s simply following orders …’

Edwin began to lose interest. As he hadn’t heard the relevant bit of the poem, he didn’t really understand all this. And besides, all the bits he had heard were either hugely gory, which he didn’t find entertaining, or didn’t make sense. Seriously, that Ganelon fellow – Roland’s father, was it? But surely no father would be so at odds with his son – was, to everyone else listening, the villain of the piece. He was the traitor who was setting Roland up to be killed. But at the beginning of the poem he’d actually had a fair point: the pagan king was offering to hold Spain as Charlemagne’s vassal and to become a Christian, which was what they actually wanted, surely? But all the men in the hall had erupted in boos, whistles and catcalls as soon as Ganelon had spoken in favour of accepting the offer. No, these nobles didn’t want peace; they thirsted for blood, revenge, and the total annihilation of their enemies.

His mind was wandering. Mistress Joanna was trying to catch his attention again. She moved her head to indicate that he should move nearer to her, so he edged slowly around. At the same time she moved her stool slightly back from the other two young ladies, so that she was only a yard or two away from him as he stood. She shifted her position and brought her embroidery up nearer to her face, as though to see it better.

‘What are you doing here?’

Edwin tried to whisper without moving his mouth too much. ‘My lord sent me here until Martin is better. But I don’t know who anyone is or what I’m supposed to be doing.’

She nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘I’ll try to help.’

While the nobles chatted in the middle of the room, Mistress Joanna continued to speak under her breath to him, explaining who they were, how they were related to each other, and what they might ask him to do. The girls who were sitting with her must have thought this all a little odd, but in a show of solidarity they too looked up from their sewing, and spoke a little more loudly to cover Joanna’s voice.

Once Edwin was more aware of his surroundings he could relax a little. He breathed more steadily and looked with more interest at the earl’s family. The lady he now knew was the Lady Ela was speaking about the wedding.

‘But really, Isabelle, could you not persuade our brother to hold a proper wedding? Why, there’s nobody here but family, and the event will be so small you’ll barely notice it.’

Edwin gulped, for two entirely different reasons. Firstly, from what he knew of the Lady Isabelle, it was dangerous in the extreme to speak to her in such tones; and secondly, he’d thought the wedding was a very lavish affair indeed. Why, he himself had sat down and tallied up the vast quantities of food and drink required, and victuals were being sent for from across half the county. And that special wine had come in from France, for goodness’ sake. But then again, these nobles were used to having such things done for them, without being aware of how much work went into it.

The Lady Isabelle was replying with nothing like the venom he would have expected.

‘Ela, dear sister, you know William can’t think of inviting all the lords of the kingdom when half of them are at war with each other. And besides, it all had to be arranged quickly, before he and Gilbert need to ride south. And anyway, Gilbert and I don’t need a lavish feast – all we need is to be married in God’s eyes.’ She looked doe-eyed at her betrothed and put a hand on his arm. If Sir Gilbert was embarrassed by this show of affection he didn’t show it; he put his own hand over hers, gave her a reassuring look and a pat, and continued the conversation he was having with Henry de Stuteville, which had moved on from Roland and was now about hunting.

But the Lady Ela wouldn’t be satisfied. ‘But Isabelle, the village church? I mean, not even to be married in the chapel here in the castle?’

At this, the Lady Maud, the other sister with the kind face, broke in. ‘Oh Ela, really, have you so far forgotten your studies?’

Her sisters looked at her blankly. She laughed, the sound of a bell, and turned to her son. ‘Pierre?’

He jumped up from where he had been playing merels with the other boy and stood to attention beside her. ‘Yes Mama?’

‘Whose feast is it in two days’ time?’

‘The feast of Saints Peter and Paul, Mama.’

She nodded, and patted him on the head. ‘Good boy.’ She picked a dried fruit out of the bowl to her left and gave it to him. ‘You’ve been studying hard.’ She dismissed him back to his game and turned back to her sisters, laughing again as she saw they still didn’t understand. ‘The church? In the village?’

Even Edwin knew what she was talking about by now, and realisation finally dawned on Lady Ela’s face. ‘Of course. The Church of Saints Peter and Paul. It will be auspicious to be married in their church on their feast day.’