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Oh, this just got better and better. A whole plan sprang into his mind. The future was looking rosy, he thought, as he followed Sir Geoffrey towards the earl’s quarters. The knight stopped to let him pass into the room and he carefully schooled his face into the correct expression before stepping through the door.

Adam sat in silence, staring at the wall. His fingers clutched at the blanket which was draped around his shoulders, drawing it closer about him as he shivered. So cold … his mind kept going back to the events of the dawn, recounting them over and over. Once more he saw the distorted features, the silent scream, the wound on the neck, which his imagination made ever wider, and those awful, staring eyes … huddled alone in a corner of the great chamber, Adam buried his head in his hands and wept at the horror.

He was disturbed by the sound of the door opening, and looked up to see David entering the room with a purposeful gait. He stopped as he noticed Adam and spoke, his voice as scornful as always.

‘What’s the matter with you?’

Shaken out of his daze by the very crassness of the question, Adam was roused to defend himself.

‘How can you say that?’ His voice was squeaking; he needed to control it better. He tried again. ‘I found our lord’s body this morning, after he’d had his throat cut. What could be worse?’

David shrugged, continuing on his way across the room. ‘Probably no more than he deserved,’ he said, as he disappeared behind the partition into the bedchamber. ‘And people die all the time. What is there to make a fuss about?’

Adam bit back a reply and rose, curious. ‘What are you doing?’ He pushed past the partition to see the other boy busily pulling items out of a wooden chest, humming to himself as he did so. ‘Those belong to our lord!’

David grinned, without pausing in his task. ‘Not any more – and we deserve something as a reward for working for him all these years. Here,’ he considered a fine tunic and threw it towards Adam, ‘I’ll even let you have some.’

Adam put his hand out automatically to catch the garment, but then let it fall to the floor as though it had bitten him. ‘I won’t take it!’ He was filled with outrage.

David shrugged once more. ‘You’re probably right. It wouldn’t fit you anyway, you’re such a puny, undersized weakling. And anyway,’ he turned back to rummage deep in the chest, before pulling out a chinking purse, ‘there are much more useful things to find.’

He weighed the purse reflectively and made to stow it safely in his tunic, but Adam knocked it out of his hand. Now David looked surprised. ‘What? Oh please, don’t tell me you’re defending his honour. After what he did to you?’ He stretched out his hand to Adam’s face and turned it contemptuously so the bruised side was towards him, his voice becoming threatening. ‘And believe me, I’ll do a lot worse if you don’t get out of my way.’ He shoved Adam away, roughly.

Adam was in two minds. It was true, he’d hated and feared his master while he was alive, but surely the dead deserved some respect? This disdain before the man was even in his grave was somehow unfitting, and stealing his possessions was obscene. His father would be ashamed if he thought Adam hadn’t defended what was right. He took a deep breath and prepared to stand up for himself for the first time.

He was no match for the ruthless David, of course, and he found himself on the floor within moments, the larger boy straddling him, fists hammering into Adam’s face as he sought in vain to raise his arms to defend himself. The pain was terrible, the beating going on and on, and the room was disappearing in a red haze before he finally realised that the weight on him was being lifted. He squinted up through half-closed eyes to see David standing over him, threateningly. Adam made to cover his face again, but the other turned swiftly and picked up the discarded purse, before turning back. He took out a coin and flung it down. It bounced off the floorboards before coming to rest next to Adam’s prone body.

‘Here. I won’t let it be said that I didn’t give you your share. You’ll never find another knight to serve anyway, for who would want a whining child who’s afraid of the dark?’ He paused, and then administered a vicious kick in the ribs which left Adam gasping, before stalking out of the room.

Adam lay still for a long moment, waiting to see if he would die. When he didn’t, he waited again for the pain to subside so he could move. Eventually he managed to raise himself to his hands and knees, and tried to wipe some of the blood out of his eyes, but he only succeeded in smearing it everywhere. Whimpering, he looked around for a cloth, but he didn’t dare touch any of his master’s clothes which were scattered around the bedchamber. Instead he turned and crawled back to his blanket and rubbed it gingerly over his face until he could see. Tentatively he explored his face with his fingers. Was his nose broken? He thought not – he’d managed to turn his head from side to side to take most of the blows around his cheekbones and eyes. One eye was rapidly swelling and closing, but he still had some sight in the other, enough to see his way as he stood up, staggered, and limped across the room. On the table he found a half-finished cup of wine and drained it, wincing as the liquid burned the split in his lip.

Feeling slightly more alive, he was able to make his way out of the room and the building, before sitting down on the outside flight of steps to consider his position. Whichever way he looked at it, it was bad. A squire whose knight died before he’d finished his training would be very lucky to find another, especially if that squire didn’t come from a powerful family. He supposed he could try and find service with his lord’s brother … it wasn’t ideal, but at least he might be able to retain his ambition of becoming a knight. But what if David decided to do the same thing? He was the senior, was bound to be considered more useful, and was by a long way the stronger and the better of the two in combat and sport. And anyway, did he really want to tie himself to another member of the de Courteville family? Perhaps he could go back to his father’s household – as a younger son there would be nothing for him to inherit, but at least he’d have a roof over his head, and he might be able to find work in due course as a retainer of his brother. But it wouldn’t be the same as being a knight …

A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see Earl William’s squire gazing down at him, the one who had shouted at him yesterday. Adam ducked and tried half-heartedly to hide his face so that the other would not see his injuries, but it was too late. The squire’s expression, however, registered only sympathy as he sat down.

‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Adam shrugged and said nothing. ‘Was it your lord’s other squire?’

Adam remained silent and the other squire – was his name Robert? – sighed. ‘I see.’

He put one hand under Adam’s chin and gently turned his face to the light so he could see the full extent of the damage. ‘Honestly, a fair beating, justly administered for a fault, is one thing, but this is another.’

Adam winced at the touch of the other’s hand. ‘Is it bad?’

‘Well, let me see. One of your eyes is completely closed, and the other has blood flowing into it from this cut on your eyebrow. Another cut on one of your cheekbones is pouring blood, as is your nose, and the split lip doesn’t look too good, either. Yes, I’d say it was bad.’ He looked again. ‘Oh, and one ear is red and swollen, but that doesn’t look as fresh as your other wounds. And from the way you’re sitting and holding your side, there’s no doubt some damage there as well.’

Adam listened to the enumeration and wondered if any of the injuries would cause him permanent damage. His eyes were the main thing: any other scars he could live with, but if he couldn’t see then he would never get another master.

Robert hauled him to his feet, and he whimpered. ‘Come with me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To see someone who can help. Come.’

He supported Adam as they turned to go towards the great hall. Once inside they went through the hall, where preparations for dinner were being made, through the service area and into some kind of office at the end. The man who was there turned to greet them, and Adam shrank back in fear as he saw the disfigured face. The man limped closer and loomed over them. Adam flinched, but Robert spoke briskly.

‘Master William, I believe we need your wife’s skills.’

The man took one glance at Adam and nodded. ‘Aye, you may be right. Stay here and I’ll send someone to fetch her.’

He left the room and Robert made Adam sit at the table. After they had sat in silence for a while a woman bustled in. Robert spoke in Adam’s ear. ‘Have no fear – she’s skilled with herbs and poultices, and won’t say anything to anyone.’

On seeing Adam the woman exclaimed, and quickly started pulling items out of the scrip she was carrying, keeping up a comforting flow of talk as she did so, to keep his mind off the sting of his injuries.

Adam winced in the anticipation of more pain as she approached him with the rag, but her fingers were gentle as she wiped the blood from his face. She hissed under her breath as she unearthed the damage which had been done, asked Robert sharply what had been going on, but he refused to elaborate, staying back from the table to allow her room to work. She spoke kind-heartedly to Adam, assuring him that he would mend soon enough, as she continued to wipe his face. Adam could not remember the last time somebody had been so tender with him, and he gave himself up gladly to her ministrations, allowing her to finish cleaning and dab a salve onto his wounds to stop the bleeding. It stung, but after what he had been through, it was heaven. When she’d finished, she gently pushed his hair back from his face in a gesture that reminded him of his mother, and he felt calm for the first time since he had woken up in the dark so many hours ago.

Thinking about that made his mind start again on the endless cycle of the events of the morning, and he hastily cast his mind back further to try and cut off the remembrance. How eager he’d been yesterday when he arrived at Conisbrough, as he always was when visiting a new place. He’d been impressed by the sight of the bright white keep, dominating the surrounding landscape. He had unloaded his master’s belongings, or such of them as he would need for a couple of days’ stay; the rest were for the campaign and had stayed with the remainder of the baggage, down in the encampment outside the castle. Then there had been that incident with David and the girl, but he didn’t want to think of that. He’d eaten well at the evening meal, enjoying the meat pasties and marchpane which had been left over at the high table after the lords had finished eating. After dinner he had returned to the great chamber and started to prepare everything ready for his lord to retire for the night. Lord Ralph had come back in, furious, his tunic covered in wine. He had shouted …

‘The letter!’

‘What?’ He had spoken aloud, and he looked round to see everyone staring at him in surprise. He hastened to explain.

‘Last evening, after the meal – my lord came back to his chamber and found a letter on his bed. He didn’t know who it was from.’

Robert was suddenly all attention, moving towards him to question him keenly. Where had this letter been found? Who had delivered it? What did it say? This might be very important. Where was it now?

Adam didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, and he sought to draw the memory from his mind. Where had Lord Ralph put the letter? Where might it be now? He forgot his pain, but remembered to thank the kindly woman for her aid. He hoped he would see her again before he left, and she echoed the sentiment, looking after the boys as they left the office and hurried through the hall and back outside.

The letter was nowhere to be found. Robert and Adam had ransacked the whole of the great chamber and the kists of clothes and belongings in the bedchamber, but the letter remained stubbornly hidden. Adam asked himself over and over again where it might be, but all he could remember was that his lord had read the missive and then put it in the pouch at his belt. The pouch was here – it was among the first things they had found, still attached to the fine belt which he had worn to supper in the hall – but it was empty. Now they sat, surrounded by piles of belongings, at a complete loss.

‘I suppose someone has checked my lord’s … checked the body?’

Robert nodded. ‘I carried him down from the roof with Martin, and he had no pouch at his belt. He was wearing plain clothes, the sort you might put on for travelling. Not the finery he wore at supper.’

‘No, he took that off when he returned to the chamber – the tunic was a new one, but he had spilt wine down the front so he took it off.’