B0078XH7HQ EBOK (6 page)

Edwin sighed and rubbed his eyes. So much for sleeping well. And this just made it worse: he was contemplating the documents before him, which detailed the exact boundaries of each man’s territory within the earl’s estates. This was part of his new bailiff’s duties which he didn’t enjoy: petty disputes over a few yards of land which required hours of research to solve. As he stared at the pages of cramped writing, a peculiar lethargy came over him. This was something which he would have to tackle sometime, but maybe it could be put off until later? Did he have anything else to do which could be considered more important? Or if not more important, then perhaps more interesting? Anything which didn’t involve those property deeds would be fine, especially given that he’d spent much of the previous day hunched over the muster rolls. Mentally he made a list of his duties … ah, there was something. He needed to find the thief who had stolen a knife from the kitchen – Richard Cook was most particular about his equipment, and had counted his knives several times before reporting the theft. Edwin would have to ask him when he had last seen the implement and who might have been in the kitchen at the time, in order to try and find the culprit before the next manor court. The theft of a knife was important, and not just because it had occurred in the earl’s kitchen. Who knows why it might have been stolen? He would find out, would enjoy the logic of discovering where it had been taken and why. However, he suspected that just as dinner – the main meal of the day – was being prepared might not be the best time to disturb the cook, who was large, red-faced and in a permanent state of choleric high temper. This was likely to get worse as more and more of the earl’s knights arrived at the castle and wanted feeding, so Edwin considered that a prudent course of action would be to make a quick tour of the castle, have something to eat, and then come back to speak to the cook. Good. He felt cheered as he put the documents away again.

Both the inner and the outer wards were busier than usual as he passed through, with new arrivals milling around before being told where to go. There was of course no possibility of housing everyone within the castle walls, only the most important men such as the earl of wherever-it-was would be invited there; the others would have to set up their tents outside. One or two others might be afforded special treatment as well: Edwin could see Sir Geoffrey shaking hands with one of the arrivals, a knight at least as grey and grizzled as himself who was greeting him like an old friend. Edwin suspected that a place to sleep and maybe a cup or two of ale might be forthcoming for knights such as he, although obviously not for all his men: a dozen archers and a small boy were waiting patiently behind him, ready for their orders. Edwin glanced at them and passed on, but his sharp eye moved back abruptly; the men were neat and well-turned out, in their matching livery, but the boy was filthy and barefoot. Inspecting him more closely, Edwin recognised Peter, an orphan from the village who was a beggar and a pilferer and was suspected of being a pickpocket also, although nobody had ever caught him at it. He was watching the men closely, too closely for Edwin’s liking, and he made to saunter casually over to warn the lad off whatever action he was contemplating; but as he moved in Peter’s direction the boy caught sight of him and darted quickly away, hovering on the edge of the crowd. So he
had
been up to something, thought Edwin; there’s plenty of opportunity for crime with all these people around. But it was a shame about the boy: his parents had died several years ago when Peter was very small, but nobody would employ him as they suspected him of being dishonest, which of course meant that he was forced to beg or steal in order to stay alive, which further reduced the possibility of anyone taking him in. But what could be done? That was the way of the world.

As he watched, one of the earl’s men noticed the boy and chased him away, adding a cuff to the back of his head for good measure, although there seemed little malice in it. Then Berold – for it was he – turned to Edwin.

‘Have you heard? We’re going to march to help the king!’

Edwin thought he would have to have had his head stuck in the well not to have heard, but he said nothing, noting the evident enthusiasm in Berold’s eyes. Here was one who would be stepping out of the gates and broadening his horizons, unlike Edwin.

Berold was continuing, waxing lyrical about his chance to be a real soldier on a real campaign, not just a guard at the castle, but Edwin paid him little mind. Since his youngest days Berold had had his heart set on joining the earl’s garrison, and Edwin had lost count of the number of times he’d been coerced into a game of soldiers when they had both been boys in the village. Not only had he been unenthusiastic for the military life, but Berold’s extra two years of age and greater strength had always told, and Edwin inevitably ended up nursing several bruises. But it was difficult to dislike Berold, for his hearty lust for life shone through his every deed. Edwin thought privately that Berold would make a very good footsoldier – strong and not too intelligent. But at least he would have the opportunity to go on the campaign, unlike those who would be stuck behind. Honour and glory and a chance to see the world. Huh.

Perhaps disappointed by the lack of response from his companion, Berold drifted away, barely acknowledged.

Edwin was so caught up in his thoughts that at first he didn’t hear the voice calling his name, but eventually Robert got through to him. He and Martin were coming out of the stables, looking hot and dishevelled, presumably having finished some kind of training, an activity which took up much of their time. Martin was rubbing one shoulder, so Edwin enquired after his health, but the tall squire was forestalled by his companion, who noted cheerfully that Martin might have the greater height and reach, but that he still had something to learn in the skills department.

‘What Robert is trying to say,’ interposed Martin in his deep voice, ‘is that he knocked me flat on my back and will therefore be mentioning it at every available opportunity until I gain my revenge.’

There was a slight pause; Edwin was not used to hearing Martin utter so many words at once.

Robert recovered first. ‘Would I do that?’ His voice was full of insincere incredulity.

‘Yes.’ Martin and Edwin answered together, and Robert admitted that well, all right then, he probably would.

‘But where is our young accomplice? Surely he isn’t still with Father Ignatius?’ Robert explained to Edwin that Simon had been forced to go to a reading lesson with the priest, and added an impression of the boy’s mournful attitude which made the others laugh.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Simon had appeared beside them.

‘Oh, nothing,’ said Robert smoothly, ‘Edwin and I were just recalling how much we used to enjoy our reading and writing lessons with Father Ignatius when we were younger. Oh look, someone else has just arrived.’

He pointed and Edwin turned, half-expecting that Robert had merely been trying to distract their attention, but as he looked towards the gate he saw that an angel of the Lord had just ridden in.

The young man sat straight-backed in his saddle, riding with an effortless grace. Garbed for war, the light glinted off the shimmering silver of his mail and made his green and gold surcoat glow like the sun. He wore no helmet, revealing a pale, unearthly face which carried a beatific expression and resolute blue eyes; some trick of the light made his wavy golden hair appear as a shining halo around his head. The world around him seemed to recede, and the four of them stood silently and watched as he approached, Simon frozen with his mouth open in wonder at such a vision.

‘Roger!’ Sir Geoffrey was striding over to greet the new arrival, and the spell was broken. ‘Or, I should say,
Sir
Roger. How are you, my boy?’

‘Roger?’ Robert shook his head, looked again at the vision and then seized Martin’s arm. ‘Do you see who it is?’

The apparition dismounted and turned to greet Sir Geoffrey, and Edwin saw with shock that it was, indeed, Roger d’Abernon, former squire to the earl, whom he hadn’t seen since the latter’s knighting ceremony four years before. They hadn’t known each other well, the age difference between them meaning that Edwin hadn’t been on familiar terms with the erstwhile senior squire like he was with Robert. In fact he’d always been rather in awe of the solemn young man, who approached his service to the earl with the utmost seriousness and was absolutely dedicated to his calling as a knight. It was rumoured that his ambition was to go on crusade to the Holy Land to help free it from the infidel, and Edwin could well imagine him smiting the heathen with the shining light of righteousness in his face.

Solemn he might be, but he was also well mannered and, after he’d finished greeting Sir Geoffrey, he nodded gravely at Edwin before turning to the squires beside him.

‘Robert. How are you?’

‘I am very well, thank you, Sir Roger.’ Robert would never forget the courtesy due to a knight, even one with whom he had shared squirely duties for a number of years.

The knight then turned to Martin, and as he looked up at the young man his face creased into a smile for the first time.

‘What on earth have you been eating, boy? The last time I saw you you were no taller than this lad here.’ Martin nodded his greeting as Sir Roger crouched so that his face was on a level with Simon’s. The boy was still awestruck and stared in wonder at the shining knight, who spoke to him softly. ‘And you must be the earl’s page.’ Simon nodded, still unable to speak as Sir Roger reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘Well …’ he looked at Robert who obligingly mouthed the boy’s name, ‘Well, Simon, I am very pleased to meet you, and I hope you serve the earl well.’ Simon nodded again as Sir Roger straightened and addressed Sir Geoffrey. ‘I had best go and offer my respects to the earl straight away. Perhaps I may speak with you later?’

Sir Geoffrey assented and the younger knight paced up towards the inner ward. He even walks gracefully, thought Edwin, as they stood to watch him go. Robert could not take his eyes off the retreating figure, and Edwin guessed what he was thinking.

‘You’ll be a knight one day, just like him.’

Robert watched as Sir Roger disappeared through the gate.

‘No,’ he said, wistfully, ‘I might be a knight, but I’ll never be like him.’

It was just as dinner was finishing that the greatest commotion yet started in the outer ward. A guard rushed into the hall and whispered something into the earl’s ear and he rose immediately. He turned to those around him, his glance encompassing Sir Geoffrey, Isabelle, Joanna and his squires and page as he bade them all follow him outside. From his place at one of the lower tables Edwin saw them sweep out of the hall, and guessed that the visiting earl must have arrived – Lord William wouldn’t interrupt his meal for anyone less. Along with a number of other people he wandered curiously outside to see if he could catch a glimpse of the man who had caused such concern, and found himself next to Sir Roger, now divested of his armour, in the crowd. Edwin craned his neck – oh, to be as tall as Martin – and saw the earl standing ready with the members of his household behind him as a richly dressed man with a retinue of his own was escorted through the inner gate.

Edwin didn’t know the earl well, but to his unfamiliar eye he didn’t seem composed. But that was ridiculous. He was a nobleman, one of the most powerful in the kingdom, he couldn’t possibly be scared of anything, not like a mere mortal. His face was expressionless, although he twitched slightly when he saw the visitor’s closest companion, a small weasel-like man who resembled him facially. Some relative? Edwin didn’t know. The small man was ignoring the earl and looking directly at the Lady Isabelle, who was staring at him in turn.

The visiting earl, or de Courteville as Edwin had heard him called by some men in the crowd who were better-informed than he, was also accompanied by two squires and a couple of household knights who stood close behind him and looked about them suspiciously, as if ready to defend their master at the slightest provocation. The earl didn’t look too pleased by that either, judging by the look of thunder on his face. Edwin overheard mutterings in the crowd behind him about the insult to the earl, and indeed the man did seem to be implying that he needed a bodyguard here inside the very walls of the earl’s stronghold.

The earl stepped forward, offered his hand to de Courteville and spoke words of welcome.

‘I am very happy to be here, Lord William,’ the other replied, ‘and it is my hope that together we may form some small part of the king’s triumph against his enemies, the French and the English traitors who side with them.’ There was a slight emphasis on the word ‘traitors’ which the earl apparently didn’t like much, and neither did some of the men around Edwin, but de Courteville continued before anyone could react. Looking around the inner ward with its untidy mixture of wooden and stone buildings, some of them only half-built, he drawled, ‘What an interesting …
place
you have here, my lord.’