B00B9BL6TI EBOK (2 page)

Finally, as the temperate spring afternoon wore on into early evening, the earl’s host rounded a bend in the road and they were treated to the sight of a large encampment spread out before them, outside the walls of a small town. Roused from his stupor, Edwin gaped at the rows upon rows of tents, horse pickets and camp fires. He’d never seen anything like it – how many men must there be in the army? As usual, the numbers arranged themselves neatly in his head as he calculated: judging by the number of tents, and then working out how many men were probably attached to each, would make it …

His attention was distracted by several figures who were approaching from the camp. They rode up and reined in when they reached the earl and the senior members of his household at the front of the host, and began what looked like an animated conversation. Edwin assumed they would probably tell the earl and his men where they could make camp, but apparently this wasn’t the case. There was a lot of arm-waving going on, and some sort of argument, with the earl in particular becoming quite irate. Eventually two of the men rode back to the camp, while the earl’s horse pawed the ground and his host didn’t move. After a short while the men returned, together with a third who looked much more important: he was wearing mail and a surcoat emblazoned with a device Edwin didn’t recognise. He too engaged in conversation with the earl, seemingly trying to placate him, and finally the host was waved towards the edge of the encampment, and they were moving again.

Edwin didn’t think he had ever been as thankful for anything as for the opportunity to finally get down from his horse, but after so long in the unaccustomed saddle he feared that he wouldn’t even be able to move his legs well enough to swing them over the beast’s back and dismount. All around him men were slipping easily down from their saddles, smiling at each other at the thought of rest and a hot meal. He must make an effort. Soon he would be the only one on horseback. Come on, move. Wincing, he tried to shift, and eventually succeeded in disentangling his right foot from the stirrup and lifting the leg on to the horse’s back, albeit by having to lift it bodily with his hand, and once both legs were on the same side of the horse he slid down to the ground in what he hoped was an unremarkable manoeuvre. It was all going fairly well until his feet touched the floor and his legs buckled underneath him.

He was spared the embarrassment of collapsing in a heap on the ground by a strong hand which caught the back of his tunic and hauled him more or less upright, supporting him until he could feel his legs properly. He turned in gratitude to see that his rescuer was Martin, the earl’s squire, who was looking down upon him from his great height with a mixture of pity and amusement.

His voice was deep. ‘I forgot that you won’t have had much experience at riding; don’t worry, it’ll get better as you get more used to it.’

Edwin could only nod.

Martin released him, slapped him heartily on the back – making him wince even more – and strode off to attend to his duties. Edwin stood, his face hot. Honestly, a noble child of five would have made a better showing. He risked a glance around, but strangely nobody seemed to have noticed; they were all too busy stretching, talking, leading their horses off or handing them over to grooms or squires. Perhaps he’d escaped humiliation this time, except to himself. The horse was looking at him with what seemed to be barely concealed contempt, so he scowled at it. It flicked its ears at him. He sighed and, hobbling stiffly, led it away to follow the others.

A while later he decided to have a look around the encampment, mainly in order to take his mind off the hunger, but he was soon disappointed. He’d always imagined an army to be a host of knights in glittering mail, but he soon realised that although there were such here, they were outnumbered by the other types of men – foot sergeants, crossbowmen and servants, to name but a few – and the overwhelming sense was one of boredom. Here and there, knights were striding about or greeting friends whom they hadn’t seen for a while, but the majority of the men, the common men, simply sat around. They’d erected their tents, so there was nothing to do but await the evening meal. Some polished weapons or played at dice; others spoke in low tones to each other or simply sat still, staring ahead of them. Edwin realised that most of these men probably had very little idea of why they were here – they weren’t privy to the details of the nobles’ campaigns; their task was simply to obey and to fight and die wherever their lord sent them. It was depressing, especially when he realised that his own situation was similar: they were all owned, like horses or dogs, unable to choose how they lived their own lives. He lost his appetite for looking around and turned back.

As he reached the earl’s part of the camp again, he smelled the aroma of pottage cooking and his stomach growled anew. How long could he keep going if he didn’t get anything to eat? But he had no stomach for an argument with the haughty Hamo, so he sat on his own, kicking at small stones and watching other men eat while he tried to quell the pangs in his innards. If only he had someone to show him where to go and how to act, somebody with whom he could share the wonder of his new experiences. If only – but no, the one man who could have helped him was cold in his grave at Conisbrough, and Edwin would never hear his voice or share a jest with him again. Martin was there, of course, but the newly promoted senior squire was fully occupied trying to serve the earl to the best of his abilities. Edwin didn’t know the new junior squire, Adam, at all, and besides, the boy was a number of years younger than him. He sighed, lonely, and continued with his gloomy thoughts.

He was disturbed by a tug at his sleeve and turned to see a small boy holding out a steaming bowl to him. It was Peter, an orphan from Edwin’s village, who had accompanied the host when it travelled. Edwin had seen him in the company of Sir Roger, one of the earl’s knights, but he had little idea of how this had come to pass. Still, presumably the lad was earning his keep, which was better than starving back in the village.

Edwin was a little unsure where the food had come from, but he took the bowl with thanks. Peter, still not used to speaking, mumbled that it was from his lord, and fled. Edwin was a little confused, but his stomach was crying out for the meal so he took out his spoon and shovelled it in before it went cold. As he was finishing it, another man sat down beside him. Edwin started to leap to his feet, for it was Sir Roger himself, but the knight bade him stay seated. Edwin was grateful, for he wasn’t sure that his legs would have supported him all the way up anyway. Still, he felt ill at ease sitting next to a knight like this. There was silence for a moment, before Sir Roger looked at him, seeming as always to be pulling himself back from a serene and remote place. The sapphire gaze was piercing and Edwin bowed his head.

‘I’ll speak to Hamo for you.’

Edwin jerked his head up again. He couldn’t have heard that right. But Sir Roger was looking at him with some sympathy. Had he noticed what had happened yesterday? Surely not. He was a knight – why would he care?

But he had underestimated Sir Roger’s calling for righting wrongs, no matter how small. ‘I know Hamo of old, and he often tries to belittle anyone he doesn’t like. I won’t let this continue – you’re the earl’s man and it is right that he should treat you as such. The service you rendered him during the last week was invaluable: these are troubled times, Edwin, and you’re the sort of man that my lord is going to need around him. His troubles aren’t over: the regent still harbours some suspicions about his defection to the rebel cause and then his return, and he doesn’t trust him entirely. There was some debate about whether he should be allowed to join the army at all.’

So that was what the trouble had been about earlier. Edwin supposed that if he was going to serve the earl properly, he’d better keep himself informed about this kind of thing, although he didn’t really know how to go about it. He must keep his eyes and ears open.

Sir Roger fell silent and Edwin wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to continue the conversation or whether he should take the lack of speech as some sort of dismissal, but fortunately he was saved from having to make the decision by the arrival of two more men whom he didn’t know, but who were obviously knights and friends of Sir Roger’s. He stood awkwardly while the three men greeted each other, unsure whether he should just slip away, but with calm civility Sir Roger invited him to step forward and be introduced.

‘Edwin, these are two friends of mine. Sir Reginald le Croc – ’ he gestured towards the man on the left, a tall fellow, perhaps slightly older than himself, with long dark hair and merry eyes. Sir Reginald automatically held out his right hand to Edwin, but then winced as he took it, and Edwin realised too late that the hand was bandaged. He started to offer an apology but the knight waved it away, smiling.

Sir Roger continued: ‘– and Sir Gilbert de l’Aigle.’ The other man was older, perhaps thirty years of age or more, and he had a seasoned and weather-beaten look about him. However, he was pleasant and welcoming, greeting Edwin courteously.

Sir Roger now had his hand on Edwin’s shoulder, preparing to introduce him to his companions. This would be the great test. How would they react when they knew he was a commoner? Would their smiles melt away? Would they simply refuse to talk and move away from him? How would Sir Roger describe him? He held his breath, anticipating the worst, but Sir Roger presented him in an affable manner, as ‘Edwin of Conisbrough, from the household of my lord the earl.’ Then he gestured and all four sat down close to one of the campfires, Sir Roger’s small party of foot sergeants moving away to a discreet distance.

Edwin could hardly believe that he was sitting with three knights, conversing with them on an equal level. Thank the Lord that his French was proficient enough to support him – his accent might sound a bit odd to these men, who from their names were pure-blood Normans, but they might just attribute this to his being from the north of the country, and he was able to speak fluently. Still, he decided that this was a good chance to learn something about the new world he now inhabited, so he kept his mouth shut while he listened to the others speaking of troop numbers, horses, provisions, the latest developments in armour, possible tactics … as the conversation continued he basked in the glow of the fire with a comfortably full stomach, and almost began to relax.

It was becoming full dark when Martin suddenly hurried up to the fire, calling Edwin’s name and shattering his mood of calm. ‘There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere – my lord the earl wants to speak with you right now.’ Belatedly he stopped and nodded his head respectfully to the knights around the fire.

Edwin scrambled to his feet, almost falling over himself as he tried to rise too quickly. Why would the earl want to see him now? What task might he have? Despite his panic he remembered his manners and took his leave of the others. They waved him away cheerfully, no doubt used to being summoned at will by their own lords and masters and recognising when orders must be obeyed instantly.

As he followed Martin, his stiff legs struggling to keep up with the long strides, Edwin tried to question him, but Martin said no more than that the earl wished to see both him and Sir Hugh Fitzjohn – one of his most experienced knights – immediately. He upped his pace even more. Edwin hardly had time to catch his breath before they reached the earl’s tent and he was being hustled inside.

The interior of the tent was close in the flickering light, the air thicker than outside; Edwin stole a glance round as best he could. The place was functional, and yet still much more lavish than he would have thought possible; he should have realised that peers of the realm didn’t travel without some of the trappings of their estate. The space was well lit by several torches, and had mats on the floor and hangings suspended from various wooden poles which divided the tent into several rooms. He was standing in the central space, but over to one side he could see into another compartment which contained a wooden box bed, a kist, and, ominously, the earl’s gleaming hauberk on a pole, with his shield and sword leaning up against it. It reminded Edwin of why they were all here – for war.

The earl was in conversation with Sir Hugh Fitzjohn, a tough, grey-haired knight who had seen his fair share of campaigns; they were attended by Adam, the earl’s younger squire, who stood silently in the corner. He smiled briefly but nervously at Edwin as he entered, not yet being used to his new position in the earl’s household. Both men turned to face Edwin and the earl got down to business straight away.

‘Weaver, good.’

He jumped. It was still odd being called ‘Weaver’, for that was his father’s name, not his. He would have to try and make himself worthy of it.

The earl hadn’t noticed his slight pause and continued without stopping for breath. ‘As I’ve just been telling Sir Hugh, I’ve been summoned to the regent’s command tent to discuss tactics with him and the other senior men in the host. As my most experienced knight, Hugh will accompany me, but I want you to come as well. You will stand with Hugh and listen carefully. Some of the other nobles don’t trust me, and there will be doubt and suspicion there. Your quick wits may pick up on something which the rest of us miss, so you will take note of everything which is said and report to me afterwards. Clear?’

Edwin nodded. ‘Yes, my lord.’

Before he had time to frame any questions, he was dismissed peremptorily with a wave of the hand.

Edwin left the tent, his head buzzing so hard that he tripped on one of the ropes outside the door. The regent? The nobles of the kingdom? He was to stand in the same place as these exalted men and listen to their counsel? What if he couldn’t discern anything in the way the earl wanted? What if …?

He was interrupted by Martin, who had followed him out.

‘Edwin, you’re a lucky man. What I would give to be able to accompany my lord into the regent’s own tent!’ Edwin felt momentarily guilty, but Martin was continuing. ‘Still, much better for my lord to have you than me – you’re bound to discover something which I wouldn’t realise.’