B00B9BL6TI EBOK (5 page)

She sat looking down at him for a long moment before releasing his hand, placing it on his chest and gently closing his eyes. Of course she’d promised, for how could a dying man be denied? But how was she to carry out the task? She had little idea of how to begin, never mind how she would do it while looking after the children. The children! They were orphans now and they must surely be her first priority. She had to keep them safe – she must see to her home and family first, ahead of any other considerations. But her father’s urgency haunted her. What if she were to fail to heed him in order to keep the children, and they should die anyway because of the siege? And what happened to those who broke a solemn vow to the dying?

Dizzy and faint, she tried to seek comfort in prayer. Her father had at least been shriven that morning, so he could pass into the Lord’s grace. She bent her head to pray for his soul.
Requiem æternam dona ei Domine
 …

She was thus engaged, and it was becoming full dark, when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stair. She looked towards the door to see Mistress Guildersleeve enter the room, her kindly face concerned. ‘Alys. How is he? The children said …’ She looked towards the bed and her voice faded. ‘Oh, my dear …’ She stepped forward and swept Alys into an embrace. For a moment Alys allowed herself to be comforted, sinking into the motherly hold. Oh, how fine it would be to have someone to take the responsibility away from her, a real adult … but it was her duty and she must do it. She pulled back and tried to compose herself. ‘Thank you for coming, Mistress.’

Her neighbour looked at her. ‘It was no trouble, my dear – I found that I had some broth left after Gervase and I had eaten, so I brought it over for you. You’ve been getting thinner, and you’ve hardly left this room for a week. Come down now, and take some.’

Alys could feel her stomach groaning at the mention of food, but how could she? She spoke dully. ‘Give it to the children.’

Mistress Guildersleeve looked at her for a moment and then, surprisingly, stepped forward and grasped her by the shoulders with some force. ‘Listen to me! You must eat. I know that you’ve been giving whatever you can find to the children, but it won’t do them any good if you starve, will it? Who will care for them then? Like it or not, you’re their mother and their father now, and they need you to be strong. I don’t care if the food sticks in your throat, but you will eat some!’ There was a pause then she slackened her grip and spoke more softly. ‘I’m sorry, child, I didn’t mean to frighten you – I’m just upset. I’ve been your neighbour all these years, seen your mother die and now your poor father – I don’t want anything to happen to the rest of you. So please, come and eat something. Come.’ She moved towards the door.

Alys was shocked at such an outburst, for Mistress Guildersleeve was normally a placid woman, but she realised that her neighbour was right. How would she look after the children if she didn’t have her own strength? She must stay alive and well until the siege was over, until Thomas came back to tell her what to do. Oh Lord, she was already thinking as though Nick would never return. She needed to stop that right now. There was just too much to take in. She took a deep breath and followed the older woman out of the room.

Downstairs they moved from the shop towards the kitchen at the back of the house, where a tiny fire burned in the hearth, giving out little heat but sending shadows around the room. There the three children were sitting, the boys wolfing down some unappetising-looking cheese while Margery watched, nibbling on some bread. There was a bowl of broth on the table which none of them had touched, and Alys’s heart melted at their restraint. She took a spoon and began to sip it slowly, appreciating the thick warm liquid. She began to feel stronger.

‘Where is my son?’ Mistress Guildersleeve looked about her. Alys looked up; she hadn’t known that Gervase had accompanied his mother. Unconsciously she patted her hair and smoothed her apron. Seeing that the boys were not about to reply, Margery finished a mouthful and stood. ‘If you please, Mistress, he went out the back.’

Alys looked towards the door, which was open, and heard the sounds of a scuffle. Alarmed, she rose and moved towards it, but was stopped by the sight of Gervase entering, dragging another man by the collar. As they came in, she recognised Aldred, the second journeyman weaver who worked – had worked – for her father.

Gervase spoke. ‘I found him loitering outside.’ He shook the other before letting him go, but stood ready in case of further trouble.

Alys looked at them. She didn’t want to have to deal with this. ‘Aldred, what were you doing?’

He ran a dirty finger around his collar before replying, ‘I need some food.’

She looked at him. The contrast between the two young men could hardly have been greater. Gervase, although not richly dressed (for who was in Lincoln these days? It was an invitation to trouble), was smart and clean in his broadcloth, tall and handsome. Aldred was shorter – like a lot of weavers, he stooped – and was filthy in his old twill tunic. She wondered if he’d washed at all since he left the household.

‘I’ve told you before, we’ve none to spare. Since the siege began we’ve had no business. There’s no work to do and so we can’t pay you.’

He almost grovelled, ‘But I’m so hungry!’

How could she not feel sorry for him? No matter that she had always disliked him and even feared him a little as he skulked around at his work – here was someone, another of God’s creatures, who had nothing to eat. She wavered. ‘Perhaps …’ But then, as she looked at the table and saw Edric and Randal, gaunt of cheek, and Margery so pale, she hardened again. Anything she had was for them, not anyone else. ‘I have told you, there is nothing.’

He cast her a look which was filled with daggers. ‘Perhaps,
Miss
Alys, I could speak with your father. He will have more pity on a hard-working man.’

She was on the verge of blurting it out when she remembered the children. She ignored him and stepped towards them, reaching out her arms. They came to her and she held them all close. ‘Children, I’m afraid I have to tell you some bad news. Papa has died. He has gone to the Lord.’ There was no other way to say it, no way to soften the blow. Little Randal started crying. Edric, a year older and trying to be manly, sniffed back his tears. Margery looked like a ghost, but said nothing.

Gervase looked on with sympathy, while Mistress Guildersleeve clucked around them like a mother hen. ‘Now then, have no fear! Alys is here to care for you all, and Gervase and I are only next door, and Master Pinel the other side; we will all be able to look after you. You will be safe, and all will be well.’ Alys thought that she didn’t sound convinced, but the children seemed comforted. Mistress Guildersleeve turned to her again. ‘I forgot to ask you, Alys, did your poor father never regain his wits before he died?’

It was a simple question but a little warning chimed in Alys’s head and something – perhaps it was the sly way Aldred was looking at her? – kept her from telling the truth. For the first time in her life she told a deliberate lie. ‘No, Mistress, he didn’t. He just slipped away in his sleep.’

Mistress Guildersleeve crossed herself. ‘May God bless him and take him into His kingdom.’

Alys looked at everyone in the darkened kitchen and decided it was time that she started to undertake her responsibilities as head of the family. She spoke with as much dignity and as little wavering as she could muster. ‘Children, wash yourselves and come upstairs to say goodbye to Papa. Mistress, perhaps you would help me prepare him? And Gervase, would you be so good as to ask Aldred to leave?’ To her surprise they all acquiesced, although Aldred looked less than pleased at being shoved roughly out of the house. With a sinking feeling, Alys realised that she probably hadn’t heard the last of him. Well, she had more pressing matters to worry about at the moment. She lit one of the remaining precious candles, so that her father should not go to his rest in the dark, and led the way upstairs.

There she watched as the children each kissed their father on his cooling forehead. Margery took the boys away to put them in bed, and Alys and Mistress Guildersleeve turned themselves to the task of preparing the body for burial, washing and straightening the limbs and wrapping him. Later Gervase returned with Father Eustace, who said the prayers for the dead and promised to return on the morrow; once he left, Mistress Guildersleeve and her son departed with many promises of help and support – Alys should call if she needed anything or if there was any trouble – and finally Alys was left alone. She barred the kitchen door behind them and checked twice that the shop was locked, before returning upstairs to settle herself and begin a lonely vigil over the body until dawn.

Snatches of the earl’s words played in Edwin’s head as he looked at the fire. ‘The other nobles distrust me, as I returned to the Royalist cause so recently … the regent doesn’t want me on this campaign … he’s told me to keep my troops in reserve … we won’t join the host as it makes its way to Lincoln …’ To start with, Edwin had wondered why he was being favoured with this information, rather than Sir Hugh or Sir Roger or any of the other knights. The earl was obviously concerned, but what was it to Edwin that they should pack up and leave, and not put themselves into danger? He wasn’t the one who would order the camp to be broken. But the earl hadn’t finished, he continued with words that now burned in Edwin’s mind. ‘I need to get myself back into favour with the regent; he will surely win this war, and if I’m not of his party then all will be lost. I had to do something … he noticed you particularly, said you were a man of quick wits … the plan is for a small party to approach the town ahead of the rest of the host, to try to gain access to the castle to find out what’s going on and to report back before the attack is carried out … a group will be noticed, but one man might be able to get in … I’ve volunteered your services, assured the regent that you’re an able man who will find a way to help, who will discover something which can be used to our advantage …’ The words tailed away as Edwin stared again into the glowing ashes. He was to leave the rest of the earl’s household, leave Martin, Adam, Sir Roger, everyone whom he knew even slightly, and was to travel with the host of strangers towards Lincoln, where he would ride forward with an advance party and try to gain access to the besieged castle – the castle which was surrounded by hundreds of French and English troops, all ready to kill him on sight. Even if he did get in he would need to find some piece of information, some crucial tactical advantage which would aid their cause, for without this they might fail – the nobles all agreed that their forces were outnumbered by their enemies. How was he to manage? What was he to do? How would he face the earl if he failed? He tried to pass quickly over the bleak thought that if he did fail, he would have no need to confront his lord, as he would be dead and facing a far greater judge.

He shivered, remembering the most chilling words of all. The earl had leaned forward and gripped him by the shoulders, his face close to Edwin’s own as the slate-grey eyes bored into him. ‘My reputation, my future, your livelihood – everybody’s lives – might well depend on this. Don’t let me down.’

It was dawn but Edwin hadn’t slept. At least, he’d managed a couple of hours of restless dozing, but he didn’t feel as if he’d gained anything from it. His head was heavy and his eyes were full of sand. Added to this, the farewells were turning out to be more difficult than he’d anticipated … after the events of the previous week he’d thought it impossible to say any more affecting goodbyes, but here he was again. At least he’d eaten a fine breakfast – Hamo hadn’t been able to do enough for him that morning – so he had the strength to endure the earl wishing him Godspeed, Sir Roger and Sir Hugh clapping him on the back, Adam offering shy good wishes, and Martin shaking his hand with a bone-crunching grip as he bade him take care of himself. Even the taciturn squire seemed to feel some of the emotion as he shook hands and clasped Edwin about the shoulder. He bent his head to speak quietly but earnestly; ‘I’ve lost too many companions in these past days. Make sure you don’t join them.’ Edwin could barely reply, managing only a nod. So consumed had he been by his own feelings that he’d forgotten that Martin too had lost much. Martin also appeared lost for words after his speech, and turned away.