B00B9BL6TI EBOK (6 page)

And then they were leaving. The earl’s host mounted and rode away from the encampment, leaving Edwin staring forlornly at the backs of the last group of people from his home. He was now totally alone in a host full of strangers. The morose thoughts returned. Surely he would never see them, or his home village of Conisbrough, again. He would die in this insane endeavour to penetrate the besieged city, and his body would lie forever in this alien place. What would happen to his mother? He would like to think that somebody would look after her but times were often hard, and what if she were left by herself? Would she starve?

So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he barely registered the fact that he too was mounting and riding away from the main host. He was now in a small but diverse retinue led by John Marshal, the regent’s nephew, who would command the party that would attempt to infiltrate the castle at Lincoln. Blindly, Edwin sat on his horse and followed the man in front, noticing neither his companions nor the distance he travelled. He sank further into his solitary reflections.

After some time he became aware of a man riding close next to him. He looked up and saw that it was Sir Reginald, whom he’d met the previous evening, with his friend Sir Gilbert on his other side. The younger knight looked at Edwin and smiled sociably. ‘You seem deep in thought, my friend.’

Edwin didn’t know how to reply. These knights would be used to leaving friends and family behind; it was what they did all the time. He would sound stupid if he tried to explain his concerns to them, so he said nothing.

The more serious Sir Gilbert edged his horse forward slightly so that he could look past his companion to see Edwin. ‘Let me guess. You’re worried about what lies ahead of us, and your worries have been made worse by the fact that the people you know are not accompanying you and you’ve been left among strangers. Am I right?’

Edwin nodded miserably. Was it that apparent? What ridicule was about to come his way? But he had misinterpreted again, for both knights were nodding.

Sir Gilbert continued. ‘It’s always the way. The first time I rode on a campaign I was numb with fear. And as for Reginald here, I could barely get him on his horse.’ Half a smile flickered across his face as his friend started a mock protest. Then, serious again, ‘And possibly this is all made worse again by the thought of someone you have left behind at home?’ Edwin nodded again. ‘A wife? Sweetheart?’ At these words Sir Reginald, still riding between them, smiled at him slyly.

Here Edwin felt that he had to correct the knight. ‘No, my mother.’

Sir Reginald seemed to bite back whatever comment he had been about to make, and spoke seriously. ‘Ah, yes – Roger said that you lost your father last week. My condolences – it must be a terrible thing.’

‘It is.’ Edwin couldn’t think of anything to say as a lump rose in his throat.

Sir Reginald continued. ‘Thank the Lord, my father continues to enjoy excellent health, but Gilbert here lost his some years ago, so he’ll understand.’

Edwin looked at the other knight, who sighed. ‘Yes, it’s a difficult time, although it’s the natural way of things. More difficult when you have to take on the responsibility for your lands and family. I was young, but fortunately my father had given me good advice and guidance, so I was able to take over as he would have wished. When I struggled with problems to start with, I was able to think of what he might have said or done had he been in my place.’

All of a sudden Edwin was awash with memories of his father, the things he’d achieved, the problems he’d solved, the tasks he’d carried out, and the advice he’d constantly issued – even if it hadn’t seemed so at the time, disguised as it might have been as a throwaway remark. What had his father taught him? Always to think about a situation before rushing in headlong, for that was why the Lord had given him a mind to differentiate him from the beasts of the field. Things are often not as they seem. People are often not as they first appear. Look not just at what has occurred or may occur, but
why
. As the recollections continued, the day seemed imperceptibly brighter. Perhaps he wasn’t in an impossible situation. It would be a fine thing to survive and return to the earl in triumph.

Perhaps noticing that he had cheered somewhat, Sir Reginald changed the topic. He said he’d heard something of Edwin’s role from Sir Roger the previous evening, and was interested to learn more. He quizzed Edwin about the events that had led to his promotion, and seemed impressed by the tale, although Edwin certainly didn’t feel like boasting.

The knight had a question, though. ‘But while you are doing all this work with your mind, how do you find the time for weapons training?’

Edwin was nonplussed. ‘Training? I practise with my bow, as do all the men in the village, but my work involves letters, pen and ink, not weapons.’

‘But, I mean, never? You never train?’

Edwin wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. ‘No.’

‘So you mean – you don’t use weapons at all? How will you fight? How do you defend yourself?’

Edwin realised he was talking to someone who came from a different world. He would have to be clearer. ‘Fight? If you gave me an axe or sword I would be more likely to cut myself than to do any damage to anyone else. I have never even picked one up.’ He smiled, but was then struck by a thought. ‘As to defending myself, I’ve never had to.’

The knight was aghast. ‘But we’re going into battle! Jesu, you’re going to get yourself killed! You must – I – we – what I mean is, when we encamp today I’ll have to give you some lessons. You must at least be able to look after yourself and get out of trouble.’ He shook his head and spoke more to himself. ‘I can’t believe it. How can anyone …’ He shook his head again and looked to Sir Gilbert for support: the other knight had been watching the exchange with interest, but he merely spoke in an inscrutable tone. ‘That’s a good idea, but I suggest that you remember to wear your gloves this time.’

Sir Reginald held up his hand and looked at it. ‘Curse you, Gilbert – I’d just managed to forget about it, but now you’ve reminded me of it, all the pain has come back.’ He explained to Edwin that one day not long ago he’d been so keen to practise that he’d started sparring before anyone could fetch his gloves, and the result was a broken hand. He dismissed the injury. ‘It’ll heal. Have no fear, it certainly won’t stop me fighting once I get to Lincoln, even if I can’t hold my sword properly! And it won’t stop me teaching you, for if you don’t learn something quickly, you’ll never get through the battle alive.’

Edwin rode on in silence.

It was the middle of the afternoon when they arrived at Torksey. Edwin awoke from his daze and looked around him: he had travelled so little that any new place was of interest to him. He couldn’t decide at first whether the place was a large village or a small town: it was bigger than Conisbrough, certainly, but smaller than Newark. A river ran through the middle of it, filled with loaded craft making their way upstream, and the whole was overlooked by a small castle which stood on a motte on the eastern bank of the river.

As their retinue had outstripped the pace of the main host, they had arrived first and had their pick of the area for making camp, so they moved down towards the river to pitch their tents in the open space there. Edwin again had nothing to do, so once he had dismounted stiffly (was it his imagination or was that slightly easier than it had been yesterday?) and dealt with his horse he was free to look around him. He wandered along the riverbank, looking over at the edge of the town. There was no wall enclosing it, and the neater and compact streets gave way to a straggle of untidy dwellings which stretched out alongside the water. Here he was upstream from the town, so the river wasn’t fouled and full of refuse, as it might have been further down; nevertheless there was a certain smell attached to it which wasn’t particularly pleasant. He was wondering about this when he saw a man on one of the boats throw a pile of rubbish overboard: some of it sank but the rest floated towards the water’s edge and became entangled in the weed there. A couple of small and very ragged children were wading in the shallows, and they dragged their attention away from the wandering stranger long enough to go and investigate the debris.

Edwin looked further out into the middle of the river and gazed with interest at the boats on it, being unfamiliar with large waterborne craft – Conisbrough wasn’t a port. The people on the river stared back at him suspiciously, watching the military encampment being set up. Edwin could understand their anxiety – it would have been the same in his home village if a strange host had suddenly arrived. Folk were concerned to protect their own homes and families, whatever the concerns of the great men of the kingdom might be.

A thump on the shoulder distracted him: it was Sir Reginald. Lord, but he wished people would stop doing that. He rubbed it.

‘Come, no time to waste! Let’s begin your lesson.’

Edwin felt awkward again. ‘Really, there’s no need …’

The knight snorted. ‘No need? You’re about to go into enemy territory, man! Granted, we’ll have to keep you out of the actual battle if we can, but you never know when you might need to defend yourself, or someone else. Now come.’

There was no sense in arguing, and Edwin conceded to himself that Sir Reginald probably had a point. He hadn’t really considered what he would be doing in the castle or the city if he did, by some miracle, succeed in getting in. The mere idea of gaining entry seemed so huge and impossible that he hadn’t thought past it. But what would it be like? What would he do? He had never even been in a city before, never mind one that was overrun with enemy soldiers.

They found themselves an open space at the edge of the encampment where they wouldn’t be observed by too many people. For this Edwin was profoundly glad, being certain that he was about to embarrass himself in some way.

Sir Reginald had brought a selection of weapons which he tossed on the floor. They all looked unfamiliar and menacing to Edwin, but the knight crouched and looked them over appraisingly like a carpenter choosing the best tool for a job. He looked up at Edwin. ‘This is going to be interesting. I’ve never trained anyone from the beginning before, or at least not a grown man. The only people I’ve taught who have been so inexperienced have been small boys with years of instruction ahead of them.’ He ran his eye over the weapons again. At last he sighed and picked up a dagger. ‘There’s no point in teaching you to use a sword, or at least not until after all this is over. You’ll never have the time to gain a correct technique or understanding in a few short hours. Besides, if you’re going to be in a city then any fighting you might need to do will be in a confined area, so you’re better off learning something which you can use without needing too much space.’ After carefully donning a pair of gloves and instructing Edwin to do the same with a second pair, he handed the weapon over, and drew the dagger which was at his own belt. ‘Now, let’s begin.’

The change in his demeanour was immediate. Up until now Edwin had seen him only with an affable, carefree manner, but as soon as he drew a weapon all of that vanished and he was in deadly earnest. Abruptly Edwin realised why knights were so feared on the field of battle. The man was wearing no armour, had no weapon but his dagger, and had no serious intent to hurt him, but he still felt a shiver of fear. When Sir Reginald grasped the weapon and raised it over his head as if to strike down at him, he was shocked by just how terrifying it was to have somebody attack him with a blade. Nothing in his previous experience had prepared him for this. He couldn’t help himself; instead of raising his own dagger, he ducked back out of range.

‘Good.’ Edwin was surprised, but the knight continued. ‘You’re not exactly the largest of men, and so wherever possible you should try to avoid a close grapple, in case you’re overpowered. Staying back is a good technique at this stage.’ He continued to circle, dagger held in his right hand. ‘Always keep your eye closely on your opponent. Don’t let your gaze wander for a moment. And don’t watch only the hand which is holding the weapon.’ Edwin was surprised by this, for surely that was where the danger stemmed from? But it appeared he was wrong. ‘Yes, the weapon will strike, but it doesn’t attack on its own, does it? You have to try and gauge the thoughts of the man who is wielding it. What will I do? What’s in my mind? Will I try to trick you? Take all this into account.’

Edwin tried to concentrate, his focus narrowing until he was aware of nothing but the man in front of him and the blade which he held. But it was difficult to watch the face and eyes, for he could not help but be constantly aware of the sharp steel blade hovering near him. Sir Reginald made a sudden movement with his right hand, and Edwin’s gaze flicked momentarily to the dagger. Instantly the knight pounced, his left hand coming around and seizing Edwin’s right, the one which held his own weapon, and forcing it backwards away from his body. He was far bigger and more powerful, and Edwin could do nothing. He was helpless. He flapped ineffectually with his own left hand to try and catch the other in the same way, but Sir Reginald easily eluded him, and in a moment his dagger was at Edwin’s throat. Edwin felt cold fear, but the knight spoke calmly. ‘You see, this is the sort of thing you need to avoid. If it comes to a wrestle with a bigger and more experienced opponent, you’ll be in trouble. Now, let’s try again.’ He released Edwin and stepped back.

The session went on. Edwin found himself variously with the dagger at his throat, his stomach or his heart, and more than once ended flat upon his back with his opponent looming over him. He ached. But each time he got up and tried to consider what he’d done wrong. Realisation began to dawn on him. He had always believed that combat was something entirely physical, a competition of brute strength – and therefore something he wouldn’t be good at – but now he began to see it as something which required thought as well. This insight helped him, and gradually he began to improve, seeing small patterns evolve in the other’s moves which he hadn’t noticed before. He still didn’t manage to land a blow on Sir Reginald, but his own ‘deaths’ became less frequent.