Whited Sepulchres (19 page)

It certainly would, thought Edwin. It was by far the most popular day for the villagers to be married, with Father Ignatius wedding a number of couples each time it came around. Not this year, though: none of the village folk would be permitted to sully the noble ceremony with weddings of their own. This year they’d have to settle for less important feast days.

The men’s conversation on hunting became louder as their enthusiasm grew. Eventually some sort of consensus was reached that they should go out now.

Sir Gilbert turned to Lady Isabelle. ‘Why don’t you ladies come out with us? There isn’t time to go after deer, so we’ll just take the hawks out for a while until it’s time for tonight’s meal.’

Lady Isabelle looked at her sisters, who both nodded. ‘Why, thank you – I think we will.’ She turned to Mistress Joanna. ‘Go and put out some riding clothes – I’ll be there directly.’

The other ladies were also giving similar instructions to their companions, and various squires were sent out as well. Sir Gilbert sent Eustace off to see if the earl wanted to accompany them.

Henry de Stuteville bellowed to his squire. ‘William! Find that hawking glove in my travelling pack. I haven’t seen it since we’ve been here but it must be around.’ He heaved himself out of the chair he’d been settled in and moved towards the door.

After some scurrying from the children and squires, a dignified hurry from the men and plenty of swishing skirts going past, there was silence in the room. Edwin was alone. Nobody had appeared to need him for anything, so he’d stayed where he was. Now he had the large, bright room to himself, surrounded by the detritus of the noble families. What should he do? They’d be gone for hours surely – until the evening meal, Sir Gilbert had said. Was he supposed to wait here? They couldn’t expect him to, surely.

Gradually, he moved forward from his position by the wall. A stool had been overturned during the exodus so he righted it. He picked up a cushion from the floor and replaced it on a chair. It was silky and yielding to the touch. He picked it up again and squashed it between his hands. How did they make it so soft? It must have feathers or something in it, not the straw which filled the mattresses at home. He plumped it again and replaced it. He stood looking at the chair. It was so inviting: a soft cushion on the seat and another against the back. What must it feel like to sit in such comfort? He looked around the room. There was definitely nobody else there. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if …?

He had taken one step closer to the chair when the door flew open. He leapt back, almost out of his skin, and swallowed down the sudden pounding in his throat. He was ready with all kinds of explanations, but thank the Lord it was Adam, who grinned and skipped over to a kist under the window.

‘He’s going!’

‘What?’ He couldn’t be talking about the chair, could he?

Adam rummaged around in the kist and came up with a very sturdy but nevertheless fine-looking leather glove. ‘Our lord is going out hawking with the others, so I can go too!’ He smiled widely, and Edwin realised he didn’t do that very often. Personally he couldn’t think of anything much worse than getting on the back of a horse for fun, but it was the sort of thing nobles enjoyed.

‘Oh, good.’

Adam shut the lid of the kist with a bang and moved towards the door.

‘Wait!’

Adam turned. ‘What is it?’

‘Should I … I mean, shall I … I mean, do I have to wait here until they get back?’

Adam paused. ‘I’m not sure, but I shouldn’t think so. Our lord’s whole family will be out until later, so they can’t want you for anything in the meantime, can they? And even when they get back it will be time for the evening meal.’ He started moving towards the door again. ‘Are you supposed to be serving at table as well, by the way?’

Edwin reached out to the back of the chair for support, feeling his knees suddenly weaken. ‘Me? Serve at … I hope not!’

Adam shrugged. ‘Then you should be fine until after the meal. But maybe look out for us coming back and ask my lord then. Anyway, he’ll be waiting. See you later!’

He skipped out the door and was gone. The seat looked even more inviting but he didn’t dare collapse into it. Surely he wouldn’t have to serve at the high table? Why, pages and squires spent years learning how to do that. He’d do it all wrong, make a laughing stock of himself in public. Everyone in the hall would look at him and say how inept he was.

His hands were shaking. He needed to calm his nerves and decide what he was going to do next. This was the opportunity to spend a couple of hours thinking about Hamo. He really needed to come up with an answer for the earl before the wedding, which was now only three days away.

To steady himself he began to tidy some of the things which had been left around the room. He collected the goblets and jugs and made sure they were all neatly on one of the side tables. He picked up the dish of dried fruits and placed it next to them. Edwin had never had a dried fruit before – well, apart from the little apples which they stored into the winter, but they were really common and didn’t count. He peered into the dish. They were funny-looking things, all wizened like an old man, yet still plump and appetising. It wasn’t stealing, was it? He ate the earl’s food in the hall often. But these were different, these were for the nobles, they weren’t for the likes of him … although surely nobody would notice just one going missing from a whole dish full. Promising himself he would mention it at his next confession, he selected an orangey-coloured thing about half the size of his thumb, and popped it in his mouth.

He was overcome by the sweetness. It was incredible. How could something so dried-up looking contain such a taste? And what was it anyway? It looked as though it might have been about the size of a small plum, but they weren’t such a funny colour.

He realised that his hand was moving towards the dish again, so he pulled it back and decided he should remove himself from the temptation. To take more than one really would be dishonest. He would have liked to savour the fruit in his mouth for as long as he could, but once he was outside the room he might run into someone, so he swallowed it quickly. Still, the taste remained in his mouth all the way down the stairs.

As he descended he thought back to the scene in the room. Adam had been looking for a glove, and he’d left with just the one. Didn’t you need a pair? But then Henry de Stuteville had asked his squire about his ‘hawking glove’ so maybe you did only need one. Henry de Stuteville was the brother-in-law with the big beard, not the tall thin one. He was married to the sister who was small and smiling, yes, the Lady Maud, that was it. And which squire was his? Oh yes, the one with the bent nose, William.

Which was another thing. Why were so many nobles called William? Didn’t they have any imagination? It wasn’t as if the king was called William, and his father before him hadn’t been, either. Maybe there’d been some heroes in the past who went by that name, and the nobles decided to name their sons after them. Which brought him back to Hamo. Hamo, who, in his death throes, had said the name. But who could he have meant? If only he’d shouted ‘Geoffrey’ or ‘Crispin’ or some name that might have made life easier. But ‘William’? Dear Lord. The earl, for a start, his wife’s brother, at least one of the squires, William Steward, and no doubt half the garrison were called William.

He reached the outer ward and watched the noble party as they mounted. They made quite a picture in their bright clothes, and it wasn’t often you saw so many ladies on horseback all together, each with their colourful skirt spread out over their horse. Behind them were some of the men whom Edwin recognised as working in the mews, the place where the hawks were kept. Each was holding his reins in his right hand, while perched on his gloved left hand – ah-ha – was a hooded bird. Presumably they would carry them out to wherever they were going, and then hand them over so the nobles could fly them at the prey. It was a decent enough way to get some meat, he supposed, though pretty time consuming, what with having to train the hawks and so on. He wondered why they didn’t just make the kill and then fly away, rather than returning.

Oh well, it was nothing to do with him, anyway. He watched as the noble party rode out, then he ran his tongue round the inside of his mouth to seek out the last traces of the taste of the fruit, and followed on foot out of the gate.

Joanna felt the excitement rising within her as the party left the castle. She didn’t ride very often, as it wasn’t one of Isabelle’s preferred pastimes; and when they travelled to one of the earl’s other residences she generally sat pillion behind a groom or endured the jolting of a covered wagon. But now she felt the unaccustomed sensation of being in control as she sat astride her own mount – admittedly, a staid palfrey which Sir Gilbert had thoughtfully asked Eustace to find for her – and trotted behind the nobles. Once they had passed through the village and left the tilled fields behind, they increased their pace to a canter, and she welcomed the rush of air on her face on such a hot day.

They rode for a couple of miles westwards along the low road which ran parallel to the river, until they reached a green open space – in the winter it was marshy, but now it was a firm surface underfoot which sloped gently towards the reeds which lined the river. Here they reined in while the huntsmen dismounted, passed the birds over to the nobles and took their dogs over towards the riverbank.

Joanna didn’t have a bird of her own, but she nudged her mount nearer to Isabelle to see if she could be of any assistance with the tiny merlin which was now perching on her mistress’s decorative glove. Isabelle seemed to be fine, so Joanna took the opportunity to admire the much larger hawks which the men held. It was ironic, of course, that it was actually the female birds, the falcons, which were more sought after than the male tiercels, because they were bigger and more ferocious. A strange inversion of the natural order.

The earl was stroking the head of the bird which he held, while effortlessly controlling his mount with his legs and talking to Sir Gilbert at the same time. ‘Lucky to be out this late in the year. My favourite hawk is already in moult, so I’ve had to bring this one – she’s younger and not fully trained, but we’ll see what she can do.’ The bird, unhooded and slightly unkempt, looked lean and fierce as its eyes seemed to meet Joanna’s, but then it was gone, soaring into the air to climb up above where the prey might be, circling along with two others sent by Sir Gilbert and William Fitzwilliam. The huntsmen were beating the reeds and crying out, and with a flurry a number of wild ducks flapped and took off.

The earl’s falcon dropped like a stone out of the sky, diving at speed to kill an unsuspecting duck which fell to earth. Another falcon performed similarly, but the third hadn’t struck so truly and engaged in a kind of shrieking combat before it finished its kill. The men cheered, the ladies applauded, and the dogs were sent to pick up the dead birds. The huntsmen took out their lures – pieces of meat with the wings of another dead bird attached, and swung them round to entice the falcons back. Joanna looked on as the earl took out his dagger, carved out the heart of the duck, and fed it to his falcon as a reward. The men offered him congratulations on his success, and then Sir Roger and Henry de Stuteville loosed their birds, and the hunt continued.

After the group of wild duck had been exhausted, the party moved a little further away from the river, towards a copse. Here a flock of songbirds were startled into the air, and the smaller birds held by the ladies were let fly. Isabelle squealed with delight as her merlin killed a number of larks, and Joanna applauded too – Isabelle was very fond of larks’ tongues, and the thought of the delicacy to be served up later would surely keep her in a good mood.

As the afternoon wore on and the death toll mounted, the huntsmen tied the dead birds in pairs and slung them over poles, ready to carry them back to the castle. The day became a little cooler and the party stopped for a drink before turning back towards the castle. Most of them now rode at a more leisurely pace, but Sir Gilbert and Sir Roger, laughing and egging each other on in a boyish competition, raced off in front. Joanna looked at Isabelle, who was watching in delight, happier than she had ever been, or since Joanna had known her, anyway. Some way back from the path there was an old fallen tree; it had been there so long that a bushy undergrowth had sprouted around it. Sir Roger pointed and set his spurs to his mount, leaping effortlessly over the barrier. Laughing, Sir Gilbert set his horse to follow, but as it was about to jump some small animal – Joanna didn’t see exactly what it was – scuttled out from the bush and startled it. The horse shied, missed its footing, hit its back leg hard on the fallen tree on the way over, and fell.

Isabelle shrieked as the earl swore and urged his own mount towards the tree. ‘Gilbert! Are you – ’

He stopped.

As the rest of the party caught up with him, Joanna could see that the horse had managed to get to its feet. Well, three of its feet, anyway: the back leg which had hit the tree dangled uselessly, broken, and the animal was trembling with shock.