Whited Sepulchres (22 page)

The two guards holding the rope then took the strain and started to haul, walking backwards and lifting the choking, kicking man into the air where he dangled, spinning around and jerking convulsively as the noose tightened around his throat. Once his feet were about three or four feet in the air they stopped pulling; another man climbed the ladder, and between them they tied the rope around the crossbeam. The two on the ground stood with their arms folded to watch the death throes; the other descended and moved the ladder along one place. And all the while the hanging man kicked and writhed.

Edwin hoped he wasn’t going to be sick. He could hear that someone behind him was doing exactly that, but he couldn’t turn round to see who it was, for his eyes were riveted to the horrific spectacle in front of him. He’d had no idea that it would take so
long
for someone to die by hanging, but the man was still alive, thrashing at the end of the rope, his face turning purple, mouth open in a silent scream. His eyes bulged further and further out of his head, and his tongue came out of his mouth like a blackened serpent. Then there was a stench as his bowels emptied themselves on the ground underneath him, and a sudden movement as the next man along in the line fainted and fell to the ground. His guards looked uncertainly at the earl.

The earl, unmoved by what he was witnessing, waved. ‘Yes, yes, get on with it. We don’t want to be here all day.’ The guards placed the noose around the unconscious man’s neck and hauled him up, tying the rope off as their fellows had done and watching the dead weight swing.

The third man said the same words as the first, which Edwin translated again, and then he too was heaved into the air, his body in spasms as it danced with death. The fourth man, a heavy-set individual of middle age, looked oddly composed, and as the noose was placed around his neck he looked straight at John and spoke several deliberate sentences.

Several people around Edwin were looking at him, and he tried not to attract the attention of any of the nobles as he spoke under his breath. ‘He said he is sorry for what happened. He never wanted to come here, he was made to by his lord, he left his wife and family behind and he will never see them again. May the Lord watch over them.’

By the time Edwin had finished speaking the man was already dangling, and all eyes turned to the next in line. This was the man who had been struck by the stone, and the blood coursed freely down his face as his bound hands couldn’t wipe it away. Man? No, a boy – not even Edwin’s own age. His knees were giving way beneath him and as one of his guards held him up so the other could fit the noose, he soiled himself in terror. One or two of the hardier villager men guffawed, and for a reason he couldn’t fathom, Edwin was sorrier for the boy for his public embarrassment than he was for his imminent death. The boy whispered a solitary word just before he was jerked off his feet, which was so recognisable Edwin didn’t need to interpret it: ‘Mother’.

The sixth man was the one who had been struggling against his bonds and his captors. He was still kicking at them and bellowing out defiant words. Edwin’s blood turned cold as he listened, and the earl showed some emotion at last: he urged his horse forward a pace and shouted at his men. Three other soldiers held the man down as his head was forced into the noose; he was still roaring his defiance but it stopped suddenly as five guards together yanked at the rope and he shot into the air. Not wanting to displease their lord, the guards of the final two men in the line did their work at the same time, and soon all eight outlaws were swinging. The first three were already dead; the fourth followed a moment after. The defiant one, heavier than his fellows and having been jerked off his feet at some speed, seemed to die almost immediately, his head hanging at an angle. Edwin forced himself to look straight ahead as the final two kicked and thrashed their way into oblivion, their limbs growing still.

That just left the boy in the middle, who was still spasming weakly, blood dripping from him to mingle with the mess on the ground, tongue protruding, eyes bulging and his face, Edwin would swear, wet with tears. Beside him his mother sobbed and he put his arm around her. William Steward, upright still on his crutches, muttered under his breath that the smaller, younger ones always took the longest.

Edwin looked over at the earl, who was being spoken to by Sir Roger. Eventually the earl nodded, and two of the guards stepped forward to hold the boy’s legs and pull down as hard as they could. The extra weight choked the final bit of life out of him and he was released from his struggle.

For a long moment nobody moved except for the dangling corpses, and then the earl and his companions started to move. Their horses, frightened by the scent of blood or maybe by the sight of the swinging bodies, were restless. The earl made a final announcement, his voice like stone. ‘So perish all who disobey me, who break my laws and disturb the peace of my lands.’ He nodded to the villagers as he turned his horse’s head. ‘You may go. Justice has been done.’ He rode off, followed by his companions and their squires. Adam looked as sick as Edwin felt. Little Thomas seemed barely able to stay in his saddle, and for the first time Edwin felt sorry for the boy as his pony trailed further and further behind the large horses of the men as they headed back up the road.

The villagers started to drift off behind their lord, but Edwin stayed where he was. Now there was no danger of looking as though he was betraying anyone, he allowed himself a prayer for the souls of the executed men. As he finished, William started to move away, with a groan for his legs, stiffened from standing so long. He stopped and turned to Edwin. ‘What did he say?’

Edwin tore his gaze away from the place of death. The sun was fully up, warmth spreading over the earth, and flies were already starting to buzz around the bodies. ‘Who?’

William gestured. ‘Him. The one who was shouting.’

‘He said – ’ Edwin stopped and swallowed. His voice was hoarse. ‘He said he defies us, lords and all. His lord and his prince will invade again and succeed this time. England will be a smoking ruin and his brothers in arms will live to see the birds feasting on our corpses.’ Several other villagers had stopped to listen, and they murmured among themselves. Edwin heard again the man’s final words before the breath was choked out of him. ‘He said the war isn’t over yet.’

Martin tried to haul himself into a sitting position, failed, and collapsed back down on to the bed. He still ached all over and felt as though he were strapped to a board, but he’d made it slightly further up than he had last time. It was, of course, nice to have a bit of a rest for a change – not to mention the heavenly experience of having Joanna wipe his brow with a cool cloth – but he was starting to chafe at the inaction. She’d told them all about yesterday’s hunt and dinner, and it sounded like he’d missed out on some good sport – apart from the accident to Sir Gilbert, of course, although thank the Lord he was fine now – and rumour had it there was going to be tilting or sparring practice today.

He hadn’t seen the hanging, either, though he was less sorry about that. Edwin was sitting describing it to him, but between his obvious reluctance to go into detail while Joanna was in the room, and the sick look on his face, Martin couldn’t make out much of what had gone on anyway, except that it had clearly been very unpleasant.

Edwin tailed off and they all looked at each other in silence for a few moments.

Martin had another go at sitting up. This time he was more successful, and with a bit of grunting and shuffling he was able to support himself against the wall and look at the room the right way up for the first time. Sir Geoffrey’s chamber was furnished very sparsely – other than the bed and the two stools on which the others were sitting, there was a single wooden kist, and a cross-shaped pole, currently empty of its hauberk and helm. The knight wasn’t one for decoration or material possessions, but even so, it wasn’t much to show for a lifetime. Martin wondered, not for the first time, whether he’d end up like this, and whether Sir Geoffrey’s own house in his manor of Rochford, which he visited for a few weeks once a year, was more lavishly furnished.

He looked from Joanna to Edwin. ‘So, what other news?’

Edwin shrugged. ‘We buried Hamo this morning, after we got back from … well, you know. And I still don’t know who killed him.’ He looked downcast, and Martin wished he could help a bit more. But Edwin needed cleverness, not brute force, and anyway he wasn’t much good for brute force at the moment either. He sighed.

Joanna spoke in a brighter tone. ‘Don’t worry, Edwin. I’m sure something will come to you.’

Edwin gestured helplessly. ‘To be honest, I’m not even sure why anyone would want to kill him. I mean, I know he was nasty – ’ He stopped and seemed to be thinking of something. ‘What I mean is … I know not everyone liked him and he didn’t get on with everybody, but why would anyone want to kill him?’

Martin had been turning something over in his mind, slowly. ‘Maybe they didn’t.’ The others were looking at him. He shifted slightly and winced. ‘You said it was poison, didn’t you? Well, that could’ve got into the food by accident, surely?’

Edwin was shaking his head. ‘No. No, I don’t think so. Why was he the only one who ate it? If it had got in the food by accident, surely plenty of other people would have suffered as well. And Richard Cook was certain that he ate the same as everyone else. No, it must have been done on purpose.’

‘All right, so it might have been done on purpose. But by whom? Poison – that must be a woman, surely? No man would use something like that.’

Edwin made a noncommittal gesture. ‘Maybe. William Steward was certainly more upset by the thought of being considered a poisoner than a murderer. But on the other hand, you could be a man who wasn’t very good at fighting, or a man who wanted to keep it secret. After all, if you murdered someone by stabbing them or bashing them on the head, there’s more chance of being found out.’

Joanna had been silent during the exchange, but now she spoke, leaning forward in excitement. ‘You could both be right.’

Martin was confused. ‘What?’

Joanna could barely remain seated. She looked so pretty when she was animated. ‘About what you were saying before. Edwin could be right, and the food was poisoned on purpose. Otherwise, as he says, more people would have eaten it. But what if the poison wasn’t meant for Hamo at all? What if it was someone else who was meant to die?’

Martin still didn’t understand. ‘But how could that happen? Why would you put poison in Hamo’s food if you wanted to kill someone else?’

Joanna looked slightly less happy. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t worked that part out yet. But it could have happened, couldn’t it, Edwin?’

Martin looked round and realised that Edwin was staring at the floor. Or not so much at the floor as through it, the stare of a man who was searching for something in his mind. At last he looked up.

‘My father – may the Lord have mercy on him – always said that in order to find something out, you should look not just at what happened, but at why. So, let’s put to one side for a moment how it all happened, and think about why. Why would anyone want to kill Hamo? They wouldn’t. Or, at least, we don’t think so. So, why would anyone want to kill anyone?’

This was going a bit too fast for Martin. What did people kill for? ‘War?’ he hazarded. ‘Money? Land?’

Joanna joined in. ‘Hate?’ She paused. ‘No, wait – power.’

Edwin snapped his fingers. ‘Yes. If you have power, you can get all the other things. So, who has power?’

They all looked at each other. The thought was almost too monstrous to say out loud. Martin stumbled over it. ‘The earl?’ He was whispering. He cleared his throat. ‘Someone wants to kill the earl?’

He thought he’d got it, but Edwin didn’t look convinced. ‘Hmm … maybe. But I need to think some more.’ He got up. ‘Anyway, I think I’m supposed to go back to the great chamber. The nobles all went for a ride after the hang– after this morning. But they’ll be back soon, and I’m still supposed to be serving them while you’re not there.’ He smiled briefly. ‘That’s another reason for me to wish you a speedy recovery.’

Joanna also stood. ‘I’ll have to go too … my lady will want me when she returns.’ As she turned, one of her hands came out towards him, but Martin didn’t dare reach out and touch it. Instead he watched as Edwin held the door for her and she went out. Edwin followed her and closed the door behind him, leaving Martin to wait for the morning to pass as he stared at the wall.

Edwin stood in the great chamber, waiting for the nobles to return. Joanna and the two other ladies’ companions were in the room, sitting where the sun streamed in through one of the windows. Two of the windows in here had glass in, and it made the light break up into little jagged pieces on the floor. The dust rising from the rushes sparkled in the rays, and the occasional flea leapt ecstatically into the sunshine. Edwin wondered what time it was – about the middle of the morning, probably; it would be more or less time for dinner once the nobles returned. Thank the Lord he didn’t have to wait at the table – he could simply melt into obscurity in the lower hall for a while, and nobody would expect him to have manners, or serve them anything.