Whited Sepulchres (27 page)

Edwin smiled. ‘Yes, yes he does. And I’m sure you’re a good helper to him.’ He watched as the boy looked down at the graves, bent to pat the earth on the smallest one, then straightened and walked out of the graveyard. Edwin remained where he was, considering the subject of families. Something was buzzing at the back of his mind, but it wasn’t his earlier dizziness – it was a nagging thought, although he couldn’t think what it was or why it was important. He looked again at the graves. He’d never had any brothers or sisters, so he couldn’t imagine what it was like to share his parents with anyone. He’d always had his father to himself, and he’d never appreciated what a privilege that was. His father had taught him everything, from honesty and goodness to thatching and daubing, to the duties of a bailiff. He was always …

Ah, that was it. He’d said it himself.
No father who truly loved his son would make him do something bad
. Father hadn’t. Peter the elder hadn’t. Even Ganelon hadn’t, for he was Roland’s stepfather, not his father. And of course William Fitzwilliam hadn’t. He might be a sour man, a weak man, but he had his pride, and he wouldn’t persuade Thomas to poison anyone’s food. The significance of the scene by the river that morning flooded back to him. The man there had been worried for his son’s safety, but he hadn’t left his place in the line as he still had his duty to do. And so did William Fitzwilliam: of course, he was worried about Thomas, but he was a man, a nobleman, and he couldn’t show weakness before his peers and his lord. He’d tried to hide it behind a mask of insouciance. In reality he had no idea where Thomas was, which meant it hadn’t been he who had hidden the boy or scared him off. And he would always act with caution, which didn’t fit with the idea of murdering someone under the earl’s own roof.

Which meant that they didn’t need to keep him under close watch, and that Edwin was back at the beginning of his labours again. The weaving had unravelled, and now he must start afresh with a new pattern.

He sat unmoving. There was no particular need to go anywhere, and a new idea was starting to form in his mind. He wasn’t quite back at the start. It was still possible, nay, likely, that Thomas had done the poisoning or had had something to do with it. But if his disappearance was protecting someone, and if it wasn’t his father, then who was it?

‘Edwin!’ The shout broke the thread of his thought. It was William, dragging himself laboriously into the graveyard on his crutches. He was followed by Agnes, the priest’s housekeeper, carrying a pitcher. ‘Edwin, thank the Lord, you look like you’ve come back to the living.’ William gestured to Agnes and she set the pitcher down. She put one wrinkled hand on Edwin’s forehead and looked him in the eye for a moment, before murmuring to him. ‘No, not just the sun – did you get dizzy and see strange lights?’ Edwin nodded. ‘Do not worry, youngling, it will pass. Drink plenty and try to stay out of bright light for the rest of the day. Then get your mother to make you a feverfew infusion tonight before you sleep, and all will be well tomorrow.’

Edwin nodded his thanks and she stood and moved away. He picked up the pitcher and tasted – small beer, a refreshing brew which wouldn’t dull his mind too much. There was much to do. He drank deeply, dribbling some as he gulped, then lowered the vessel and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

William looked on approvingly. ‘Good lad. Your colour’s coming back. Come.’ He held out one hand, and Edwin took it, careful not to pull on it too hard as he hauled himself up, in case they both overbalanced. William clapped him on the back. ‘Now. What do you need to do?’

Edwin managed half a smile. He still didn’t have the pattern complete, but he was starting to see it in his mind. ‘Thank you, uncle. I need to go to the castle, as I have some news for Sir Geoffrey and the earl.’

William nodded. ‘I’ll come with you.’ He held up one hand. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way or start a fight with Richard. But I need to show them that I’m recovering, before they put someone else in my place.’

As they made their laborious way up to the castle, Edwin had time to straighten things in his mind. Nobody had wanted to poison Hamo – that had just been an accident. The real target was Sir Gilbert, who was about to marry the earl’s eldest sister and who would therefore be the heir to the title. He would, as Mistress Joanna had known, have the power. And so who would want him out of the way? The people he had dispossessed, of course. William Fitzwilliam was married to the next sister, and so had been the most likely candidate, but he was not an ambitious man, and he wouldn’t have encouraged his son to do something so vile. So that left one other – Henry de Stuteville. And what better way to assure himself of the earldom than to murder the heir and have the next in line suspected of the killing? His nephews adored him, and he would have had no problem getting Thomas to do something which he’d probably described as a prank. He’d given something to Thomas and told him to put it in the special wine for the bridal couple – probably telling him it would give them an amusing case of the runs on their wedding night or something. But Thomas hadn’t realised he’d been given deadly poison. And Hamo had ordered the wine to be placed in the office, not in the kitchen; and as he’d eaten his solitary meal he hadn’t been able to resist tasting some of it, with fatal consequences.

Presumably, had Henry de Stuteville succeeded in killing Sir Gilbert, he would have shown himself a loyal supporter of the earl so that he would be the ideal person to succeed him. Edwin had it all worked out now, and as he struggled to help the cursing William through the gate to the outer ward – the walk from village to castle was longer than it looked, and William might have been overambitious about his recovery – he knew he could explain it all to the earl. First, though, he’d have to make sure that the poisoned wine was somewhere safe. But there was no particular hurry – it was for the wedding, wasn’t it, so Sir Gilbert and Lady Isabelle wouldn’t be looking to drink any of it until tomorrow. Still, he’d better slip through the hall to the serving room while the meal was taking place in order to check it was still there.

By the time they reached the inner gatehouse William was really struggling and had slowed to such an extent that he was hardly moving. Edwin chafed at the delay, and it was with relief that he left William with the porter on duty to rest, while he made his way to the hall.

The evening meal was in full swing and Martin was busy. With so many people at the high table there wasn’t much room for manoeuvre, and he was continually elbowing the other squires and trying not to trip over. The nobles had almost finished with the savoury dishes – all fish today, of course – and he started to take the bowls off the table and replace them on the sideboard. His own stomach groaned at the sight of all the fine food, and he stuffed a small slice of eel pie into his mouth while nobody was looking, just to keep him going until he was allowed to eat properly.

But before that could happen, there was the business of the toast to the bridal couple to be made on the eve of their wedding; a special barrel of wine had been ordered specifically for this occasion. Martin carefully broached the top of the barrel. Funny, it was looser than it should have been, good thing it hadn’t all spilled on the way here. The aroma of the wine floated up into his nostrils as he removed the lid, and he inhaled the rich, unfamiliar scent. Truly this was an exotic drink, like nothing he’d ever smelled before. He dipped a jug into the smooth, dark, ruby liquid, and filled the two ornate goblets which Adam had placed on the sideboard. He was sorely tempted to have just a little sip, just to try out the enticing drink, but he couldn’t. It was one thing to sneak a bit of pie while nobody was paying attention, but this was the special stuff for the bridal couple, and they alone must drink it.

The goblets were full, so he and Adam carried them to the table and placed them in front of the Lady Isabelle and Sir Gilbert. The other nobles were served with cups of a different wine so all was ready for the toast. Then Martin moved back to watch as the earl stood, followed by everyone in the hall. His stomach was growling so much that he barely listened as his lord made a short speech extolling the beauty and virtue of his sister and the bravery and prowess of her betrothed. Anyway, once the toast was over he would be able to eat something.

Martin watched as Sir Gilbert and Lady Isabelle raised the goblets to their lips.

Edwin wondered why it was so quiet when he entered the great hall. All the men in there were standing in silence, looking at the dais where the high table stood. To start with he couldn’t see what was going on – he’d always wished he was taller – but when he moved round a bit he could see the earl standing with his goblet raised, speaking of the bridal couple. Edwin wouldn’t interrupt that: he’d find the earl and Sir Geoffrey afterwards and explain about tomorrow’s w– wait a moment. The earl was toasting the bridal couple. All the nobles had cups of wine. Sir Gilbert and the Lady Isabelle had ornate goblets in their hands. A small barrel stood on the side table. Sir Gilbert was about to drink. He was raising the goblet to his lips. Dear Lord.

‘Stop!’

Every head in the hall turned his way, and Edwin realised that the voice he’d heard shrieking was his own. Sir Gilbert had, thank God, paused, the goblet hovering near his mouth with the wine mercifully untasted. But the earl’s face was thunder as he looked down the hall.

Edwin gulped, but he had to go on. He took a few steps towards the dais. ‘Sir Gilbert, please don’t drink the wine. It’s poisoned.’

Immediately there was uproar. Everyone seemed to be shouting. One or other of the ladies at the high table gave a shriek. Sir Geoffrey leapt up, his stool crashing to the ground behind him, and strode round the table to stand by the earl. He had no sword, but stood with a knife in his hand as though to repel any attack on his lord. All the nobles put their cups down, and then Martin and Adam started collecting them and putting them out of harm’s way on the side table. Edwin could see which were the ones the bridal couple had held, as they were distinguishable by their handles. The earl himself, after a brief start of surprise, held his own cup out to be collected, then folded his arms and turned that frightening stare on Edwin.

‘This had better be good.’

Edwin felt his face burning. He shifted uncomfortably, but that gaze was pinning him to the floor. ‘My lord, I think Hamo died after he tasted the wine that was delivered for the wedding. Someone poisoned it, meaning to kill Sir Gilbert, and Hamo …’

At the mention of his name, Sir Gilbert, who had been standing protectively next to the Lady Isabelle, also strode round the table. He reached Edwin and gripped his shoulder. ‘Edwin. Be very careful about what you’re saying. Are you sure?’

Edwin nodded, still without taking his eyes off the earl. ‘Yes. Once you’re married you would be my lord’s heir, and someone wanted to stop that. To start with I wondered how he thought he could do it with poison, but if this wine was just for the bridal couple, then – ’

The earl had moved closer to him. ‘You said “he”. Who?’

Edwin could hardly manage to open his mouth. His voice came out in a squeak. ‘My lord, perhaps we could go somewhere more private?’

A shake of the head. ‘Speak. Speak now, before these witnesses.’

Edwin could feel himself fading, the hall seeming further away. He licked his lips. ‘My lord, I …’ Dear Lord, he was about to accuse the earl’s own brother-in-law of murder. But Sir Gilbert was still holding his shoulder, holding it with the sword arm which had saved his life and the life of the woman he loved, just a few weeks ago. He heaved a shuddering breath. ‘My lord, I believe it was Sir Henry de Stuteville.’

A gasp sounded from those men at the near end of the lower tables, but it was drowned out by the bellow of rage from Sir Henry, who stormed round the table and grabbed the front of Edwin’s tunic in one huge fist. His bushy beard scratched Edwin’s face as he propelled him backwards. Edwin felt himself at the centre of chaos, trying to stay on his feet, someone behind him holding him up as he was shoved, and several other men attempting to pull Sir Henry off him. There was a struggle before they eventually succeeded and he could breathe again. The man behind him turned out to be Sir Roger, who placed a calming hand on his arm. Sir Henry shrugged himself free of the restraining hands of Sir Geoffrey and Sir Gilbert and turned in fury to the earl, who had not moved.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the earl raising his hand. ‘Stop. I will hear you, but I will not have this riot under my roof.’ He looked at Sir Geoffrey. ‘Clear the hall.’

Sir Geoffrey gestured to several of his sergeants, who started to shepherd men away from the tables. Most of them moved unwillingly, grabbing food to take with them and turning to witness the spectacle until the last moment as they went out the door, but eventually the lower part of the hall was empty and unnaturally silent, the detritus of the meal scattered everywhere. Those on the dais stood immobile.

The earl looked at the high table. ‘You too, ladies. This is no place for you.’