Whited Sepulchres (3 page)

As Edwin entered the great hall he was enveloped in the pleasant aroma of the fresh rushes on the floor which had been strewn with sweet-smelling herbs, and he almost began to brighten as he inhaled the scent. He allowed himself to stop and close his eyes for a moment, but he could hear Hamo’s high-pitched voice emanating from the steward’s office, as he berated some luckless individual about the wrong type of wine having been brought up from the cellar that morning, so with a sigh he began to make his way past the bustling men in the service area at the back of the hall. He slowed, wondering if he could possibly think of an excuse to delay his entrance. He stopped entirely, letting the serving men move around him as they started their preparations for the mid-morning dinner, and thought that maybe if he just turned and crept out again, nobody would –

‘Ah Edwin, finally. Where have you been, boy?’

Hamo had emerged from the office, pushing another man out before him, and he was already plucking at Edwin’s arm. There would be no escape now. And being called ‘boy’ irked him more than he would like to admit, particuarly after all he’d been through in recent weeks. Still, orders were orders and the earl had instructed him directly to be here, so he should go with a cheerful heart. There was no point in getting ideas above his station about being given more interesting tasks to do, as though he were a squire or a man of rank. He should be grateful for the lot the Lord had provided him with. And he should keep telling himself that. Besides, interesting tasks involved danger and violence … he shivered and allowed himself to be shepherded into the office.

Once he got started it really wasn’t all that difficult, despite the headache. Hamo had been planning the meals for the next week, both for the wedding feast itself and for the days afterwards, but he was having difficulty adding up all the quantities of everything that would be needed. With the castle’s usual population swollen by guests, and the extra extravagance which would result from a wedding, an awful lot of provisions would be needed, and they weren’t all available in the castle’s stores – some would need to be sourced from further away. The ordering would be Hamo’s business, but nobody had a head for figures like Edwin, and he was often called upon by William Steward in this regard anyway. Generally he didn’t mind – he could never understand how others couldn’t do what he could do, to see all the neat columns of numbers in their head, and calculate and reckon while barely having to think about it. Glancing at the figures which Hamo had written on scraps of used parchment, he foresaw no problem. Now let me see, if you’re going to provide
that
many mutton pies and
this
much barley pottage for
that
number of people, and the ingredients are
these
, you’re going to need …

He hummed to himself as he went down the list, adding his own notes with a pen which wasn’t really sharp enough and which spluttered ink all over his hand. As he went through the plainer items which would be the fare served to the guests’ servants and retainers, he let his mind wander slightly. The wedding … the more he thought about it, the more odd it became. He just couldn’t believe who it was that the Lady Isabelle was marrying. Honestly, why would –

‘I tell you, you’re not having it!’

Edwin was distracted by Hamo’s voice as he squared up to a man whom Edwin recognised as one of the kitchen hands.

‘But I must take it – master cook has told me not to come back without it!’ The man’s voice had an edge of desperation, and Edwin could well understand why: Richard Cook was a large, red-faced man who had a choleric temper at the best of times, but the current added strain had caused all sorts of problems in the kitchen, and several of the scullery boys – and some of the higher-ranked cooks, for that matter – had been seen around the place sporting nasty bruises. The scene this man would encounter if he went back to the kitchen without whatever it was that Richard had demanded didn’t bear thinking about.

But Hamo had folded his arms. ‘I tell you, he is not having any more. This is the third time since yesterday morning that he has asked for more sugar – what is he doing, eating it raw? No, it is staying here and you will have to tell him to do without for today. He’ll need the rest for that big marchpane.’

‘But …’ The man was almost speechless. Edwin’s eyes went over to the chests stacked against the far wall where he knew the most precious spices were kept, and he could see that they were all firmly locked. Of course, this was normal – nobody would keep anything so valuable in an open area such as the kitchen, and the sugar, cloves, saffron, ginger, pepper and so on were always stored here under lock and key, under William’s personal supervision. But William and Richard, hard men both, had a kind of gruff agreement where William would basically give him whatever he asked for, knowing that the talented cook would get good value for money out of it and would produce delicacies which were appreciated by the earl and his family.

The man’s voice really was desperate now. ‘Then perhaps you would like to go to the kitchen and explain that to him, master marshal?’

Hamo assumed a supercilious air and drew himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much. ‘I?
I
go to the kitchen and speak to the cook? I think not, my man.’ He leaned forward and jabbed the other in the chest. ‘
You
will tell him, and
you
will take the consequences. If he doesn’t like it then he can complain to the earl himself if he wants to.’ He rocked back on his heels and smirked, and the man, admitting defeat, turned and shuffled out of the room, shoulders slumped.

Hamo span and saw that Edwin had stopped work and was watching. ‘Well? Have you finished, impudent boy? You might think you’re important now, but I know where you’ve come from and it would be easy to send you back out to the village if you don’t look sharp.’ He snapped his fingers under Edwin’s nose, forcing him to grit his teeth in an attempt to stay silent. ‘Let me see what you’ve done.’ Hamo snatched the parchment from Edwin’s hand and sniffed as he looked at the scrawls. ‘From what I can make out from your appalling hand, these look adequate, but you really need to work on your penmanship. How William puts up with you, I don’t know.’ He handed it back. ‘But you haven’t finished yet – get on with the reckoning for the earl’s own table before you think of moving anywhere.’ He sniffed again and stalked out of the room, leaving Edwin to grumble and draw his eating knife in order to sharpen the quill before he started again. As he started to do so his rope belt, which had been fraying for quite some time, snapped and fell to the floor, taking everything that was hanging on it with it.

Sighing, Edwin got down on his hands and knees. His purse – which wasn’t exactly heavy, containing only a couple of halfpennies and a small wooden spoon – and the eating knife in its plain leather sheath were right next to him, but he had to crawl under the table to get to the larger dagger in its ornate scabbard. This was probably what had caused the break: it was far too heavy for a piece of old rope, and should by rights have a proper leather belt, except that he didn’t own one. He’d only had the dagger a few weeks, but since the day he left Lincoln he somehow hadn’t felt able to take it off. Even when he lay down at night he kept it where he could put his hand on it at any moment.

Edwin sat back and drew out the dagger. He weighed it in his hand and stared at the blade, moving it from side to side so the light caught it. His hand was a little too small for the hilt, but it had a fine balance. Once more, memories leapt unbidden into his mind …

He had no idea how long it was before he realised that he was sitting on the floor under the table, and that questions were sure to be asked if anyone came in and saw him. He sheathed the dagger once more and threaded the rope through the scabbard loops and those of his eating knife and purse. He knotted the frayed ends together as best he could and hoped that would suffice until he could get hold of something more substantial.

Right. What was he supposed to be doing? Oh yes, the meals for the earl’s own table. Concentrate, now. At least this part of the list was interesting. The earl and his noble guests would be eating some real delicacies, and Edwin’s mouth watered at the mere thought of the quails, the capons, the venison, the marchpane and sweet custards.

But his other thoughts couldn’t be kept away, and his mind went back to Lincoln again. This time he managed to force away the blood and recall more pleasant memories. He wondered if he was in Alys’s thoughts as often as she was in his. He hoped so, but he couldn’t be sure. He was tortured by the thought that she would have forgotten him already, although deep down he knew that wasn’t likely after what they had been through together. But how would he ever see her again? It was a ride of two or three days back to Lincoln, and it wasn’t as if he was free to go gallivanting around the country whenever he pleased anyway. But still … the remembrance mingled in his mind with the pleasant perfume of the spices and the agreeable background of the delicious dishes he was reading about, and he was comforted a little. Whatever happened, he would always have his memories, and would be able to summon the image of her face and her smile …

He finished the list and put down the pen. He was about to wipe his inky hands on his tunic before he realised that it was the new one which his mother had made for his birthday today. She remembered every year that he had been born on the auspicious feast of St John the Baptist, and never failed to give him a gift and to remind him of how happy his arrival had made both her and his father, who had been much older than his wife and who had all but given up on the hope of a son. Knowing this always made Edwin feel safe and loved. He wiped his hands on his hose instead.

It was with an almost-cheerful whistle that he pushed back his stool and moved towards the door. He had been at the table a little longer than he thought, and men were already shuffling into the hall for dinner. The service area was crowded with servants bearing large platters, and Edwin stepped carefully around them to ensure he didn’t knock anything out of their hands. But not all was calm there: he could hear Hamo’s voice again, berating someone for something at the other side of the room.

He was determined not to let anything spoil his unaccust-omed mood of complacency and made up his mind to ignore it, but the conversation of two of the servants nearest to him caught his attention. He knew really that they were speaking only in jest, but he’d seen so much bloodshed recently that the words couldn’t help but chill him.

‘He gets worse and worse every day. I don’t know how much longer anyone’ll stand it.’

The other nodded as he shifted the weight of a stack of trenchers in his arms. He leaned over and spat on to the floor. ‘Not long. I’d certainly like to see ’im dead, and I’m not the only one, I can tell you.’

The room started to spin for a moment and Edwin stood still with his eyes closed until the men had moved away.

Once Edwin felt calm enough to move, he made his way into the hall and found a place at one of the lower tables. Now that the hall was full of people, the scent of the herb-strewn rushes was buried under the smell of the dense crowd of hot, sweaty men, and the air was stale. He and the others stood while the earl entered, and once grace had been said and those at the high table were seated, he sat down himself and waited for the table servants to enter. As he waited he surveyed the earl and his party. The high table was relatively empty today, although of course it would be full once all the honoured wedding guests arrived. While they were here there would also be entertainment during the meals, which would provide an unusual and welcome change from the normal routine; Edwin had seen a minstrel arrive the day before, and wondered what sort of stories or songs he would perform. But for this meal the high table contained only the earl, the Lady Isabelle and her companion Mistress Joanna, Sir Geoffrey, Father Ignatius, and, in the place of honour at the earl’s right hand, Sir Gilbert de l’Aigle, the Lady Isabelle’s betrothed.

Edwin still couldn’t quite believe it. During his recent adventures in Lincoln and on the subsequent journey back to Conisbrough he’d become quite close to the knight, and the new situation seemed odd. He couldn’t quite work out why to start with, but after a while he’d realised it was to do with the way he ordered things in his own mind. He’d known vaguely that Sir Gilbert was a landowner, and not just a household knight, but he’d been fooled by the knight’s down-to-earth behaviour into thinking that he was almost a mere mortal like himself. So to find suddenly that he’d been sharing his journey with a man who apparently owned much of the realm’s south coast, and who was considered a worthy match for no less a wife than the earl’s sister, was something of a shock. Immediately Edwin had felt a chasm opening between him and his former companion, and they hadn’t spoken since the announcement of the forthcoming wedding had been made. Sir Gilbert was now a distant figure at the high table to be viewed from afar, not a man to whom one could chat about everyday matters.

Those at the high table were served first, of course, and Edwin watched as dishes of delicacies were brought in by servants, to be placed on a board to one side and carried to the table by the squires and pages. Sir Gilbert’s squire, Eustace, was a sober fellow who, as Edwin had noted on his journey north, performed his duties with a minimum of fuss, and he, Martin and Adam were moving around each other adeptly with the various foodstuffs. Martin was finally getting over his clumsiness, caused by growing so fast and being all elbows and knees, and Edwin noticed Sir Geoffrey casting an approving glance at him. Thomas the page, however, seemed to be getting in everyone’s way, much more than necessary. As Edwin watched, Thomas moved behind Martin and jostled his arm just as Martin was pouring wine for the Lady Isabelle. Some of it splashed on to the white tablecloth, and she admonished him sharply. Martin hung his head and mumbled something to her before stepping back. Edwin heard an intake of breath from next to him and turned to see that Richard, Sir Gilbert’s senior sergeant, was next to him and had noted the incident. He murmured something about what would happen to any boy under his command who did such a thing, and Edwin silently agreed, feeling sorry for his friend.