Whited Sepulchres (6 page)

It was strange how they seemed to become invisible so quickly. When Isabelle and Joanna were alone they spoke often, but now that there were other people of rank in the room, the companions – and the squires for that matter – were unnoticed as their betters chatted among themselves. Or at least, they were unseen until they were needed: soon both Matilda and the other girl, who had briefly introduced herself as Rosamund, had been dismissed and sent to unpack in the guest quarters. Joanna hoped they wouldn’t notice that the final preparations for the rooms had been a little rushed – she would go over there as soon as she could and see if they needed anything else. In the meantime she took up her embroidery and continued with it while the nobles caught up with each other.

Isabelle was in her element, and why shouldn’t she be? She was about to regain the precedence over her sisters which had disappeared when she was a childless widow. She sat between them, the skirts of her new crimson gown spread out in a seemingly carefree manner, but one which was designed to show off the eye-catching colour to best effect. Joanna had laboured for many hours on that gown, although mainly on the seams, while the professional seamstress who was summoned twice a year from York had fitted the bodice. It was a shame the colour wouldn’t last – like all bright things, it would fade over time – but just now it looked magnificent, putting the slightly drab travelling clothes of the other two ladies into the shade, as did the new gold filigree headdress holding Isabelle’s wimple in place, which both sisters had dutifully admired. And if you think that’s lovely, thought Joanna, then wait until you see what she’ll be wearing for the actual wedding. She’ll outshine you both.

Joanna tried to work out what was going on in the Lady Ela’s mind. Both sisters were sipping wine while they spoke with Isabelle, but whereas Maud seemed fully engaged, Ela’s eyes kept turning to where Sir Gilbert was sitting with William Fitzwilliam and Henry de Stuteville. The afternoon sun slanted in from the windows which faced the inner ward and illuminated his profile. He was certainly more handsome than Lady Ela’s skinny husband, but she didn’t seem to be admiring him in that way. So what was it? Joanna realised she was staring, and turned her eyes back to her embroidery in case anyone had noticed. But after a few moments she risked another glance at the Lady Ela, who was still flicking her eyes between Isabelle and Sir Gilbert. And then she realised why the look was familiar – it was the one Isabelle wore when she was looking over new goods to buy, assessing their worth. The Lady Ela was sizing her sister’s bridegroom up as though he were no more than a new set of hairpins.

Before Joanna could explore this thought further, her attention was distracted by a squabble which had broken out between the boys. At first she thought it was the two visitors, but little Pierre was standing attentively beside his father. No, it was Roger and Thomas. Thomas really ought to have been standing around the edge of the room with the squires, but he’d given up on his duties once his mother had arrived, and sat down with his brother to play at merels and filch from one of the bowls of dried fruit which was set out. It would appear that they now had a disagreement over the game, for Thomas had picked up the board, scattering the pieces everywhere, and was trying to hit the smaller boy with it. Roger started shrieking and crying to his mother, and soon both boys were rolling on the floor striking at one another.

William Fitzwilliam leapt out of his chair and waded into the fray, telling them to stop and trying rather ineffectually to separate the boys as he was kicked by their flying feet, looking all the while at the earl, who remained aloof. Sir Gilbert looked rather startled, not having heard such a commotion in these chambers before; Henry de Stuteville gave a tolerant shake of his head, slapped his hand on the arm of his chair, stood, looked appraisingly at the two rolling, scratching children, and then swooped, catching each by the neck of the tunic and lifting them into the air.

Their father smoothed the front of his clothing, which had become ruffled, and opened his mouth to speak. But he was interrupted before he could start.

‘William!’ The Lady Ela had risen from her chair and was looking through narrowed eyes at her husband. ‘Don’t bore us all with another of your lectures. They’re just in high spirits, that’s all.’ She looked with fatuous devotion at the boys. ‘Come now, apologise to your lord uncle and play quietly.’

Apologise to your uncle, thought Joanna. Yes, but not to your father, who was the one who got kicked. That’s the Lady Ela for you. She looked as Henry de Stuteville gave the boys a little shake and then put them down, clapping them on the back. He spoke in his pronounced Norman accent – ‘Yes, yes, just boys playing’ – as he patted Thomas on the head. ‘Come now, come and tell me about being a page here.’ He moved him away from Roger, who went to sit with his mother, and peace reigned once more.

Joanna looked at the earl, who throughout all of this had remained silent and almost motionless. His face held no expression, but his hands were gripping the arms of his chair, and behind him Martin looked worried. She was relieved when Sir Geoffrey stepped into the room and bent over the earl to speak quietly in his ear. With a very brief and hardly muttered ‘excuse me’, the earl stood and followed Sir Geoffrey out of the room. There was a short pause in all the conversations as he left, but then everyone returned to what they were doing, and there was a comfortable buzz about the chamber.

From her corner of the room, Joanna could see out of one of the open windows into the inner ward, and she watched as both men emerged from the building. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she saw Sir Geoffrey gesture, and then both of them moved towards the centre of the ward. Some guards were dragging something towards them, and she had to stifle a gasp as she saw what it was – an unconscious man with blood on his face. The guards dropped him on the ground while the earl and Sir Geoffrey stood over him and spoke. Eventually the earl nodded and Sir Geoffrey signalled to the guards to move the man away again. This time they pulled him by his feet, and as his head was dragged along it left a trail of blood in the dusty earth.

Refreshed by his ale, although not by the conversation, Edwin left his mother’s house. Marriage? He hadn’t really thought of it before, or had he? Perhaps it had been at the back of his mind since … strange, as soon as his mother had mentioned the word, Alys’s face had appeared before him, her summer-blue eyes smiling. She was so different from any of the girls he’d grown up with. Well, of course she would be, she was from a different part of the country and she lived in a big city, but even accounting for that she was still … but there was Godleva again, lurking at the side of one of the houses. She looked as though she was about to step over to him again, so he hurried across the green to the street on the other side, entering the yard of one of the village’s other larger houses and calling out a greeting before he stepped over the threshold.

The door stood open in the warm weather, and the windows were uncovered, but still it was darker than the bright sunlight outside so he stopped to let his eyes become accustomed to the gloom. As he did so, his aunt bustled forward and embraced him, smelling as always of the fragrant herbs with which she often worked. She stepped back and patted him on the cheek, but had barely started on an offer of refreshment before a harsh voice came from the cottage’s other room, demanding to know who was there and what was going on. Cecily rolled her eyes at Edwin and said he’d better go in.

Edwin stepped into the bedchamber and leaned over to shake the hand of the man in the bed. William cheered up on seeing who his visitor was, but it was almost grudging – he’d probably been looking for an excuse to take his temper out on anyone else unfortunate enough to get in his way. He motioned Edwin to a small stool which was overturned by the side of the bed, and Edwin righted it and sat down to ask him how he was.

He expected something of a rant and he wasn’t disappointed. He let it wash over him – the normally even-tempered William was probably entitled to be irritable given his current situation. He’d been crippled ever since Edwin could remember: he’d once been a soldier in the service of the old earl, and had returned from a long-ago campaign with part of his left ear missing, a horrific scar which disfigured the entire left side of his face, and a maimed and twisted leg which caused him to limp heavily. Normally he managed to hobble about fairly well: as the steward his work was almost entirely in the castle rather than out on the estate, and he hauled himself up the hill and back once every day. However, two weeks ago he’d fallen down the stairs which led up to the entrance to the keep, and he’d injured his good right leg. There it lay on top of the bed, the ankle swollen and purple, causing him great pain and preventing him from walking altogether. There was of course a good chance that he would recover, so the earl hadn’t dismissed him from service, but William was both frustrated by his enforced inactivity and worried about his future, so his outbursts were regular.

After he’d calmed down slightly he asked for news, so Edwin tried to give him an idea of what was going on outside the walls of the cottage. He decided that any mention of the outlaws or their attack on the monk would cause far too much excitement, so he restricted himself to speaking of the crops and the weather. William seemed content and started to lie back on his pillows and smile, so Edwin moved on to describe the wedding preparations at the castle. It was only after he’d been talking about the details for some time that he realised that William’s face was growing blacker and blacker, and that this was particularly pronounced whenever he mentioned Hamo. He tailed off in the middle of a sentence, deciding it was probably unwise to recount how Hamo had refused to provide sugar to the cook.

It was too late. William was already struggling to get out of the bed, cursing at the pain. ‘Help me will you, for God’s sake!’ He held out his hand as he tried to push himself up.

Edwin wasn’t at all sure that this was a good idea. He tried to make soothing noises and press William back down, but this was the wrong approach.

‘Don’t talk to me like that, boy – I’m not a child! Just get me out of this cursed bed and get me up to the castle.’ William’s face contorted as he managed to swing his leg over the side of the bed but then he cried out as his foot touched the floor. Cecily hurried in and attempted to help Edwin calm her husband down, trying to push him back on to the bed, but it wasn’t going to work.

‘Get off me!’ William shook off their arms. ‘Edwin, get outside right now and find some men to help. I am going up to that office whether it kills me – or you, for that matter, or both of us, and I am going to tell that Hamo what’s what.’ His face was growing purple. Edwin looked at his aunt, shrugged and went outside to find some help.

Within a short space of time Edwin found himself at the head of a procession, as Alwin and Osmund, two of the burlier villagers, carried William on a seat made from their intertwined hands. They were followed by all the other men who happened to be around, not to mention a number of curious children; the village women came out of their houses and gardens to watch. They struggled up to the castle’s outer gate, where the man on guard thought better of trying to halt the furious steward. He did manage to prevent the hangers-on from accompanying them, though, so Edwin, William and the other two continued up into the inner ward alone.

When they reached the great hall, Edwin hoped that they would find the service area and office behind it empty, and then they could all calm down and go home, but his luck was out. Hamo was in there, wagging his finger in the face of one of the servants.

William roared. ‘Hamo! You son of a …’

Hamo turned in alarm as he heard the bellow, and had Edwin not been worried about the scene in front of him he might have laughed, for he had never seen anyone look so surprised. The marshal took a step back at the sight of the enraged steward and his hefty bearers, and that was his undoing.

‘Aha! You know you’re in the wrong, you little toad! Taking my duties behind my back and destroying all the goodwill I’ve spent years building up. How dare you!’ William removed his arm from around Osmund’s shoulder and tried to lunge forward, but as his foot made contact with the floor his leg collapsed under him and he was forced to grab Alwin’s arm, allowing Hamo to back away further until he was against the wall. He stood there while William launched a stream of oaths against him, and Edwin tried unsuccessfully to shut the office door and keep out the crowds of onlookers who were gathering. Most of them were smiling, happy to see the pompous marshal on the receiving end for once.

William was trying ever harder to hobble forward until eventually, still being supported by the off-balance Alwin, with Osmund trying to catch hold of him, he managed to grab a fistful of Hamo’s tunic. The muscles in his burly right arm bulged through his sleeve as he all but lifted the smaller man off the floor. ‘If you don’t start putting this right, I’ll kill you, d’you hear? I’ll wring your scrawny neck!’ He shook Hamo but the effort made him overbalance completely and he fell, pulling both Hamo and Alwin with him. Just to complete the scene, Osmund couldn’t stop himself tripping over them, and soon they were all in a heap on the floor.

Edwin ran forward to try and restore some order, shouting at the laughing onlookers behind him that they should either help or go away, or he’d have something to say about it. They remained where they were, though, including a small figure at the front who was doubled over with mirth, tears streaming down his face. Edwin had no time to wonder what Thomas might be doing there, however, and he leaned down to try to help the men untangle themselves before anyone more senior came along and found out what was happening. William would be lucky to keep his position after this, even if his leg did recover, and if he lost his place he could well end up a destitute beggar. Not that Edwin would let it come to that, of course, but how William would
hate
being a burden on his nephew. There must be some way of smoothing this over. Finally Edwin managed to get everyone sorted out, and, leaving Hamo to dust himself down, he helped the two men to pick William up and carry him out through the cheering throng, the page’s cackles still echoing in his ears.