Whited Sepulchres (8 page)

Brother William was introducing himself politely to the other men around him, who nodded in greeting. Edwin looked past him and the packed lower tables towards the top end of the room, where the high table was just as crowded, if not even more so, with all the earl’s family there. Indeed, it was not one table but two – another had been added to it so there were places for fourteen, and it took up so much space on the dais that there was barely room for the squires and servants to get round it. Thomas wasn’t there, Edwin noticed: perhaps he’d been banned after making Martin spill the wine earlier. But as he watched, the page scuttled out from the service area at the bottom of the hall, his mouth crammed with something – some stolen delicacy, no doubt – and made his way to the top table where he slipped into the milling crowd without anyone really noticing. Edwin wondered if any of the nobles would spot that some luxury or other would be missing from their dishes, but decided that they probably wouldn’t. Richard the cook had apparently almost had apoplexy when he’d heard that the noble guests had arrived a day early, but somehow he’d managed to produce a meal which would be stupendous, if the smells were anything to judge by. Edwin wondered how the man had fared who had been sent back by Hamo without the sugar. He had a look round in case he could spot him anywhere, but he couldn’t – of course, the kitchen staff themselves wouldn’t be in here; they’d have a bite to eat while everyone was at the meal, and then prepare themselves for the return of the dirty dishes and the preparations for tomorrow. Anyway, Edwin was profoundly glad that he hadn’t been the one entrusted with
that
message.

Brother William was speaking to him, so he dragged his mind back and paid heed. The monk was asking him about the people who were at the high table with the earl. Edwin was some help but not much: he was able to point out the Lady Isabelle and the knights Sir Gilbert, Sir Geoffrey and Sir Roger, and also to note that the earl had two other sisters who were both married with children, but he didn’t know which was which. The girls sitting with Mistress Joanna were presumably companions of the noble ladies, but again he didn’t really know who they were. Brother William didn’t seem to mind, though – Edwin got the feeling that he’d just been asking in order to pass the time while he waited for his meal. Once the dishes for the noble table had gone past them and made Edwin’s mouth water, the fare for the cramped lower tables was brought out, and huge quantities of pie, pottage, bread and ale were placed before them. Richard Cook’s concentration on the noble dishes evidently hadn’t extended to the food for everyone else, and it didn’t quite taste up to the usual standard. But Brother William tucked in as though he hadn’t eaten for some time, and Edwin wondered what the monks ate at the abbey. Whatever it was, Edwin was fairly sure they wouldn’t shovel in quite so much and quite so fast as Brother William was doing now.

As Edwin applied himself to his pie he saw Hamo near him at the back of the hall, flitting around the door to the service area and fussing over the serving men going in and out. He didn’t seem to be achieving much except getting in everyone’s way, but still he kept buzzing around like a fly on a carcass. Edwin felt a little bit guilty sitting there eating while Hamo wasn’t. The man giving out trenchers asked him whether he wanted a place setting anywhere, and Hamo snipped something back at him, presumably indicating that he’d have something later. As Edwin watched, Hamo waved the man away and continued his pacing, but then he stopped, very suddenly, causing a man carrying a tray of pies to swerve around him. One pie dropped to the floor, to be snatched up immediately by someone’s dog, which retreated under the table with its prize. Hamo stood completely still, all the colour draining from his face, as he stared at Edwin. Edwin half stood out of his seat, wondering what in the Lord’s name he could have said or done which would cause Hamo to look at him in such shock; he thought he’d better go and ask, but before he could move, Hamo turned and disappeared back into the service room. Bemused, but deciding that now wasn’t the time to make a scene, Edwin sat down again and continued eating.

The meal went on for a very long time, the hall getting hotter and hotter as time passed. Edwin had eaten his fill but as everyone else around him was still supping and talking he thought it might be seen as uncivil to leave. But then there was a stir of anticipation, and Edwin saw that the minstrel was stepping forward; he decided he couldn’t leave now or it might draw attention to himself. Besides, it wasn’t every day, or even every month, that such entertainment was to be had. He tried to settle himself more comfortably on the end of the bench.

Edwin looked at the minstrel with interest. He stood in the centre of the hall, in the space between the lower tables and the dais where the nobles sat. He was an average, plain-looking man at whom nobody would look twice if they saw him in the street, but he had a certain
presence
which Edwin couldn’t define; a hush descended as he swept off his hat and flourished a low bow towards the earl and his guests. Then he replaced his hat, picked up some kind of stringed musical instrument with a bow, and took a deep breath.

The sound of his voice took Edwin by surprise, for it was huge, filling the room from the rushes to the rafters. Accompanied by a melodious sound from the instrument, he boomed out the first two lines of his performance:

‘
Carles li reis, nostre emperere magnes,

Set anz tuz pleins ad estet en Espaigne
.’

Then he stopped as applause and a roar of approval swept the hall, bowing slightly and waiting for it to subside before he continued.

Edwin was confused.
Charles the king, our great emperor, had been in Spain for seven long years
. What was so exciting about that?

Brother William saw his bewilderment. ‘It’s
The Song of Roland
, the greatest poem of them all. It tells of the great emperor Charlemagne, his nephew Roland and their battles against the Saracens. Most of the older men here will have heard it before, but they’re cheering because they know what’s coming up.’

Edwin nodded, still not quite sure why this should cause so much excitement, but he determined to listen. Of course, French wasn’t a native language for him as it was for the nobles, but he knew enough of it to be able to understand what was going on, as did all the other men in the hall – they wouldn’t be where they were now if they spoke only English. He concentrated on the minstrel’s words. The man’s performance was extraordinary; he declaimed his lines in a sing-song voice while accompanying himself on his instrument, and held every man in the hall in the palm of his hand. As his voice rose with the tension, all those listening held their breath, only letting it out when the minstrel suddenly dropped his tone to a more normal level. He recited the narrative, but also played all the parts of the men in it, putting on a different voice for each one, to suitable cheers or jeers from his audience. Edwin had never seen such a large group of people – and rough-house soldiers, many of them – so spellbound. But for the life of him he still couldn’t make out what all the fuss was about, as the text appeared to consist of nothing but talking: Charlemagne talked to his men, the Saracen king talked to his; they sent envoys to each other who talked some more. Why was this so exciting?

The performance continued for about an hour, with the hall getting hotter and sweatier all the time, and Edwin wondered again if he could slip away without anyone noticing. But the atmosphere was changing: it was becoming tense, even angry, and he could see fierce expressions on the faces of the men who had obviously heard the tale before. Even the earl was leaning forward in anticipation. Edwin turned his attention back to the minstrel as his music and voice reached a climax. Ganelon, one of Charlemagne’s lords (and, as far as Edwin could make out, Roland’s father), had been sent as an envoy to the Saracens, but he was arranging to betray his lord. No wonder the men in the hall were snarling – in the eyes of the nobles there could be no greater sin. Edwin listened as the final words of the evening were proclaimed:
upon the relics of his sword, he swore treason and swore his faith away.

The minstrel fell silent. He was sweating profusely as he let his arms drop and lowered his head, his chest heaving. All around the hall men were cheering and banging on the tables in approval, and even Edwin could feel the surge of emotion.

The earl stood and raised his hand, and the noise died down. He turned to the minstrel, flipping him a coin. ‘A masterly performance. We look forward to the continuation tomorrow.’ He nodded at the rest of the noble party, and they too stood, the men wiping their beards and the ladies shaking crumbs from their fine gowns, and prepared to leave. Once they had exited the hall, people began to discuss what they’d heard, arguing among themselves. But eventually they started to wind down their conversations, and some began to bring out blankets and find themselves places to sleep. Edwin rose and stretched himself, stiff after so long perching on the hard wooden bench, and staggered out into the night.

The cool air hit him as he left the hall, and he felt somewhat revived. It was very late, but there was still a hint of light in the midsummer sky as he passed through the gatehouse and down into the village. He let himself into his mother’s house very quietly, knowing she would be asleep in the bedroom, and shut the front door behind him before barring it carefully. The fire had died down, and the last orange glimmers gave little light to see, but he’d lived in this house all his life and needed nothing to guide him as he fetched his straw palliasse and his blanket from the kist in the corner, took four steps back towards the hearth, rolled himself up and fell asleep watching the comforting glow.

It seemed like only moments later when he was being shaken.

‘Edwin! Edwin, wake up!’

‘What?’ He stirred sleepily, wondering if he’d overslept, but it was still dark and the voice wasn’t his mother’s.

‘Come on, wake up!’ He was still being shaken, and as he came to himself he realised that the door was open and his mother was hovering in the background. But the figure standing over him was Adam: that roused him quicker than a dash of cold water, for there could be no happy reason why one of the earl’s squires should be here in the middle of the night.

He sat up. ‘What is it?’

Adam’s voice was low but urgent. ‘You have to come up to the castle. It’s Hamo – he’s dead.’

The moon was on the wane, but there was just enough light for Edwin to see his way as he followed Adam through the still, colourless village and up the path to the castle. Even at this hour it wasn’t cold, but he shivered as he remembered another occasion when he’d been woken from sleep by one of the earl’s squires with news of a death. The memory of it made him queasy, and he wondered what he was going to have to face once he got there. Had Hamo been stabbed? Would there be blood and flies everywhere? Would there … but he was letting his imagination run away with him. Better to find out the facts rather than allowing his mind to conjure up such images.

Adam was setting a fair pace, and Edwin jogged to catch up.

‘So, tell me what’s happened.’

Adam looked uneasy, and Edwin recalled that he probably had bad memories of his own. ‘Did you … I mean, was it you who found the body?’

‘No. It was when he went into the office – ’

‘Who?’

‘The serving man. I don’t know his name.’

‘And what office?’

‘The steward’s room. He went in – ’

Edwin thought that he needed some clearer information before he walked into whatever situation was awaiting him. He stopped and grabbed Adam’s arm. ‘Please, just wait a moment.’

Adam halted, and Edwin could just make out his face in the faint light. Was he paler than usual? Or had the moon drained away his colour?

‘Just … just take a breath and tell me, from the beginning, what has happened.’

Adam inhaled deeply. ‘All right. But we must walk while we’re talking, or Sir Geoffrey will wonder where I’ve got to.’

They resumed their pace and Edwin listened carefully, trying to take in as much as possible.

‘Some of the men who work in the kitchen were up early, as they always are, to make the bread. They also wanted to make a start on the dinner for later, as it’s Sunday and my lord has guests.’

Edwin nodded. Richard Cook would want to produce something worthy of the company, so that made sense.

Adam continued. ‘Cook needed some spice or other, so he sent one of his men to the steward’s office to get it. The fellow went there and found Hamo lying dead on the floor. He ran to get the guard, and the guard fetched Sir Geoffrey. I was already up because I’d remembered that I hadn’t polished my lord’s saddle, which I meant to do last night. So I thought I’d get up early this morning and do it. When Sir Geoffrey saw me he sent me to get you. I haven’t seen the body – all I know is that he’s dead.’

By this time they were entering the castle gates, and Adam slowed his pace. ‘I don’t think I want to …’

Edwin understood. ‘I can find my own way there. You’d better go and get back to your saddle.’