Edwin left the earl’s council chamber and walked across the inner ward towards the great chamber, his dread increasing with every step. He stood outside the door for some while, wondering whether he was supposed to knock, or whether he should just open it and go in as quietly as possibly. In the end he compromised, knocked so quietly that nobody could have heard him anyway, opened the door a crack and peered round. The room was empty.
Puzzled, he went back outside, but he couldn’t see anyone in the ward either. But there was noise coming from the great hall – of course, it was dinner time. He had so little appetite at the moment that he hadn’t noticed. Oh well, they wouldn’t want him until afterwards. He moved into the shade cast by the buildings and looked around.
A wet, retching noise sounded from quite near him and he jumped, thoughts of poisoning and death leaping into his mind. He looked further into the shaded corner where the wall of the great chamber met that of the hall, to see the minstrel vomiting out a stream of liquid. Oh dear Lord. He raced over and grabbed the man’s arm. The minstrel gagged, spitting out more liquid and bending over double while Edwin looked on helplessly.
Eventually the coughing subsided and the minstrel looked up. He spoke in a strangled voice. ‘What in God’s name did you do that for?’
‘Oh, thank the Lord you’re all right! Er, what?’
‘Grabbing me like that, you fool! You could have choked me!’
‘But I thought you were choking already – that’s why I ran over. I heard you being sick.’
The minstrel held up an empty cup. ‘I was gargling, you halfwit. A hot infusion with honey in it, for my voice.’
Edwin wasn’t sure whether he felt more relieved or stupid. ‘I’m sorry. We’ve had a man die by poisoning recently and when I heard you making that noise and then saw you spitting it out, I thought …’
‘Yes, well, you were wrong.’ The minstrel cleared his throat. ‘Happily, it looks as though I will be all right to perform, no thanks to you. I have Roland’s death to tell of, so I must be in perfect condition. It’s one of the greatest scenes ever composed.’
‘He dies? Oh … I haven’t been listening to all of it so far, but isn’t he the hero? Isn’t that going to be a bit of a sad way to end?’
The minstrel laughed. ‘End? It’s only halfway through. Don’t you know anything? He dies, yes, but the mighty French army returns to crush the Saracens in revenge. The second battle is even better than the first one.’ He moved towards the entrance to the hall, listening. ‘It sounds like they’re nearly ready for me, so stop pestering and let me prepare.’ He picked up his musical instrument, which Edwin hadn’t noticed lying on the ground, and stood by the door, ready to make his entrance.
Edwin went back up the steps and into the passage between the hall and the great chamber. It was a strangely shaped space, covering a corner and under the flight of stone stairs which led from the ward up to the wall-walk. If he waited here, he’d hear when the nobles were approaching, and he could slip in among the squires, hopefully without anyone noticing. He sat down with his back against the wall. Death. Blood. Fighting. Revenge. This was entertainment? He didn’t think he’d ever understand these nobles.
He had no idea how long he’d been there when he heard the sound of people approaching from the great hall. The door opened – the one which led from the dais at the top end of the hall, so the nobles didn’t have to go out the same door as everyone else – and the party swept through to the great chamber. Edwin joined the end of the group and went in. He looked surreptitiously at what everyone else was doing, and then took up a position at the very edge of the room, his legs as weak as grass in the wind, his trembling hands clamped behind his back, hoping that nobody would notice him. The Lady Isabelle settled herself in the centre of the room – the Lord knew what sort of response he’d get from her if he did anything wrong – together with the earl’s other two sisters, their husbands, the two boys he’d seen arriving the other day, and Sir Roger and Sir Gilbert. To one side were Mistress Joanna and two other young ladies, who had taken up their sewing and were talking in low voices, and ranged around the walls were some other boys and young men, pages and squires. Eustace was one of them, and he’d given Edwin a slight if somewhat confused nod as he entered and took up his station.
Edwin had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. He stared at the nobles. What would they do if they wanted him to do something? What would be the signal? Did they actually ask, or were you supposed to just know?
He jumped as the tall thin man snapped his fingers at him. Edwin looked round in confusion. What did he want? The finger-snapping intensified and the man looked round in irritation. Edwin felt himself starting to panic. His eye was caught by a sudden movement across the room, and he looked to see Mistress Joanna gesturing to him out of the line of sight of the nobles. Once she saw he was looking, she mimed pouring something, and then pointed to a table near him. He saw on it a jug of wine and understood, thank the Lord. He picked it up and moved towards where the man – the earl’s brother-in-law, but he didn’t know which one – was sitting. There was an empty goblet near his elbow, so Edwin poured wine into it as carefully as he possibly could, and then stepped back to the safety of the wall, replacing the jug on its table. The nobleman didn’t even look round at him, so he must have done it right. His hands were shaking so he put them behind his back again, picking nervously at his fingernails.
The men were discussing the episode from the Roland story which they had just heard. From what Edwin could gather, they’d all heard something completely different, and now he wished he’d gone back in to listen so he knew what they were talking about.
Sir Roger was arguing his point. ‘But don’t you see? Roland is inspired by our Lord God: he’s fighting for the Christians against the pagans, so he dies a martyr.’
Sir Gilbert shook his head. ‘I take leave to disagree with you, Roger – yes, he’s fighting against the pagans, but he’s fighting for his lord, doing as he was ordered. He’s a vassal who obeys his king’s commands to the end. And he was the victor in the field, because the pagans had fled.’
The tall thin man joined in. ‘Yes, but what good did it do him? You say he was the victor, but he lost every single one of his men and left the Saracens alive so they could fight another day. What sort of service is it to one’s lord to deprive him of twenty thousand of his men, and of Roland himself, for that matter?’
Sir Gilbert raised a finger. ‘All right, Sir William, I concede your point. But what would you have him do? If your orders are to fight to the last man, how do you reconcile service to your lord with disobeying him to stay alive?’
Edwin made a mental note that the thin man must be William Fitzwilliam. He watched him shrug. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure – fortunately I’ve never been in that position, so I don’t know what I’d do if I were. But I do think that caution and prudence are the best courses of action on most occasions. That way you live to fight another day.’
Sir Gilbert sat back, a look of sadness on his face, and Edwin knew whom he was thinking of. A little thorn scratched his own heart as he remembered the merry smile and devil-may-care attitude. He put one hand on the dagger given to him by the knight who had saved his life.
The other brother-in-law, the one with the huge beard who must be Henry de Stuteville, was disagreeing with both of them. ‘The point is, you should never get yourself in an impossible situation in the first place. A bit of forward planning from young Roland might have helped everyone.’
Sir Gilbert smiled despite himself. ‘But you must agree, sir, that that wouldn’t have made anything like such a good story!’
They all laughed. But Sir Roger, unsurprisingly, was still trying to push his own, more religious, view. It was common knowledge – even Edwin knew it, so it must be common – that Sir Roger had ambitions to go on crusade himself one day; it was easy to imagine him smiting the heathen with the divine light of righteousness on his face. Edwin caught some of what he was saying: ‘But you haven’t mentioned the crucial point, which is that as Roland dies, our Lord God accepts his glove in tribute, and sends His angels to bear Roland to Heaven. And that is because he’s fighting for the Christians against the pagans, not because he’s simply following orders …’
Edwin began to lose interest. As he hadn’t heard the relevant bit of the poem, he didn’t really understand all this. And besides, all the bits he had heard were either hugely gory, which he didn’t find entertaining, or didn’t make sense. Seriously, that Ganelon fellow – Roland’s father, was it? But surely no father would be so at odds with his son – was, to everyone else listening, the villain of the piece. He was the traitor who was setting Roland up to be killed. But at the beginning of the poem he’d actually had a fair point: the pagan king was offering to hold Spain as Charlemagne’s vassal and to become a Christian, which was what they actually wanted, surely? But all the men in the hall had erupted in boos, whistles and catcalls as soon as Ganelon had spoken in favour of accepting the offer. No, these nobles didn’t want peace; they thirsted for blood, revenge, and the total annihilation of their enemies.
His mind was wandering. Mistress Joanna was trying to catch his attention again. She moved her head to indicate that he should move nearer to her, so he edged slowly around. At the same time she moved her stool slightly back from the other two young ladies, so that she was only a yard or two away from him as he stood. She shifted her position and brought her embroidery up nearer to her face, as though to see it better.
‘What are you doing here?’
Edwin tried to whisper without moving his mouth too much. ‘My lord sent me here until Martin is better. But I don’t know who anyone is or what I’m supposed to be doing.’
She nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘I’ll try to help.’
While the nobles chatted in the middle of the room, Mistress Joanna continued to speak under her breath to him, explaining who they were, how they were related to each other, and what they might ask him to do. The girls who were sitting with her must have thought this all a little odd, but in a show of solidarity they too looked up from their sewing, and spoke a little more loudly to cover Joanna’s voice.
Once Edwin was more aware of his surroundings he could relax a little. He breathed more steadily and looked with more interest at the earl’s family. The lady he now knew was the Lady Ela was speaking about the wedding.
‘But really, Isabelle, could you not persuade our brother to hold a proper wedding? Why, there’s nobody here but family, and the event will be so small you’ll barely notice it.’
Edwin gulped, for two entirely different reasons. Firstly, from what he knew of the Lady Isabelle, it was dangerous in the extreme to speak to her in such tones; and secondly, he’d thought the wedding was a very lavish affair indeed. Why, he himself had sat down and tallied up the vast quantities of food and drink required, and victuals were being sent for from across half the county. And that special wine had come in from France, for goodness’ sake. But then again, these nobles were used to having such things done for them, without being aware of how much work went into it.
The Lady Isabelle was replying with nothing like the venom he would have expected.
‘Ela, dear sister, you know William can’t think of inviting all the lords of the kingdom when half of them are at war with each other. And besides, it all had to be arranged quickly, before he and Gilbert need to ride south. And anyway, Gilbert and I don’t need a lavish feast – all we need is to be married in God’s eyes.’ She looked doe-eyed at her betrothed and put a hand on his arm. If Sir Gilbert was embarrassed by this show of affection he didn’t show it; he put his own hand over hers, gave her a reassuring look and a pat, and continued the conversation he was having with Henry de Stuteville, which had moved on from Roland and was now about hunting.
But the Lady Ela wouldn’t be satisfied. ‘But Isabelle, the village church? I mean, not even to be married in the chapel here in the castle?’
At this, the Lady Maud, the other sister with the kind face, broke in. ‘Oh Ela, really, have you so far forgotten your studies?’
Her sisters looked at her blankly. She laughed, the sound of a bell, and turned to her son. ‘Pierre?’
He jumped up from where he had been playing merels with the other boy and stood to attention beside her. ‘Yes Mama?’
‘Whose feast is it in two days’ time?’
‘The feast of Saints Peter and Paul, Mama.’
She nodded, and patted him on the head. ‘Good boy.’ She picked a dried fruit out of the bowl to her left and gave it to him. ‘You’ve been studying hard.’ She dismissed him back to his game and turned back to her sisters, laughing again as she saw they still didn’t understand. ‘The church? In the village?’
Even Edwin knew what she was talking about by now, and realisation finally dawned on Lady Ela’s face. ‘Of course. The Church of Saints Peter and Paul. It will be auspicious to be married in their church on their feast day.’
It certainly would, thought Edwin. It was by far the most popular day for the villagers to be married, with Father Ignatius wedding a number of couples each time it came around. Not this year, though: none of the village folk would be permitted to sully the noble ceremony with weddings of their own. This year they’d have to settle for less important feast days.
The men’s conversation on hunting became louder as their enthusiasm grew. Eventually some sort of consensus was reached that they should go out now.
Sir Gilbert turned to Lady Isabelle. ‘Why don’t you ladies come out with us? There isn’t time to go after deer, so we’ll just take the hawks out for a while until it’s time for tonight’s meal.’
Lady Isabelle looked at her sisters, who both nodded. ‘Why, thank you – I think we will.’ She turned to Mistress Joanna. ‘Go and put out some riding clothes – I’ll be there directly.’
The other ladies were also giving similar instructions to their companions, and various squires were sent out as well. Sir Gilbert sent Eustace off to see if the earl wanted to accompany them.
Henry de Stuteville bellowed to his squire. ‘William! Find that hawking glove in my travelling pack. I haven’t seen it since we’ve been here but it must be around.’ He heaved himself out of the chair he’d been settled in and moved towards the door.
After some scurrying from the children and squires, a dignified hurry from the men and plenty of swishing skirts going past, there was silence in the room. Edwin was alone. Nobody had appeared to need him for anything, so he’d stayed where he was. Now he had the large, bright room to himself, surrounded by the detritus of the noble families. What should he do? They’d be gone for hours surely – until the evening meal, Sir Gilbert had said. Was he supposed to wait here? They couldn’t expect him to, surely.
Gradually, he moved forward from his position by the wall. A stool had been overturned during the exodus so he righted it. He picked up a cushion from the floor and replaced it on a chair. It was silky and yielding to the touch. He picked it up again and squashed it between his hands. How did they make it so soft? It must have feathers or something in it, not the straw which filled the mattresses at home. He plumped it again and replaced it. He stood looking at the chair. It was so inviting: a soft cushion on the seat and another against the back. What must it feel like to sit in such comfort? He looked around the room. There was definitely nobody else there. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if …?
He had taken one step closer to the chair when the door flew open. He leapt back, almost out of his skin, and swallowed down the sudden pounding in his throat. He was ready with all kinds of explanations, but thank the Lord it was Adam, who grinned and skipped over to a kist under the window.
‘He’s going!’
‘What?’ He couldn’t be talking about the chair, could he?
Adam rummaged around in the kist and came up with a very sturdy but nevertheless fine-looking leather glove. ‘Our lord is going out hawking with the others, so I can go too!’ He smiled widely, and Edwin realised he didn’t do that very often. Personally he couldn’t think of anything much worse than getting on the back of a horse for fun, but it was the sort of thing nobles enjoyed.
‘Oh, good.’
Adam shut the lid of the kist with a bang and moved towards the door.
‘Wait!’
Adam turned. ‘What is it?’
‘Should I … I mean, shall I … I mean, do I have to wait here until they get back?’
Adam paused. ‘I’m not sure, but I shouldn’t think so. Our lord’s whole family will be out until later, so they can’t want you for anything in the meantime, can they? And even when they get back it will be time for the evening meal.’ He started moving towards the door again. ‘Are you supposed to be serving at table as well, by the way?’
Edwin reached out to the back of the chair for support, feeling his knees suddenly weaken. ‘Me? Serve at … I hope not!’
Adam shrugged. ‘Then you should be fine until after the meal. But maybe look out for us coming back and ask my lord then. Anyway, he’ll be waiting. See you later!’
He skipped out the door and was gone. The seat looked even more inviting but he didn’t dare collapse into it. Surely he wouldn’t have to serve at the high table? Why, pages and squires spent years learning how to do that. He’d do it all wrong, make a laughing stock of himself in public. Everyone in the hall would look at him and say how inept he was.
His hands were shaking. He needed to calm his nerves and decide what he was going to do next. This was the opportunity to spend a couple of hours thinking about Hamo. He really needed to come up with an answer for the earl before the wedding, which was now only three days away.
To steady himself he began to tidy some of the things which had been left around the room. He collected the goblets and jugs and made sure they were all neatly on one of the side tables. He picked up the dish of dried fruits and placed it next to them. Edwin had never had a dried fruit before – well, apart from the little apples which they stored into the winter, but they were really common and didn’t count. He peered into the dish. They were funny-looking things, all wizened like an old man, yet still plump and appetising. It wasn’t stealing, was it? He ate the earl’s food in the hall often. But these were different, these were for the nobles, they weren’t for the likes of him … although surely nobody would notice just one going missing from a whole dish full. Promising himself he would mention it at his next confession, he selected an orangey-coloured thing about half the size of his thumb, and popped it in his mouth.
He was overcome by the sweetness. It was incredible. How could something so dried-up looking contain such a taste? And what was it anyway? It looked as though it might have been about the size of a small plum, but they weren’t such a funny colour.
He realised that his hand was moving towards the dish again, so he pulled it back and decided he should remove himself from the temptation. To take more than one really would be dishonest. He would have liked to savour the fruit in his mouth for as long as he could, but once he was outside the room he might run into someone, so he swallowed it quickly. Still, the taste remained in his mouth all the way down the stairs.
As he descended he thought back to the scene in the room. Adam had been looking for a glove, and he’d left with just the one. Didn’t you need a pair? But then Henry de Stuteville had asked his squire about his ‘hawking glove’ so maybe you did only need one. Henry de Stuteville was the brother-in-law with the big beard, not the tall thin one. He was married to the sister who was small and smiling, yes, the Lady Maud, that was it. And which squire was his? Oh yes, the one with the bent nose, William.
Which was another thing. Why were so many nobles called William? Didn’t they have any imagination? It wasn’t as if the king was called William, and his father before him hadn’t been, either. Maybe there’d been some heroes in the past who went by that name, and the nobles decided to name their sons after them. Which brought him back to Hamo. Hamo, who, in his death throes, had said the name. But who could he have meant? If only he’d shouted ‘Geoffrey’ or ‘Crispin’ or some name that might have made life easier. But ‘William’? Dear Lord. The earl, for a start, his wife’s brother, at least one of the squires, William Steward, and no doubt half the garrison were called William.
He reached the outer ward and watched the noble party as they mounted. They made quite a picture in their bright clothes, and it wasn’t often you saw so many ladies on horseback all together, each with their colourful skirt spread out over their horse. Behind them were some of the men whom Edwin recognised as working in the mews, the place where the hawks were kept. Each was holding his reins in his right hand, while perched on his gloved left hand – ah-ha – was a hooded bird. Presumably they would carry them out to wherever they were going, and then hand them over so the nobles could fly them at the prey. It was a decent enough way to get some meat, he supposed, though pretty time consuming, what with having to train the hawks and so on. He wondered why they didn’t just make the kill and then fly away, rather than returning.
Oh well, it was nothing to do with him, anyway. He watched as the noble party rode out, then he ran his tongue round the inside of his mouth to seek out the last traces of the taste of the fruit, and followed on foot out of the gate.
Joanna felt the excitement rising within her as the party left the castle. She didn’t ride very often, as it wasn’t one of Isabelle’s preferred pastimes; and when they travelled to one of the earl’s other residences she generally sat pillion behind a groom or endured the jolting of a covered wagon. But now she felt the unaccustomed sensation of being in control as she sat astride her own mount – admittedly, a staid palfrey which Sir Gilbert had thoughtfully asked Eustace to find for her – and trotted behind the nobles. Once they had passed through the village and left the tilled fields behind, they increased their pace to a canter, and she welcomed the rush of air on her face on such a hot day.
They rode for a couple of miles westwards along the low road which ran parallel to the river, until they reached a green open space – in the winter it was marshy, but now it was a firm surface underfoot which sloped gently towards the reeds which lined the river. Here they reined in while the huntsmen dismounted, passed the birds over to the nobles and took their dogs over towards the riverbank.
Joanna didn’t have a bird of her own, but she nudged her mount nearer to Isabelle to see if she could be of any assistance with the tiny merlin which was now perching on her mistress’s decorative glove. Isabelle seemed to be fine, so Joanna took the opportunity to admire the much larger hawks which the men held. It was ironic, of course, that it was actually the female birds, the falcons, which were more sought after than the male tiercels, because they were bigger and more ferocious. A strange inversion of the natural order.
The earl was stroking the head of the bird which he held, while effortlessly controlling his mount with his legs and talking to Sir Gilbert at the same time. ‘Lucky to be out this late in the year. My favourite hawk is already in moult, so I’ve had to bring this one – she’s younger and not fully trained, but we’ll see what she can do.’ The bird, unhooded and slightly unkempt, looked lean and fierce as its eyes seemed to meet Joanna’s, but then it was gone, soaring into the air to climb up above where the prey might be, circling along with two others sent by Sir Gilbert and William Fitzwilliam. The huntsmen were beating the reeds and crying out, and with a flurry a number of wild ducks flapped and took off.
The earl’s falcon dropped like a stone out of the sky, diving at speed to kill an unsuspecting duck which fell to earth. Another falcon performed similarly, but the third hadn’t struck so truly and engaged in a kind of shrieking combat before it finished its kill. The men cheered, the ladies applauded, and the dogs were sent to pick up the dead birds. The huntsmen took out their lures – pieces of meat with the wings of another dead bird attached, and swung them round to entice the falcons back. Joanna looked on as the earl took out his dagger, carved out the heart of the duck, and fed it to his falcon as a reward. The men offered him congratulations on his success, and then Sir Roger and Henry de Stuteville loosed their birds, and the hunt continued.
After the group of wild duck had been exhausted, the party moved a little further away from the river, towards a copse. Here a flock of songbirds were startled into the air, and the smaller birds held by the ladies were let fly. Isabelle squealed with delight as her merlin killed a number of larks, and Joanna applauded too – Isabelle was very fond of larks’ tongues, and the thought of the delicacy to be served up later would surely keep her in a good mood.
As the afternoon wore on and the death toll mounted, the huntsmen tied the dead birds in pairs and slung them over poles, ready to carry them back to the castle. The day became a little cooler and the party stopped for a drink before turning back towards the castle. Most of them now rode at a more leisurely pace, but Sir Gilbert and Sir Roger, laughing and egging each other on in a boyish competition, raced off in front. Joanna looked at Isabelle, who was watching in delight, happier than she had ever been, or since Joanna had known her, anyway. Some way back from the path there was an old fallen tree; it had been there so long that a bushy undergrowth had sprouted around it. Sir Roger pointed and set his spurs to his mount, leaping effortlessly over the barrier. Laughing, Sir Gilbert set his horse to follow, but as it was about to jump some small animal – Joanna didn’t see exactly what it was – scuttled out from the bush and startled it. The horse shied, missed its footing, hit its back leg hard on the fallen tree on the way over, and fell.
Isabelle shrieked as the earl swore and urged his own mount towards the tree. ‘Gilbert! Are you – ’
He stopped.
As the rest of the party caught up with him, Joanna could see that the horse had managed to get to its feet. Well, three of its feet, anyway: the back leg which had hit the tree dangled uselessly, broken, and the animal was trembling with shock.
And on the hard ground next to his horse, Sir Gilbert lay silent and still.