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.’
Edwin watched them as they scuttled away. The Lady Maud looked as though she would protest, but one look from the earl silenced her before she could start, and the Lady Isabelle pulled her away. Edwin could feel his heart throbbing in his throat. He had to explain things. Once the earl knew all the facts, surely he would understand? But he had turned away from Edwin, towards his goodbrother.
‘Henry, now you have gathered yourself, perhaps you would like to speak.’
Henry de Stuteville looked at Edwin as though he were something unpleasant on the sole of his boot. ‘My lord, surely you don’t expect me to demean myself by responding to the mad ravings of this peasant?’ The earl said nothing, but regarded him steadily. Sir Henry smoothed his beard. ‘Very well. If I must put it into words, I did not poison this wine, and I did not attempt to kill Sir Gilbert. Is that satisfactory?’
The earl nodded and turned to Edwin. ‘It must have taken quite some nerve to stand up and make this accusation. I assume you think you can prove it?’
Edwin tried to control the trembling in his limbs. ‘Well …’
Sir Henry laughed derisively. ‘You see? My lord, surely you give no credence to the wild allegations of such a person?’ He looked around, surprised that the other men there had not rushed to his defence. Then he smiled. ‘Will it settle the matter if I drink this wine? Will that prove my innocence?’ He strode over to the side table, lifted one of the double-handled goblets and gulped down the contents so fast that a trickle of the wine escaped and ran down his beard and the side of his neck like blood. Edwin started forward in horror, and noted that Sir Geoffrey and Sir Roger both made similar, albeit smaller, movements – so they’d believed him. But Henry de Stuteville was standing proud, the empty goblet in his right hand, his left wiping across his mouth. He tossed the cup dismissively to one side and folded his arms. ‘You see? I live.’ He smiled at the earl, but the look he turned on Edwin was one which held such malice that Edwin could feel it in the innermost part of his being.
The earl turned back to him, those eyes looking right through him now. ‘I am … disappointed.’ Edwin felt stabbed. ‘Go now, and I will deal with you in due course.’
Edwin stumbled off the dais, all support gone, all eyes on him as he took the longest walk of his life down the empty hall. He could feel the stares of the nobles, and his back burned. Once outside he was surrounded by men wanting to know what had happened, but he pushed blindly past them and did not stop until he reached his cottage. He barred the door, fell on to his palliasse, and, despite the heat of the evening, pulled a blanket over his head, curling under it like a babe and shuddering with an emotion he couldn’t even name.
Martin tried to stand as still as possible. Thank the Lord his stiffness was wearing off now so he didn’t feel the need to shuffle around to a more comfortable position, which might have drawn attention to himself. For the air in the room was like dry tinder, and it would only take one spark to set it all ablaze.
He felt sorry for Edwin. All along he hadn’t seemed happy with the task laid upon him, and obviously the pressure had got too much for him – he’d been forced to make a guess which had turned out to be wrong. And there would be no coming back from it: he was disgraced in the eyes of the earl and would surely never work for him again. The earl himself was absolutely furious at the public embarrassment and, since they’d all retired to the great chamber, he’d spent his time stalking about, alternately swearing and apologising to Henry de Stuteville. Martin had the feeling that it was only the presence of the ladies that was keeping the earl from flinging cups around and breaking things.
Meanwhile the Lord Henry was (understandably, Martin supposed) livid about the insult to his honour and was demanding drastic punishment for Edwin. Martin trembled at some of his more violent suggestions. But both Sir Geoffrey, who was unusually in the chamber, unwilling to move away from the earl, and Sir Gilbert had tried to calm the situation with a view to saving Edwin’s life and limbs. And, thank the Lord, Sir Henry’s insistence on retribution was having the opposite effect on the earl to the one intended – he didn’t like people making demands to his face, so he was veering away from any specific promises of punishment. Martin began to breathe a little more easily.
Eventually everyone stopped striding about and sat down to wine, quieter conversation, and, in the case of Sir Roger and Sir Gilbert, chess. Martin listened to the sound of the pieces being moved as the talk swirled around. Click. The consensus in the noble party now seemed to be that Hamo had died by accident after ingesting something which didn’t agree with him. Click. Edwin had been wrong all along about it being poison. Click. ‘Check.’ After all, it had been four days now and nobody else had died – if there was poison in the castle supplies, they reasoned, someone else would have been affected. Click. ‘Checkmate.’
Martin took the risk of looking up from his feet and gazing around him. Sir Roger was wryly acknowledging that his game had been poor, while Sir Gilbert smiled. Most of the nobles were nodding sagely at the lack of evidence of poisoning, but over to one side, his face illuminated by a torch on the wall, Sir Geoffrey was looking down and shaking his head.
An argument was breaking out on the other side of the room. Martin tried to swivel his eyes to see what was going on without moving his head. It was the Lady Ela, haranguing the lord earl again. Martin was glad he hadn’t turned round.
‘William, you need to do more to find Thomas! The poor boy is still out there somewhere, lost and lonely, and you don’t seem to care!’
The earl bunched his fist, and Martin gulped. But his voice remained level. ‘Sister, as I have said – repeatedly – we are searching for the wretch, not that he deserves it. He’s on foot, so he can’t be far away. And when we find him, if he’s alive, he’ll wish he weren’t by the time I’ve finished with him, I can tell you. And if he’s dead, frankly you should rejoice at losing such a troublesome and useless boy so early in life, before he can do any real damage.’ He raised his hand to forestall her as she opened her mouth to speak, and looked instead at William Fitzwilliam. ‘You’ll need to do a great deal better with your other son if you want him to be worthy of any inheritance later.’
William Fitzwilliam nodded without speaking, but the Lady Ela shrieked. ‘Him! Why, he’s never – ’
She was cut off abruptly as her husband took three steps towards her, brought his arm back, and slapped her across the face as hard as he could. The smack of his hand on her flesh echoed round the room, which fell silent.
Martin risked a fuller glance, still trying to remain immobile. The Lady Ela was leaning back in her chair, her hand to her face, white, staring up in disbelief at William Fitzwilliam, who was shaking with rage. ‘Be quiet!’ He leaned over her, his face close to hers. ‘I will not take this disrespect any longer! God knows I’ve put up with you long enough, flaunting your higher birth at me, but I will be the master in my own household, damn it, and you will learn!’ She flinched further away. ‘Dear Lord, I’ve even been praying for the strength to deal with you and that cursed boy, wondering why I’ve let you cosset him so much. Just look how he’s turned out, bringing shame on me, and all because of your foolishness. No more, I tell you!’
Everyone else was observing the scene while pretending to look away. Joanna and the other girls buried their faces in their sewing. The Lady Ela cast a glance at the earl.
William Fitzwilliam followed her gaze, stood up straight and made a small bow. ‘Begging your pardon, my lord, under your roof.’
The earl merely flicked his fingers, a cold glance passing over the lady without engaging. ‘Something you should have done a long time ago, evidently. She’s your wife and it’s up to you to control her, my sister or no.’
William Fitzwilliam straightened his tunic and smoothed his beard before turning back to his wife. ‘Now, you will go to your chamber and stay there until tomorrow, and we will have no more whining about the boy. And from now on you will remain silent and obey me as a wife should.’
The Lady Ela stood and gave a stiff curtsey to her husband and to the earl before turning and leaving the room without speaking. She was still white, except for the scarlet mark of his hand on her face. Her companion – Martin couldn’t remember her name – also stood and bobbed a hasty curtsey herself before following her mistress out the door. Martin felt sorry for her, having to walk the whole length of the room like that with everyone looking on in silence. For silent it was. There were, what, over a dozen people in the room, but you could hear a flea jumping in the rushes and a dog yawning over by the fireplace.
The earl broke the quiet, slapping the arm of his chair. ‘Good. Adam, wine.’
The spell was broken. Martin realised he’d been holding his breath. The room went back to normal as the nobles began to chat again and the wine circulated. The earl turned to the Lady Maud, sitting nearest him and with a strange look on her face. He patted her hand. ‘Ah, Maud, the last and least of my sisters, but the one who has always given me least trouble.’ She smiled at him. ‘Although,’ he joked, ‘I have high hopes of Isabelle from now on!’
Sir Gilbert ventured a small laugh, and Henry de Stuteville made some comment or other about making sure he started off right, to avoid trouble later. All was well, all was jocular.
Martin wondered why he felt so shocked. After all, every man from the king to the lowliest serf had the right to chastise his wife, and most did so physically. He thought back to when he’d been little and the earl had been married, and couldn’t recall any specific instances such as the one he’d just witnessed, but then again, she’d done as she was told, hadn’t she? So she hadn’t brought anything on herself like the Lady Ela had. A man couldn’t put up with disrespect like that, and certainly not in front of his peers and his overlord. William Fitzwilliam certainly looked happier, or at least more relieved, and the other men were congratulating him in their words and gestures.
Slowly the room began to empty as the nobles headed off to their beds ahead of the wedding tomorrow. The earl and Sir Gilbert were last out, waiting until Joanna and the Lady Isabelle had disappeared off into the curtained area at the end of the room. Various squires trailed out, and Martin moved to follow, but was stopped by Sir Geoffrey’s hand on his arm.
The knight kept his voice low. ‘Something is still not right.’
Martin was confused. ‘The Lady Ela …?’
Sir Geoffrey shook his head. ‘No. No, that’s not important. I mean Edwin, and what he said.’
Martin’s mind gave a jerk. Lord, he’d almost forgotten about that! It already seemed long ago. ‘But he was wrong, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. But wrong in what? Certainly that wine wasn’t poisoned. But Edwin wouldn’t be so far mistaken as to invent that whole tale he told. Some part of it may well be right, and what if it’s the part about somebody trying to kill Sir Gilbert? And I am not convinced of this idea that Hamo died by accident. If Edwin thinks it was poison then I am inclined to believe him.’
Martin wasn’t quite sure what he was meant to say. ‘So you think there’s still danger?’
Sir Geoffrey glanced towards the bedchamber and gestured to him to keep his voice down. ‘Yes. I don’t know what or who, but this game is not yet played out. Edwin is gone, so it will be up to us. Keep your eyes and your ears open,’ he dropped to a whisper, ‘and trust nobody.’
The sun shone through the windows of the great chamber as Joanna combed Isabelle’s hair. For her wedding day she would wear it loose and flowing around her shoulders and back, so Joanna wanted to make sure it looked as beautiful as possible. Isabelle was already wearing her wedding gown; the earl had spent a fortune on a length of blue silk, and the colour was fabulous, mesmerising. It was set off by a necklace and a gold headband inlaid with jewels which would hold the hair in place in the absence of a wimple.
As she drew the ivory comb through Isabelle’s hair, Joanna reflected on the events of the previous evening. She’d been shepherded out of the hall along with the other ladies, and so had not seen the end of the scene on the dais, but Martin had told her of Edwin’s humiliation and expulsion from the hall. She felt sorry for him – she didn’t know him all that well, but he seemed a nice, gentle sort of man, and both Martin and Sir Geoffrey respected him, which was a recommendation in itself. The rest of the evening in the great chamber had been awful, and she’d been glad to escape once Isabelle had decided to retire.
‘Joanna, I think that’s enough now.’
Joanna came to herself with a start. She’d been combing Isabelle’s hair over and over again, and it glistened in the sunlight. ‘Oh, sorry, my lady.’ She replaced the comb on the dressing table, carefully, for it would be a difficult item to replace if it broke, and fitted the gold circlet on Isabelle’s head, smoothing back a few stray hairs.
Isabelle stood. ‘Well, how do I look?’
‘You look beautiful, my lady. Truly.’ And she did – not so much from the fine gown and jewellery, although these were magnificent, but rather because she looked happy. The habitual expression of petulance and disappointment which she had worn ever since Joanna had known her were gone, and she was transformed. After all these years of snipping and sniping, spitefulness and tantrums, Joanna found that she could be glad for Isabelle and her good fortune. She smiled.
Isabelle was looking her up and down. ‘You look very presentable, too. But maybe …’ She rummaged in the box of jewels on the table and picked out a necklace studded with green stones. ‘Here. Robert gave it to me when we were married, so it comes from your family.’
Joanna reached out to take it and place it round her own neck. Isabelle’s first husband, Robert de Lacy, had been her cousin, though she hadn’t known him very well. ‘Thank you, my lady – I’ll be honoured to wear it, and I’ll take good care of it until this evening.’
Isabelle smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You can keep it. Today is a day of new beginnings, so it’s fitting you should have something new.’ Joanna was overwhelmed and tried to speak, but Isabelle put a finger to her lips. ‘Shush now, or I’ll be in no fit state to be seen.’ She squared her shoulders and smoothed her hair. ‘Now. Let us go out and see what our new life brings us.’
Joanna followed her past the curtain and out into the great chamber, where the earl was waiting, drumming his fingers on the arm of a chair. He stood as they entered, magnificent in a tunic shot through with gold which matched the rings on his fingers, and nodded his approval. ‘Good. Shall we?’ He offered his arm.
As he and Isabelle swept towards the door, being held open by Adam, Joanna noticed Martin for the first time. He was looking at her with such admiration in his eyes that she couldn’t mistake it. Her heart lifted. Maybe she did look well in her new gown and necklace. She cast a glance to make sure Isabelle was out of sight, and curtseyed to him, laughing. ‘Shall we?’
Carefully, Martin held out his own arm; and from the chair to the door, before they might be seen in public, she held it as she floated behind her mistress, imagining that one day she might have a wedding of her own.
Outside the rest of the party were assembled, and the earl led Isabelle to the white palfrey which was waiting with flowers braided into its mane and tail. As she was in her new gown, and as the palfrey would be led at a sedate walking pace, Isabelle sat sideways in the saddle, her skirts spread out over the horse’s rump. Although the church was only a matter of a few hundred yards away and the wedding would be small, some ceremony was necessary for an earl’s sister, so the party rode out through the gate accompanied by soldiers marching on either side, with many of the rest of the household walking behind, wearing their Sunday clothes. This time Joanna didn’t have her own horse, and alas, it was Martin who was leading Isabelle’s, so she sat pillion behind Sir Roger, spreading her own skirts out and holding his belt. Despite last night’s events, the party was merry as it made its way to the village, even Henry de Stuteville patting his ample frame and saying he was looking forward to the feast later. The only exception was the Lady Ela, her face bruised as she sat behind her husband without speaking.
The village was nearly empty – Joanna assumed their work wouldn’t stop for the wedding – but there were a few old men and women, a couple of younger women who were very heavy with child, and a few small children. Most were staring at Isabelle, as well they might, for the sight of a woman’s long hair in public was rare, as was a gown of that astounding colour. Joanna also spotted William, the castle steward, holding himself up on a pair of crutches; he pulled off his cap and bowed his head as they went past. Most of the riders were too busy with their own conversations to notice him, but Sir Geoffrey acknowledged him with a nod. Thank the Lord Edwin didn’t seem to be anywhere, or there might have been violence despite the happy occasion.
They stopped outside the church, where Father Ignatius was waiting, and dismounted. Sir Roger helped her down from the horse, his hands on her waist, and Joanna noticed Martin scowling in the background. She shook out her skirts and stepped forward to help Isabelle do the same, making a few last adjustments to straighten her necklace and smooth her hair. Then the earl, Isabelle and Sir Gilbert stepped forward to stand in front of the church door.
The ceremony itself was simple. The earl announced in a loud voice that he gave his sister to Sir Gilbert, and then he named the dowry payment; Sir Gilbert in turn declared which of his lands would be hers to hold as a dower and which would be hers to keep if he died before her. Joanna listened to the list, having no idea where any of the places were, but wondering if she might see them one day. But then, if she did, it would be as part of her new life, the life which didn’t have Martin in it. She wished she knew what to feel. Every moment of the day she seemed to be veering back and forth between excitement at the possibility of new horizons and the crushing sadness and panic at the thought of leaving the place which had been her home these past years.
The priest asked if anyone knew a reason why the two should not be married, which was thankfully met with silence. The bride and groom made their vows – he to guard and cherish her, she to honour and obey him – and plighted their troth. Sir Gilbert put a ring on Isabelle’s finger, and Father Ignatius pronounced them man and wife. Then they all went into the church for the nuptial Mass.
When they emerged, the villagers were still there, chatting to the household staff who had remained outside, some of whom were their friends and relatives anyway. They all raised a cheer, and Sir Gilbert, disentangling his hand from Isabelle’s for a moment, reached to the purse at his belt. He smiled broadly and to their delight flung a handful of pennies into the air, which they scrabbled for, shouting out their thanks. Joanna spotted one figure not moving: it was the little boy who was Sir Roger’s servant, whose name she couldn’t at present remember. He had looked as though he might join in, but was too proud to crawl with the other children without his lord’s approval. Unfortunately Sir Roger wasn’t looking that way, as he was watching the shower of coins; but Sir Gilbert saw him, and with precision he placed a penny on his thumb and flicked it straight at him, to be caught neatly. The boy had a smile which was nearly bigger than his face, and Joanna nodded to herself at the thought of Isabelle’s future.
Then it was back to the castle for dinner. Joanna didn’t have a large experience of weddings, but she had thought that this would be the main feast and that they’d probably be in there all day. But in fact it appeared that this was to be a normal meal, as the men had decided to celebrate the occasion with tilting and sparring during the afternoon, so they didn’t want to be too full of food or too drunk. The main celebration would therefore be in the evening.
But still, the meal was good and the company jovial, and there was applause when the minstrel took his place for the final time to conclude his epic tale. Joanna concentrated on the dishes in front of her during the gory final battle and its aftermath, wondering at the cheers and whistles when the traitor Ganelon was torn apart by wild horses. But one part of the narrative caught her attention: a lady called Aude, who was Olivier’s sister and betrothed to Roland, didn’t appear in the story except at the end to hear about what happened and then to die of grief. Joanna almost snorted to herself – women didn’t simply die of grief when things like that happened, however much they might want to. And she should know.
She sat in silence for a while, dipping a piece of manchet loaf into the sauce on her trencher and chewing it absent-mindedly. She was at a crossroads in her own life, one even bigger than when her own brother had died. Was she to be like Aude, pathetic and anonymous? No. She would not die of grief at the thought of being separated from Martin. Instead she would go forth into the world, to the other end of the realm, with Isabelle, and would see where life took her. If she was meant to be with Martin then the Lord would arrange that in some way which He knew best. She put the bread down firmly and clenched her fist under the table. She would be brave. She would be a woman of the world.
As the meal wore on, she wondered if she could get away from the table without anyone seeing her tears.