B0078XH7HQ EBOK (21 page)

Simon gazed, fascinated, at the shields. So did Edwin: what dark deeds could these men have perpetrated? His mind span with ideas of murder, treason, betrayal …

Sir Geoffrey was rolling up the parchment and tucking it under his arm as he prepared to leave the room. ‘That’s all for today. We’ll look at this again soon, Simon, and I’ll ask you about the bearers of all these arms, to see how many you can remember. But now I believe you have another reading lesson.’ He shook his head. ‘In my day it was enough that a knight should be able to ride a horse, use a sword and lance, and speak the truth; but today it seems that you must all be learned men as well. Nevertheless, it’s by the earl’s order, so off you go.’

Simon made a face as he followed the knight out of the room, and Edwin smiled. Then he looked down at the parchment on which he had been writing. His penmanship, never the neatest at the best of times, had suffered from all the interruptions, and the page was so covered in mistakes and blots of ink that it was almost illegible. Sighing, he put it to one side to be scraped clean later, and drew a fresh sheet in front of him to start again.

Joanna was trying to think of some way in which she might be able to raise Isabelle’s spirits. Her mistress had sat mournfully through the evening meal, hardly noticing the fine food, and had left as soon as it was polite to do so. But what could she do? It struck her that even after all these years she didn’t really know Isabelle all that well, and the thought distressed her. Clearly she hadn’t been a good enough companion. So occupied was she with these thoughts that as she entered the guest quarters she almost collided with Walter de Courteville, who was rounding the corner on his way out. She started back, afraid for a moment that he would repeat his brother’s action of the night before, but he merely stalked past. Joanna wondered if he’d even noticed her presence.

She opened the door to Isabelle’s chamber and stopped, taken aback. Her mistress was lying on the floor, curled into a ball, weeping as though her heart would break.

She had to admit that there was a small moment when she was tempted to shut the door and creep quietly away, hoping that she hadn’t been noticed, but the thought was banished almost as soon as it sprang into her mind. Instead she shut the door behind her to guard Isabelle’s privacy, and stooped to lift the sobbing woman from the ground.

‘There now, my lady, there now. Hush.’ She didn’t know what to say but soothing words found their way to her lips, and she stroked Isabelle’s hair as she tried to lift the shaking body, racked with sobs. Finally the heaving of the shoulders gave way to quivers, and Isabelle took some deep shuddering breaths.

‘Hush, my lady. I’m here, there is nothing to be afraid of.’ She wasn’t sure whether she should ask what was the matter, or whether it would simply be better to keep her counsel. But as Isabelle’s crying abated, she seemed to want to talk.

‘How could he say such things? How could he? He can’t have meant them.’

Her face puffy and swollen, she looked up at Joanna. ‘Oh, I’m worthless! I’ve always known it, for what use are women to a noble family? We are nothing, chattels to be passed on to the nearest ally. But to think that I wanted him. Oh, the … the humiliation!’ This last was accompanied by another huge sob, and again it was a few moments before she was in a fit state to speak. Joanna thought she had better say nothing and let Isabelle release as many words and feelings as she needed to. Clearly her suspicions about her mistress and Walter de Courteville had been correct.

‘I was so stupid! So blind! All these years I’ve preened myself – I, the daughter of an earl! No man would be good enough for me, except one of the highest birth … fine ideals, until I fell in love, or so I believed.’ The voice rose to a wail. ‘Yet here I am, lying on the floor of a guest chamber, humbled and debased by a … a nobody. And his words will haunt me for-forever!’ The weeping overtook her again, and Joanna held her mistress in her arms and rocked her like a child.

Finally Isabelle raised her head again and looked straight at Joanna. ‘But do you know what the worst thing is? There is not one man in the world who cares for me, not one whom I can trust.’

Joanna looked steadily at her. A thought grew in her mind. She was about to say something which might well send Isabelle into hysterics again, this time directed at her. But she had to speak. ‘My lady, I think you’re wrong.’

Isabelle stared at her for a long moment, but no words passed her lips. Joanna decided to plough on. ‘My lady, I believe there is one man in whom you could confide, one person to whom you could relate the matter, one person in whom you should have trusted all along.’

Good Lord, Isabelle was actually listening to her. ‘And above all, my lady, one person who might be able to help you gain revenge.’

Slowly, Isabelle stood. She wiped her face and straightened her wimple. There was no mirror in here, so Joanna wordlessly tucked the stray hairs back inside it and made her look respectable. Isabelle smoothed down the front of her gown, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Sir Geoffrey peered into the fading light as he surveyed the rows of tents and equipment. Having put the precious scrolls away carefully, he was now down in the tilting yard, making sure that all was well with the encampment before night fell. He would have no disorderliness here. He spoke sharply to one man, telling him to pick his gear up from where it was scattered on the floor and stow it somewhere safely. He turned to Adam, who had been silently shadowing him, either hoping to be of help or through lack of anything else to do, and gave a short lecture on the importance of looking after one’s equipment while on campaign, concluding by pointing out that if a man’s life depended on his armour in a battle, it would do him no good suddenly to find a broken strap or a hole where the mail had been weakened by rust. Adam nodded – he was a good boy, it was a shame he had no master now, for he was eager and quick to learn. Sir Geoffrey had initially been bothered by his presence, as someone unknown, but he’d found a keen pair of ears, a sensible mind and a willingness to help out with any task which might be forthcoming; Adam had also asked one or two pertinent questions which betrayed an intelligence and interest which was sadly lacking in much of today’s youth. His prospects were bleak, though: Sir Geoffrey had no need for a squire – and besides, he was too old to be training one at his time of life – and the earl didn’t really require more than three. The loathsome Walter would probably not take him, but that was doubtless just as well for Adam. Still, something might be done – he resolved to himself to ask around and see if there were any knights in the earl’s retinue who might take the boy on. Certainly he would try to find someone who wouldn’t beat the lad to a pulp – he’d been having some trouble recently, judging by the sight of his battered face.

They took one last turn around the encampment, watching as men made themselves comfortable around small fires. The homely smell of wood smoke drifted through the air, accompanied by the scent of the simmering pottage which was being cooked in many places. Some men were stirring the loaded pans; others warded off the boredom by oiling weapons, playing dice or simply chatting to each other. One man started to play on a small wooden flute, but the tune was too mournful for his companions, who urged him to find something more lively. He responded, and Sir Geoffrey and Adam left the encampment with the pungent aroma of the smoke in their nostrils and the sound of merry singing in their ears. If Sir Geoffrey knew that much of the cheerfulness was forced, an attempt to ward off the fear at the thought of the campaign ahead, he didn’t burden the boy with the knowledge. There would be time enough for him to learn. The sun was setting and as they walked through the darkened gatehouse the lad instinctively shrank nearer to him. Sir Geoffrey laid a companionable hand on his shoulder, and they strode up to the inner ward in silence. Once they were inside, Sir Geoffrey made his way to the keep to make his last report of the evening to the earl, Adam still trailing at his heels.

The stairs in the keep seemed to get steeper every day, and Sir Geoffrey felt his knees complaining as he reached the first floor. He was glad to find the earl in his council chamber, for if he’d retired to his private quarters it would have meant another flight. Unusually, he was alone, with no squires or servants in attendance. Briefly Sir Geoffrey reported that all was well in the camp, although there was an inevitable uneasiness among de Courteville’s men. It hadn’t yet spilled over into anything more serious, but he had men watching who would let him know as soon as there was any trouble.

The earl was commending him on his forethought when there was another knock at the door. Looking surprised, he noted that he wasn’t expecting any other visitors; he opened the door himself, to be greeted by the sight of his sister looking distraught. Sir Geoffrey didn’t have the energy to listen to another round of their bickering, but he wasn’t dismissed, so he settled back against the wall, trying to engage his mind anywhere except the chamber in front of him.

Edwin had spent a fruitless hour looking for the orphan Peter. He’d just finished his rewritten deposition for the manor court when a message from Robert had reached him, saying that the boy had been seen with a large knife which might have been the missing one; since then he’d been searching everywhere. Amid the hustle and bustle of the castle, particularly given the frantic preparations for departure which were going on, one small boy could easily conceal himself. Edwin had been through the inner ward – not that Peter was likely to be there, unless he’d managed to slip past the guard – and down to the outer ward. Here of course it was even more crowded, a mass of humans and animals all spilling out of the booths and workshops which lined the outer wall, busy working, running, shouting or just milling around. Here was the business which kept the castle and its household running: here were the mews for the earl’s hawks and the doghouse where his hounds were kept; here were the carpenter, the cooper, the fletcher and the potter; here was where goods and livestock were delivered from the surrounding areas, and here was where the confined world of the castle met the wider world outside. Here also was the stench of man and beast, and Edwin wrinkled his nose as he passed a particularly noisome handcart, being pulled out of the doghouse by one of the boys who had the unenviable task of clearing up after the hounds. The boy didn’t have far to travel with his burden, though; as Edwin watched, he hauled the cart over to the edge of the moat and tipped its contents into the ditch, which stank so much anyway that the extra waste would make very little difference.

The odours of all the various activities assailed Edwin’s nostrils as he walked through the ward, eyes sweeping every nook and cranny: the grease used on the creaking wheels of a cart, which was loaded with barrels of what smelled like salted herring; the more pleasant scent of wood, as the carpenter turned his lathe to work and the cooper shaved a barrel stave; and the sharp tang of hot metal as he neared the smithy – one of the only places where the stink of human sweat and waste was overpowered. Despite the pressing nature of his search, he stopped for a few moments, as he had done since he was a child, to watch Crispin the smith working his magic on a red-hot piece of metal, and received a nod in greeting. But the boy, the boy was nowhere. After he’d finished searching the ward, Edwin went out of the gate and tried the encampment, the village and the church. One woman said that she’d caught him trying to steal bread earlier that day, but nobody had set eyes on him since. Now it was getting dark. Frustrated, Edwin turned to go back up to the castle. As he neared the gate he had to move to the side of the road as a cart loaded with barrels was passing through the other way. Provisions for the campaign, no doubt, being prepared in advance. Not that it was much in advance, for the earl was to leave on the day after the morrow. This reminded him again how little time he had to complete his task, and how little he still knew.