B0078XH7HQ EBOK (27 page)

‘What is it?’

‘I was just thinking that I certainly wouldn’t want to be in Walter’s shoes when he’s confronted by either the earl or his sister this morning!’

Robert stood flattened against the wall as the full force of the earl’s wrath raged before him. In some ways it was gratifying to see Walter de Courteville cowering, realising that he’d gone too far and raised the ire of a man who was not only one of the most powerful lords in the kingdom, but who was also a Plantagenet, a family legendary for their rage and said to descend from the devil. At this point he could well believe it. It was also truly awe-inspiring to watch. In all his years of service he didn’t think he’d ever seen his lord so angry, and a small part of him wondered how he would survive if such fury were ever to be directed at him.

He’d summoned Walter from his bed, as ordered, as soon as it was light enough to see his way across the ward, and had given him no time to put on his finest clothes or prepare himself for the encounter, saying only that the earl wished to see him on a matter of the gravest import. Walter had at first seemed nervous, but had become more confident as they neared the keep, and he was almost jaunty by the time they reached the council chamber.

However, it had been comical to watch him collapse as he realised how the earl had thwarted his little plan; he had simply deflated like one of the pig’s bladders the boys about the castle sometimes played ball with. Walter became smaller as the earl seemed to grow, the ferocity of his wrath making him tower. Nobody in future would seek to impugn his family honour.

And yet, as soon as there was a break in the tirade, Walter tried to bluster his way out of it. How could he even think that would be possible? But there he was, claiming that the earl must be lying. Lying! To accuse his lord of such a thing to his face! He should be struck down at once, but Robert dared not move to intercept. Besides, the earl could easily take care of such a man. Walter was now demanding that the priest be fetched, goading the earl by suggesting that he would conveniently be in some unreachable location and unable to corroborate such a wild tale. Robert honestly didn’t know how the earl refrained from striking him down there and then.

What he did know was that Father Ignatius was standing ready outside, having been summoned earlier by Sir Geoffrey. Robert opened the door and pretended to tell a guard to bring the good Father, and then returned to wait in silence. He watched as the two men stood square with each other. At first Walter tried to meet the earl’s gaze, but those flint-grey eyes had stared down better men than he, and eventually he dropped his gaze and shuffled awkwardly. He began to look less sure of himself as he looked around him, arms folded, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the ground.

After some while, the earl gave Robert an imperceptible nod, and with a loud ‘I think I hear the priest now, my lord,’ he opened the door to admit Father Ignatius. With a look of grim satisfaction, the earl bade him tell his tale.

The priest began in an uncertain tone of voice, but with the support of his lord behind him he grew in confidence. Robert listened and watched Walter growing hot and uncomfortable as he heard the words detailing the unsanctified oil with which he had supposedly been blessed, the crucial parts of the service which had been omitted. Robert was willing to wager that Walter was no scholar, and that he wouldn’t have realised that some of the Latin had been missing. No doubt his previous experience of weddings had been to let his mind wander while all that sort of thing was going on, and then to get to the ensuing feast as quickly as possible. By the time Father Ignatius ended by saying that he would be prepared to swear on any holy relic, before the Pope himself if necessary, that his words were true, Walter had crumbled completely.

It was at that point that the earl
really
let loose his temper. Robert had thought that the previous burst was something to be reckoned with, but this was even worse. However, it was a fairly safe conjecture that none of it would now be directed at him, no matter what he did, so he settled back to enjoy the spectacle. In fact his lord seemed to be enjoying himself as well, gaining some satisfaction from unleashing his rage at the man before him. By the time he’d finished bellowing and cursing, Walter was reduced to cowering in the corner. The earl paused to catch his breath and then drew to a close by saying that Walter could stay within his walls exactly as long as it took to get his brother into a coffin and onto a cart, and if he was not out of the gate within the hour, he could expect to be driven out by main force. If he ever fouled the earl’s lands again with his presence, his liberty would be forfeit and his very life in danger. The regent would have no qualms in supporting him against the man who had tried to trick him – it didn’t matter how important the de Courtevilles might be to the present cause, William Marshal valued honesty above all other qualities.

At this juncture the earl flung wide the door with a dramatic gesture to show that the interview was at an end, only to find his sister waiting outside. Robert had no idea whether her presence was coincidental or planned, but if the latter then it was a masterstroke, as Walter had to scurry out past her while she looked on in triumph. Once he’d fled down the stairs, she entered the room with a joyous smile, and brother and sister embraced.

Walter was mortified. How had this been allowed to happen? God had abandoned him. His face was red with shame as he stumbled down the keep’s stairs. He sensed that all those he encountered were smirking at him – how many of them were in the know? He slowed as he neared the bottom of the stairs. He must compose himself before leaving the keep. It was one thing to be shamed and thrown out of the earl’s private apartments, where there were only the earl’s close associates to see, but it would be another matter entirely to be seen fleeing across the yard. If the general population were to see him, they might start to have suspicions about yesterday. He stopped and took some deep breaths. He needed to think.

He was calmer as he went out of the door and made his way down the wooden staircase. He would take a walk in the morning air, on the pretext of going to the stable or something, so that he could consider his position. He was to blame in this for not having thought the matter through. It had been a somewhat spur-of-the-moment plan, to wed the earl’s sister. Next time he tried something he would have to consider it more carefully. His current position was weakened, but it wasn’t desperate. Warenne wouldn’t tell too many people about the incident, for fear of making his sister look foolish. He wouldn’t want to damage her marriage prospects in the eyes of the world, for fear that people might think that she’d done more than visit a chapel. If any thought that he’d bedded her, she would be ruined.

There. That was his next line of defence. He wouldn’t tell anyone about the incident – he didn’t want to look foolish, either – but if the earl should ever bring it up against him, he would retaliate by claiming to have consummated the union. He began to feel happier as he crossed the courtyard. As he went out of the inner gate, he knew where he would go – he would pay a visit to the carpenter who had been entrusted with making the ornate sealed coffin. He cheered himself at the thought. It looked as though he was going to get away with everything. His brother was dead, and he was only one step away from an earldom in his own right. A lot could happen to little Stephen before he reached manhood. Walter thought again of his departed brother lying in a coffin. By the time he got to the carpenter’s workshop against the outer curtain wall, he was positively cheerful.

Edwin had only rarely been in the castle’s kitchen, for it wasn’t often he had business there. The heat was intense; it was probably quite a pleasant place to work on a cold winter’s day, but now in the warmth of May it was uncomfortably hot, and it must be stifling during the summer months. Everywhere he looked there were figures scurrying, carrying huge dishes, chopping vegetables on the massive table which was the room’s only furniture, and moving things around on the vast fires. He certainly didn’t envy the scullion boys who were nearest the fire – surely they were as close to it as the meat they were roasting? How did they manage not to get burnt? His curiosity overtook him as he stopped to watch.

A figure standing still amid the bustle was sure to be noticed, and Edwin was disturbed in his thoughts by a large hand on his shoulder. Richard Cook didn’t stand for idlers in his domain.

He put his large, red face next to Edwin’s and bellowed in order to be heard above the din. ‘What are you doing here? We’re busy with the dinner, so you can get out if you’ve no business here.’

Edwin had to shout back in order to make himself heard, and after he’d explained his purpose the cook drew him to one side, into a relatively quiet corner where they could at least speak at a normal volume.

Richard looked perplexed. ‘I don’t understand. You’re searching for my missing knife?’

‘Yes. I think there is a possibility that it might have been used to kill the visiting earl and Berold, so I wanted you to tell me what it looks like, so I can search for it.’

‘Well, I’ll have no trouble showing you what it looks like – it’s here.’

‘What?’

‘Murder weapon or no, it was taken from here a few days ago, but somebody returned it yesterday.’ He called to one of his minions, who returned in a few moments with a large knife which he handed to Edwin.

Edwin looked at it. After all this fuss, it couldn’t possibly be the weapon he was looking for. The dead earl had a very thin, neat scar around his neck, and, although this knife was sharp – Richard would permit nothing else in his kitchen – it was very large, with a wide blade. There was no way that this had caused the injury he had seen, to say nothing of the difficulty of anyone hiding it on his person. Anyone who had had his throat cut with this would have bled like a slaughtered pig. However, it could still have been the weapon which killed Berold … but wait.

‘When did you say it was returned?’

‘Yesterday morning, before dinner.’

Before dinner. Before Berold had been killed. So it couldn’t have been used to stab him either. Damn it.

The cook was still looking at him quizzically. ‘Is that all you wanted? I’m grateful, to be sure, that you’ve taken all that trouble over my knife, but I must get back to the dinner, or it won’t be ready in time. Do you need to look at it some more?’

Richard was looking at him as though he were simple-minded, and Edwin felt hot and foolish. ‘No, no, I don’t need it. I’m sorry, I’ve made a mistake.’ He nodded to the cook and exited the kitchen as quickly as he could while still retaining some dignity.

Once outside he felt both stupid and overwhelmed. All that precious time spent looking for the knife, and now he was right back where he’d started. No murder weapon, no suspects, no idea. And he had only until sundown to present the culprit to the earl. How on earth was he going to tell him that he’d failed? How would he face up to the shame? How would he look after his mother? There would be no question of the earl employing him for anything else if he failed in this, the first task he’d been set. The problems he faced whirled around in his head as his steps directed him without thinking.