B0078XH7HQ EBOK (33 page)

Sir Geoffrey looked at his friend.

‘What happened?’ He was confused.

Godric, however, was looking out the door after his son and speaking into the distance. ‘My pride and joy. My boy, but a boy no longer.’ Suddenly he fell back on the pillows, weak with exhaustion. His voice became hoarse. ‘Well do I remember that spark of sudden knowledge which Edwin has just experienced. Aye, and the danger too, although the lad does not know it yet. If I am not mistaken, he has just put all the facts together in his mind, and run off to confront a murderer.’

Sir Geoffrey stared at him. ‘What?’

Godric managed a laugh, though it made him choke. ‘You knights! You are men of action, but perhaps your minds have been affected by all those blows.’

Sir Geoffrey was too confused even to appreciate one of his friend’s oldest taunts. He still didn’t understand.

Godric used one of his failing breaths to spell it out to him. ‘He has gone to find a killer.’ He inhaled again, his breath rasping. ‘He is not used to such things. You are the man of action – he will probably need you.’

Finally he succeeded, and Sir Geoffrey stood. The years fell off him as he prepared to fight for justice, as was his calling. He strode towards the door, but paused before leaving. His friend, his friend for nearly fifty years, was drawing his last breaths on God’s earth. But he must leave, must save the son so that the father might die easy. He bade his friend farewell.

By the time Edwin reached the keep he was gasping. He rushed up the outside steps, past the bemused guard who stood aside for him, and tore up the first flight of stairs. At the first landing, outside the earl’s council chamber, he stopped, aghast.

Simon’s crumpled body lay on the stone flags, his neck and limbs at grotesque angles which destroyed immediately any hope that he might still be alive. His head was smashed, and the blood was pooling slowly on the floor. Over him knelt a figure, shoulders shaking in grief.

Slowly, Robert turned his tear-streaked face to Edwin.

Edwin could say nothing. His heart seemed to stop, as did the world around him. It couldn’t be true. He waited, waited for Robert to say something that would prove his suspicions wrong, but the words, when they came, were not the ones he wanted, the ones he would have given his heart to hear.

‘It was an accident. I swear to you on all that is holy, it was an accident!’

Edwin said nothing, and Robert became more insistent, moving towards his friend, still on his knees.

‘Edwin, please! Please say you believe me.’ His voice cracked. ‘I never meant to hurt him. I couldn’t hurt him. I only meant to stop him, to ask him what he knew. But he overbalanced, I couldn’t stop him.’ He repeated himself in disbelief. ‘I couldn’t stop him. I saw him fall …’

Edwin was in an unreal world. He couldn’t possibly be standing here over the body of a nine-year-old child, listening to his best friend describe how he caused the death. But surely, surely Robert couldn’t have wanted to harm the boy. Simon adored him. Robert couldn’t be capable of …

‘It was an accident.’ He said it more to try and convince himself, his eyes boring into his friend’s face. There he found the answer he was seeking. Robert hadn’t meant to kill Simon. So perhaps he was wrong in his other suspicions. He had to ask. But how could he ask? How could he ask the companion of his childhood, the man who knelt in front of him, whether he was guilty of such a crime? He screwed his eyes up against the tears, forced the words out over the heaving of his chest.

‘And de Courteville? Was that an accident too?’

And then he knew that he was right.

The sun was setting in a beautiful golden burst as Sir Geoffrey strode up to the castle, but he didn’t notice. As he passed the inner gate, the porter stepped out to say something to him, but retreated hastily after one look. Sir Geoffrey entered the keep and mounted the inside stairs steadily, knowing that he wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to see. Despite his worst suspicions, though, he was unprepared to round the corner and see the small figure on the ground, the blond hair matted with red. Robert was on the floor cradling the head and crying, and the knight felt for him. Children died all the time, at birth or from illnesses or accidents, but it was still a shock to see the body which had been full of such life and joy.

‘Robert, what happened here?’

The squire didn’t answer; he was deep in grief. Sir Geoffrey spoke more gently.

‘Robert, you must tell me what happened. Edwin has discovered who killed de Courteville, and has run off to find him. He may be in grave danger – it looks as though the killer has struck again.’ More urgently now, afraid for the young bailiff. ‘You must tell me – do you know where Edwin is?’

Still Robert didn’t answer. He rocked backwards and forwards, bent over the small body, tears running down his face, incapable of speech. But another voice issued from the shadows of the stairwell. Edwin’s voice.

‘I have found him.’

Still the knight didn’t understand.

The voice continued, strangely expressionless. ‘I have found the killer, and you can take him away. He isn’t dangerous.’

And finally Sir Geoffrey understood.

It was later. Edwin didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was nearly dark and he was standing in a cell opposite his best friend. His friend, the killer. What were the emotions going through his mind? He couldn’t even put words to it. He supposed that betrayal was one of them, but the word just didn’t seem to cover the way he was feeling. The horror, the sickness, the sheer unreality of it all and the hope that he would soon wake up to discover that it hadn’t happened, coupled with the realisation that it wasn’t just a bad dream, and that this moment would have an impact which would last all his life.

‘Say something.’

Edwin was jolted out of his trance by Robert’s voice. ‘What do you want me to say?’

The tone was desperate. ‘I don’t know. Say you understand, say you don’t understand. Say he deserved it; say he didn’t. Only for the love of God say something and don’t just stand there staring at me! If there is one person in the world I need to talk to, it’s you.’

Edwin looked at him curiously, trying to get past the incomprehension that he felt. ‘All right. Tell me why you did it. And tell me why this,’ he held up the ring, ‘is so important, although I think I know already.’

Robert reached out one shaking hand and took the ring. His eyes refocused, looking through the wall and out into the distance.

‘I was five years old. Five years of love and happiness, and then
he
came.’

He paused, but Edwin didn’t interrupt. Robert was in a different time and place.

‘We heard his men outside, heard him come in. My father didn’t think he would hurt us, but then we heard the screams. He knew they were going to die, and he gave me his ring. He told me always to remember who I was. Then he put me inside a chest and told me not to look. It was the only thing he could do for me.’

He stopped again, staring in fascination at the ring.

‘But I did look. I saw my mother dead, and I saw my father killed. By him.’

He looked at Edwin, angry, more angry than Edwin had ever seen him, his voice hissing with fury as the violence of his emotions built up and overtook him. ‘Now do you understand?
Now
do you know why I killed him? From that moment I never saw him again until a few days ago, but I knew who he was. He was the man who murdered my parents, who burnt my home and who left me with nothing. All I did was to fulfil my father’s last wish: to remember who I was. And in doing so I have avenged him.’

There were many things that Edwin longed to say, the least of which was that he’d now created another young orphan who would probably grow up with vengeance in his heart, but he didn’t speak his thoughts, couldn’t utter them while he was faced with the rage in front of him. He would find something else to ask.

‘But how did you escape? And how did you get here?’

The anger subsided almost as quickly as it had arisen. Robert rubbed his hands over his face and spoke in a more subdued way. ‘I don’t really know. The men never found me. Either he didn’t know about me, or he assumed that I was already dead – there were other children downstairs with the servants.’

Edwin’s heart went out to them – innocents whose lives had been cut short because of events of which they knew nothing. But such was the lot of the common people, as he had recently learned to his bitter cost.

Robert continued. ‘They set the house aflame and then left. There was smoke and heat – I must have managed to climb out of the chest and escape, although to this day I don’t know how. All I remember is flames and darkness – I thought I must be in hell – and then after that, daybreak and the ashes of my home. I was there when another man arrived. I knew nothing of him except that he had a kind face and he rode a horse. He took me away and said I could stay with him.’

‘Who was he?’

‘It was the old earl Hamelin. He was a great man – the brother of a king, although base-born. He brought me here and said I could be his page, although I was full young for the post then. I learnt to serve him, and aye, to love him too, but he died soon after our return here. Everybody I loved was gone, and nobody knew who I was – they knew the earl had brought me back from France and that my father was dead, but I suppose they thought me the son of a knight who had died in battle. The old earl said that I shouldn’t use the name d’Eyncourt, lest anyone discover me and kill me, so he renamed me Fitzhugh, as a remembrance of my father. It’s a common enough name.’

He continued, his voice dead. ‘So, no name, no family and no master – but I was lucky that the earl’s son, our present lord, took me on, for he had need of a page himself. From that day to this I have served him faithfully and never thought of my own life. Not until
he
came, and awakened the vengeance inside me.’

Edwin was silent. Odd how you could know somebody your whole life, or nearly the whole of it, but still not know them at all. He examined his own feelings. Had he ever wondered where Robert came from? Probably, but it was not for him to judge the nobility’s practice of sending their sons away from them at an early age, something which seemed repellent to him. Robert was just Robert – it mattered not from whence he came, only that he was here and that he served the earl. He’d never thought of Robert having an identity of his own – even when Martin and Roger had occasionally visited their families and Robert hadn’t – so he supposed he had failed his friend in some way.