Brother's Blood

‘
The Bloody City
is a great read, full of intrigue and murder.
Great for readers of Ellis Peters and Lindsey Davis. Hanley weaves a convincing, rich tapestry of life and death in the early 13th century, in all its grandeur and filth. I enjoyed this book immensely!'

Ben Kane, bestselling novelist of the
Forgotten Legion
trilogy

‘Blatantly heroic and wonderfully readable.'

The Bloody City
received a
STARRED
review in
Library Journal

‘The characters are real, the interactions and conversations natural, the tension inbuilt, and it all builds to a genuinely satisfying conclusion both fictionally and historically.'

Review for
The Bloody City
in
www.crimereview.co.uk

‘
Whited Sepulchres
… struck me as a wonderfully vivid recreation of the early thirteenth century … The solid historical basis lends authenticity to a lively, well-structured story. I enjoyed the plight of amiable and peace-loving Edwin, trapped by his creator in such a warlike time and place.'

Andrew Taylor, winner of the 2009 CWA Diamond Dagger and three-times winner of the CWA Historical Dagger

‘It's clever. It's well written. It's believable. It's historically accurate. It's a first class medieval mystery.'

Review for
Whited Sepulchres
in
www.crimereview.co.uk

For my sisters

The voice of thy brother's blood
crieth unto me from the ground.

Genesis, ch. 4, v. 10

Once again it is a pleasure to thank Matilda Richards and the rest of the team at The Mystery Press for their help, support and encouragement during the writing of what I can now justifiably call a series of books. I've lost count of how many chocolate cakes I owe you now …

The research for this book was made considerably easier thanks to the amazingly in-depth work carried out by the ‘Cistercians in Yorkshire' project which was based at the University of Sheffield from 2001 to 2003; further information is available on the project website, listed on the Further Reading page. Many thanks also to Dr Andrew Buck for supplying references on Daniel of Morley, and to Dr Joy Hawkins for pointing out that saying the paternoster was a method of timing used in mediaeval medicine.

Stephanie Tickle, Susan Brock and Maddy McGlynn all read drafts of
Brother's Blood
and offered much valuable insight and constructive criticism. Stephanie and Susan are both old friends of Edwin, while Maddy is a new one: their very differing points of view as readers were of enormous help in the redrafting process.

I am extremely fortunate to have a collection of friends who keep me going with support, pep talks, research references, tea, speaking and review opportunities, and all the other necessities of life: thanks in particular this time round to Sean McGlynn, Julian Humphrys and Sarah Preston.

Astonishingly my family continue to put up with me with good grace: James and our children deserve some kind of medal. And on the subject of family, thanks and love to Helen and Steph, who have been there longer than almost anyone else. It's fitting that this book about brothers should be dedicated to them, my sisters.

The ship had docked after its long journey, and those on board gave thanks for their safe arrival after many days at sea. At the command of their captain, men began to unload the cargo and soon the sharp, salt-flavoured air was full of shouts and calls as barrels and bales were loaded on to wagons, while gulls circled and shrieked in the cloudless blue sky above.

Three passengers made their way down the gangplank; three men each encumbered by a large pack. Their faces were tanned, and although it was a warm day they shivered and pulled their cloaks closer around them. They reached the shore and moved away from the ship, their legs a little unsteady on the cobbled surface of the harbour as they sought to accustom themselves to the solid ground. They found a corner which was away from the main bustle and lowered their burdens as they stopped to say their farewells.

The eldest of them was a man just approaching middle age, thickset, a few grey hairs standing out from an otherwise dark head. He reached out and placed a hand on the shoulders of the other two. ‘So, here we part.' He turned to the youngest, who was not much more than a fresh-faced youth. ‘Still determined to take the cowl?'

The young man nodded. ‘Yes. In the short time I've been with you I've realised how much I need to read, to reflect, to study. It's the only way.'

The older man squeezed his shoulder and smiled. ‘Well then, “Brother”, may God go with you.'

The third man, tall, blond, and somewhere between the others in age, made the sign of the cross in the air. ‘Yes, Brother, the Lord be with you. And if He wills, may our paths cross again in the future.'

The young man looked a little uncertain for the first time as he squinted up into his companion's face. ‘And you?'

‘I'm not sure. To start with it's back to St Albans, to see if they'll let me teach at the school there. After all, I have to earn my keep from now on. After that – who knows? It's in the Lord's hands, though I hope His plans involve me being able to read and write after learning so much.'

The youngest nodded in silence, a hint of sadness on his face, while the eldest picked up his baggage. ‘And have you got it stowed away safely?'

The third man tapped the canvas of his pack, his fingers making a drumming noise on the wooden box inside. ‘Oh yes. It will never leave my side, and I'll guard it with my life if I have to.'

After a final handshake, the three men went their separate ways.

Edwin hadn't thought that he'd ever be comfortable enough in the earl's presence to be bored, but apparently he'd been wrong. Currently his lord was droning – there was simply no other word for it – about fishing rights to his rivers, or something, and Edwin was trying not to doze off as he leaned back against the cool stone wall of the council chamber. He didn't care about fishing rights. Since he'd heard the devastating news that Alys was already married, he'd had no interest in anything. All his previous worries and fears had been about survival, about summoning up the courage to ask the earl for permission to get married, about Alys having endured and lived through the rebuilding of the city after its sacking … the one thing he'd never considered was that she would have married someone else before he could contact her. It had only been what, two months since he'd walked out of the remains of Lincoln. Clearly she hadn't felt the same way about him. In his kinder moments he tried to persuade himself that she'd probably had no choice: a young woman – a girl – orphaned, with three younger siblings to look after, would have needed to find a protector as soon as she could. It was only sensible. Of course it was.

But in his black moments, those times when he awoke sweating in the night, when he looked into his own soul, he knew the truth: that it was because he wasn't good enough. Why would the most beautiful, most courageous girl in all the land want to marry
him
? He'd been foolish even to think he could have something that he wanted so desperately. He should just accept that his life was meant to be miserable. Maybe the earl would send him on another dangerous mission – and there seemed to be plenty of those about with the war against the French invaders still going on – and he wouldn't have to come back. In the meantime he just waited for each day to be over so he could lie down in the dark. Even then he rarely slept but lay awake watching the dawn unfold to herald another pointless day.

He opened his eyes to look across the chamber. There was one window cut into the keep's thick walls, and the sunlight streamed in, illuminating the dancing dust and the fleas jumping up from the floor rushes, to fall upon the desk at which sat Brother William, the earl's clerk. He held a quill in one huge, un-monk-like fist, and he was writing on a piece of parchment as quickly as he could while the earl dictated. In the shadows behind him stood Martin and Adam, the squires: Adam trying his hardest to remain interested in the subject at hand, and Martin looking as woeful as Edwin felt. The earl himself was pacing up and down as he spoke, his movements impatient as ever, the gold on his rings flashing whenever the sunlight caught them. He'd never had a proper clerk before, and he was evidently trying to catch up on several years' worth of correspondence at once. All of them had been cooped up in this room for the last couple of weeks, and if Edwin thought that his lord was trying to keep busy in order to take his mind off the traumatic events of midsummer then he kept that thought to himself.

The voice stopped and Edwin snapped back to attention in case he was about to be asked a question. Since he had gained the earl's confidence he now found that his opinion was asked on some matters, and he had no intention of being caught out. Uninterested he might be, but he wasn't stupid enough to risk the earl's wrath. But his lord was merely taking a sip of wine before continuing.

‘That pile of letters there. Pick one and tell me what it contains.' He sat down and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Brother William pulled out one of the heaped parchments and examined the seal. ‘From the Earl of Arundel, my lord.'

The earl grunted and raised the goblet to his lips again as the clerk broke the seal and scanned the contents of the letter. ‘In essence, my lord, his younger son is nearly seven, old enough to be sent away, and he asks that you take him into your household as page.'

Edwin glanced across to see that Martin had perked up at this. Someone else in the close household. And there was an opening since …

The earl considered. ‘Hmm. I could do with a new boy who isn't a curse. But is there anyone better? Geoffrey?'

Edwin had almost forgotten that Sir Geoffrey, the castellan, was also in the room. He had been standing like stone away to one side so Edwin couldn't look at him without turning round, which the earl might notice.