Brother's Blood (4 page)

Martin was trying hard not to ride with one hand on his sword. Sir Geoffrey had wished him luck with his first command. Command! Him! Oh dear Lord, what was he going to do if anything happened to Edwin? He needed to think, to plan in advance, that was what leaders did. He should try to remember the lessons Sir Geoffrey had tried to drill into him.
A good commander is always two steps ahead
. Fine, if anyone jumped out at them he knew how to fight, but now he was in charge he would need to think about whether anyone was going to ambush them, and where the likely danger spots might be. He scanned the road ahead.

After they had gone a mile or so without meeting any disasters he began to relax a little. The outlaws who had caused violent havoc in the area a couple of months ago were dead, and there had been no trouble since. Martin had ridden past the execution site on a number of occasions, trying not to look at or smell the remains of the still-hanging, rotting bodies. If he was going to be a knight he needed to cultivate an attitude more like that of Sir Geoffrey, who had calmly surveyed the carnage and noted that local respect for the earl and his laws was demonstrated by the fact that nobody had stolen six dozen or so feet of good rope which was there unattended. Martin remembered the words one of the outlaws had cried out before his death:
The war isn't over yet
.

Some other travellers came into sight along the road, heading towards them, and Martin was immediately on the alert, glancing to make sure Edwin was still to one side of him with the monks behind. He let go of the reins with his right hand and allowed it to hover near his sword hilt, but it looked as if all would be well. First they passed a lone pedlar, tramping along steadily with a large pack; an early arrival heading for the summer market at Conisbrough, no doubt. He stood aside respectfully to let them pass, and Martin rode on, hearing Brother William call out a brief blessing. Next was a covered ox-drawn cart, driven by a solid-looking man and moving very slowly. Really a commoner like that should move out of the way of mounted nobles, but as Martin had neither Sir Geoffrey nor the earl with him, he didn't insist. Besides, those carts were very difficult to turn, and it was so heavily laden that if he made it move aside or stop, it might never get going again. So he led his party into single file to pass the cart by, receiving a touch of the hat and grateful thanks from the driver, which he acknowledged with a nod. Hearing the man speak, a middle-aged woman opened the cover from inside and poked her head out, revealing a glimpse of an interior packed with bales; seeing the mounted group of men she hastily bobbed her head, crossing herself as the monks passed.

At the Crookhill crossroads they met a messenger riding for the nearby manor of Tickhill, who greeted them and said he'd seen no trouble on the roads that day; then a cart carrying barrels of wine to Conisbrough. They passed through the tiny hamlet of Braithwell without incident and followed the road through fields of ripening wheat. If the weather stayed fair for the next few weeks there would be a good harvest, God be praised.

It was when they reached the village of Maltby that a small child, no more than a tot, ran into the road in front of them. Martin's horse shied but he controlled it immediately, ensuring that the packhorse behind was also calmed. Edwin, who hadn't been riding since before he could walk, failed to control his mount and it reared up, throwing him backwards. He immediately panicked, flinging himself forwards and overcompensating just as the horse's front hooves came down again, and falling forwards over the nearside of his horse. Martin shot out a hand and managed to get a handful of his cloak before he toppled off completely, and held him there, straining not to let him drop but unable to lift him with one hand while mounted. He felt the heat rising to his head, but then Brother William appeared on foot and calmly took the weight, heaving Edwin back into his saddle. He was red-faced, but fine.

Martin's head was racing so much that he could barely hear himself bellowing at the child, who shrieked in fear and hid behind the skirts of its mother. He shouted at her as well and she cowered before him.

‘Martin. Martin!'

‘What?' He turned and realised he was now shouting at Edwin.

‘Martin, what are you doing? You're terrifying everyone.'

He looked around to see that a group of villagers had gathered and were looking at him fearfully. He was big, armed and wearing a tunic which bore the earl's badge, and they were frightened. Violence could come their way and they would have no defence against him. But that was not what a true knight would do, and certainly not on his lord's own lands. With a huge effort he tried to calm himself, ordered the woman tersely to take more care, and rode on, forcing the villagers to get out of the way of his horse. They formed in a knot in the road behind the party, and Martin could feel the glares boring into his back as he urged his mount into a trot. The courser was skittish, probably because his hands were shaking.

‘Do you want to stop?' Edwin was now beside him.

‘No.' And after a few moments, ‘Are you all right?'

Edwin shrugged. ‘I'm fine. I know I need more practice. Nothing is broken, although I nearly choked when you grabbed my cloak like that.'

Martin noticed for the first time that Edwin had a red welt on his neck where either the edge of the cloak or its clasp had been forced against the skin. ‘Sorry.'

‘It's all right. My pride would have been hurt a lot more if you hadn't caught me. But are
you
all right? It's not like you to frighten a woman and child like that.'

Martin didn't want to answer that, didn't want to admit even to himself that he'd been scared of the situation he'd created. Sir Geoffrey wouldn't have done that. He hunched forward in his saddle. ‘Come on. We're nearly there now and then you can get off that horse. Make the most of such a short journey,' he added, ‘when we go to Lewes you'll be riding all day every day for at least two weeks.'

Edwin winced at the thought and allowed himself to fall a few paces behind. Martin increased his speed and forced them all to keep up as they rode on.

Edwin had been concentrating on riding, which had helped take his mind off other things, but as they drew nearer to the abbey his nerves returned. He hadn't had much of a chance to question Brother Godfrey on the way as Martin had insisted on riding next to him while the brothers were behind. In fact, he had no idea of what he was walking into, other than that a monk at Roche had been murdered. He didn't even know the monk's name. Who was he? How had he been killed? Why might anyone want to kill him? And he knew absolutely nothing about monasteries. Why couldn't he ever be asked to solve something he knew something about?

He was about to ask Martin if he might ride behind with Brother Godfrey when the squire announced, ‘We're here.'

Edwin had thought they were still in the middle of nowhere, but as they came round a slight bend in the road he saw the abbey. It was something of a shock – a huge, soaring church, great stone buildings all round it, and an encircling wall with a tall gatehouse which wouldn't have looked out of place on a castle, all standing there in the peaceful countryside. The stone was very white, and as the sun shone on it he was almost blinded. He shaded his eyes. ‘That's odd – it looks a bit like the keep.'

Martin gave him a look. ‘Where do you think they got the stone from for the castle? There's a great limestone quarry round behind there.'

How foolish not to have thought of that. And
Roche
Abbey – roche meaning rock. Edwin thought he'd better sharpen his wits a bit before he asked any more questions. But Martin was slapping him on the shoulder, looking a little more like himself than he had since that strange incident earlier. ‘Come on. It must be nearly dinner time. And I've got you here in one piece – at least that's something.'

As they approached the gatehouse, Edwin could see that one of the two great wooden gates had a smaller door cut into it. It opened and an aged monk tottered out. He squinted at them until they came right up to him and dismounted. ‘
Benedicte,
my sons, and welcome. Have you come to pray, or to seek lodging?'

Before either of them could answer, Brother Godfrey stepped round from behind them and spoke very loudly and slowly. ‘Greetings, Brother Thurstan. I have returned from visiting the earl and I have brought his men with me.'

The ancient monk peered at him. ‘You've been out? Which one are you?'

Edwin heard his companion give a long-suffering sigh. ‘It's Brother
GODFREY
, Brother. Please admit us so I can take these men to Father Abbot.'

‘Oh, it's you, is it? Well, you'd better come in. You'll want to take these men to Father Abbot.'

Brother Godfrey made another exasperated noise, and both he and Brother William, who had remained silent all the while, stepped through the little door. Edwin heard the sound of a bar being lifted, and then the large gates opened wide enough to admit them. He took the reins of the two mules as well as his own horse, leaving the others to Martin, and entered the abbey. Then with a heave the great gates were shut again, the bar thudding back into place with a disturbing finality.

Edwin looked around him. He was in a place which looked like a cross between the castle and a working farm. The area in front of him was full of buildings like the ones in the outer ward at Conisbrough: a stable block, workshops, offices, a stone building which looked like it might be a kitchen. Beyond that he could see the abbey itself, the huge white tower of the church soaring into the sky. To his right was a stream crossed by a footbridge, which led out to an open space where he could see gardens, orchards, fishponds and a mill. To his left the whole area was bordered by a tall limestone cliff. Apart from the cliff, it wasn't so different to home.

Except that it was. Edwin stood for a moment before he worked out what it was, and then he realised it was the sound. Or rather, the lack of it: back at Conisbrough both the village and the castle wards were full of bustling, jostling, shouting noise, but here there was an eerie quiet. White-robed monks and some other men in brown were walking around and carrying out business, but they were doing it in utter silence.

A bearded man in a brown tunic came to take their mounts, and Edwin handed him the reins. ‘A lay brother,' whispered a voice in his ear. Edwin had no idea what that was, but he was glad he'd have Brother William by his side for a few hours at least. As they walked through the precinct the monk kept up a low-voiced commentary in his ear about what he could see, and Edwin picked up a rough idea of what was going on. It really was a bit like the castle, with the area they were passing through being like the more open and public outer ward, an area for work, while the abbey building itself, completely walled but for a few entrances, presented a closed face to the world like the inner ward, a place where only the privileged were granted admittance. The silence was already becoming oppressive, even for Edwin; he cast a glance at Martin and guessed that he would soon be itching to escape from it.

Brother Godfrey did not lead them into the abbey but instead around the outside of it, over another footbridge and towards a separate two-storey building standing in its own small garden. Edwin gathered from Brother William that this was the abbot's house; they entered and ascended the stairs before knocking on the door of the upper room.

Inside were two monks in white robes: a stocky one with very wiry dark hair sticking out in all directions from around his tonsure, and another who was tall and gaunt and wearing a simple pectoral cross. The room was plain: whitewashed walls, a wooden cross, a table and chair and a few stools, a bench over to one side and an open kist in the corner which held rolled-up parchments.

Brother Godfrey and, after a slight pause, Brother William, knelt before the tall monk and kissed the ring on the spindly fingers he held out. He didn't smile but somehow managed to look pleased with them nonetheless.