B0078XH7HQ EBOK (31 page)

It was as Edwin was trudging back up to the castle that he encountered Sir Geoffrey, who had clearly been watching for him. The knight looked grim, and steered Edwin into the steward’s office before saying anything, indicating with a movement of his head that William, who was puzzling over a list of something, should leave them alone. William took one look at the bleak expression on Sir Geoffrey’s face and departed in silence.

They sat and Sir Geoffrey came straight to the point. ‘There is news, but you’re not going to like it.’

Edwin readied himself and listened first with satisfaction, and then with growing horror followed by outrage as he heard the tale of the knight’s encounter with Walter.

He could barely keep his seat. ‘But he is a murderer! How could you let him go?’ This was just too much, on top of everything else, and he felt himself growing livid as the shards of rage pierced him. His voice rose. ‘How could you!’

Sir Geoffrey repeated himself, about the threat to the earl and his estates, and the paramount importance of keeping in the regent’s good graces, but Edwin was too far gone in indignation and fury to care.

‘And so Berold’s life counts for nothing? He was an innocent who was cut down in cold blood, and you’re telling me that the man who has confessed to killing him is to walk free simply because he’s a noble? And Berold’s death doesn’t matter?’ Edwin boiled with rage, jumping fully out of his seat this time.

‘Sit down!’

The voice cracked like a whip, and belatedly Edwin realised to whom he was talking. His knees folded.

Sir Geoffrey continued, harshly. ‘You’re right, his death doesn’t matter.’

Edwin was so taken aback that he could say nothing.

‘It might sound harsh, and indeed it is, for he was a decent man, no worse than any other. But the earl, and I, and you for that matter, have to think of the situation outside of this village.’ He loomed over Edwin. ‘While it is regrettable that Berold is dead, and even more deplorable that that wretch should escape justice for it, Berold’s killing has no consequences outside of this village. Nobody else is going to die because of him. Nobody will lose lands. And yes, I’m sorry for his parents as I am for the families of any who lose loved ones, but that’s not the point. I’m not here to feel sorrow for them, and neither are you.’ He stepped back, waving his finger at Edwin. ‘The reality is that it’s more important to find who killed de Courteville. And that’s what we must concentrate on now, unless you want to run the risk of Conisbrough in flames.’

Edwin was subdued by the rebuke. Rarely had he been on the receiving end of such a tongue-lashing from anyone, never mind the castellan, and he felt cowed. Indeed, it was only the hard experiences of the past few days and the reality of his situation which prevented him from curling up in shame on the floor. But Sir Geoffrey was right. He must try to think. There would be time to mourn and to examine his feelings once this was all over and the earl and his host had left.

Think. Concentrate. ‘So Walter didn’t kill his brother?’ He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or not, but he’d harboured some doubts about that as it hadn’t seemed logical.

‘It seems not. Or at least he says so. But I can’t tell whether he is lying or not. Strong I may be, but clever I’m not, and I don’t have the capacity to deal with such deviousness.’

Edwin felt dejected. ‘I fear that I don’t either.’

‘Well, you need to learn, and there is one in the village who is the master, although he has but a short time to teach us.’

Edwin gulped, but he stood in obedience and walked with the knight down to the village.

As they neared the cottage door, Edwin called out to his mother that Sir Geoffrey was accompanying him, and she appeared at the door, smoothing down her gown and apron. A moment later the two men both entered the bedchamber, and the knight came forward to sit by the bed and take his old friend’s hand in both of his own.

It was a strange gesture from such a warlike man, thought Edwin, but then Sir Geoffrey had surprised him on more than one occasion during the last few days. Despite the urgency of their quest, the knight first spent some few moments speaking with his old friend. There was no sentimentality from Sir Geoffrey – he had seen too much death during his lifetime to pretend that father was anything other than hovering on the threshold of life. He didn’t seek to comfort the old man with platitudes, but instead reminisced about events of their younger days. Old? thought Edwin, reflecting, why, they’re the same age. Strange how the Lord can make one man seem much older than another, through illness or merely through a different way of living. He looked at them more closely as they spoke, realising that many years ago they must have been in a similar situation to himself and Robert, the one a simple village boy, albeit one who would wield some responsibility, and the other a squire destined to mix with the nobility of the kingdom.

He continued to watch them, slowly coming into the knowledge that in this conversation between the old man and the dying one, there lay echoes of his own future. He’d always assumed that he and Robert would grow apart as the years went by, as the difference in their stations grew ever greater. They might have spent their boyhoods together, but the knight would soon go off to deal with other nobles, and would forget the village boy he’d known in childhood, while the village boy would in turn stay chained to his lot in life, and spend it in bitterness and jealousy of the other. But here in front of him was real affection between two men of very different station, who had known each other nigh on fifty years, more than a lifespan for most people.

He looked again at the two lined faces, both grey-bearded but the one tanned from years in the sun, the other pale from the suffering of illness, and saw that the expressions mirrored one another. Companionship, friendship, trust. A total sense of knowing the other and his feelings. He gazed in wonder, and despite everything that was going on in his life, he felt at peace. And finally, the fear disappeared. Something moved inside of him, something fell into place, and he was able to realise without dread that his father had enjoyed a goodly span of years, but that that span was near its end. Father is content and so will I be, Edwin thought to himself.

Sir Geoffrey was halfway through some anecdote about a trick that both boys had played on some long-forgotten priest when there were more voices outside. Edwin’s mother went out once more and returned with Robert, Martin and Simon. Edwin realised that people were coming to the cottage to pay their last respects to a dying man, and that the end was very near. He looked towards the bed and was heartened to see that his father actually looked better than he had done for some time. He was still emaciated and weak, propped up from his lying position by some pillows, but there seemed somehow to be more colour in his cheeks, and his voice was stronger. Edwin knew and accepted now that there was no hope of a recovery – his father would never leave the bed alive again – but it was good to see a reminder of the man he once was. Surely this was due to the presence of his lifelong friend, who had cheered him with words and with feelings left unspoken.

Robert came to sit next to Edwin, and gripped his shoulder wordlessly. Edwin looked at him, and wondered if some of the feelings which he’d experienced about friendship would transfer themselves to Robert as well.

Martin and Simon stepped forward to the bed, Simon murmuring quietly that he could only stay for a moment as he was needed by the earl. He was wide-eyed and pale-faced in the presence of impending death, but father had a smile for him and a cheerful word. He put his hand on the boy’s head and offered him a blessing, after which Simon moved back awestruck – for everyone knew that a blessing from a man so near to God was a powerful thing – to make way for his elder. Father and Martin exchanged a few quiet words, and once more Edwin was struck by just how much his father was respected. The conversation ended with a brief handshake, and Martin shepherded Simon back out of the cottage. He himself returned and stood in silence in the corner.

Father, looking more alert than he had done for many weeks, swept his gaze around at his remaining audience, and spoke.

‘Now, enough of this maudlin talk. There is still a task to be done, and I would not die before it is accomplished.’

They all looked at him, surprised at the vigour in his voice. Edwin, with his newfound respect for the brevity of the time left to his father, started to say that he need not worry himself about such things, but was cut short by parental authority as his father bade him hold his tongue and obey. Edwin stopped mid-word.

He waited for his father to continue, but realised that he was looking at Martin, who had given an almighty start at the sound of his last words, and was now standing as if he was itching to say something. Father nodded to him.

‘That’s it!’ burst Martin, excitedly. That’s what was different about the body. Oh, I knew there was something!’

Edwin and Robert looked at him in surprise, as did the two older men.

Martin looked at them, stuttering in his excitement. ‘The … the … the tongue! When we picked the body up from the top of the keep, the tongue was sticking right out.’ He turned to Robert. ‘Surely you remember?’

Robert nodded. ‘Of course. It was horrible.’

Martin continued, still unusually animated. ‘But when I was with Edwin later on, and we looked at it, the tongue was back in the mouth. That’s why I said it looked different, only I couldn’t remember why. And nobody else would have noticed, for nobody else saw the body both before and after we’d taken it to the chapel. Robert helped me down with it and then left, and Edwin didn’t see it until much later on. In the meantime somebody must have come and interfered with it.’ He looked around, bright-eyed at the astonished faces in the room, but then calmed down and assumed a puzzled expression. ‘But why on earth would anyone want to do that? It makes no sense!’

But it obviously did make sense to Sir Geoffrey and to father, who both appeared enlightened. Sir Geoffrey spoke.

‘Martin, you’re young, and thank the Lord you have not yet seen many men hanged. When a man dies by having a rope or cord put around his neck, the pressure of it forces his tongue out of his mouth, where it remains. It’s a sure sign that a man has died by hanging.’

Edwin had listened to all this in growing astonishment, but he was still confused. Robert voiced the question which was also in Edwin’s mind. ‘But how can the earl have been hanged? There is nowhere up there to do that, and we found no noose, no rope.’

Sir Geoffrey spoke again. ‘I haven’t finished yet, boy. It’s a sure sign of being hanged, but it happens whenever a man is killed with a rope around his neck. Did you say that your dead man had a thin wound to his neck? Not much blood? Why then, he was garrotted, strangled with something fine.’

There was a moment of silence while they all took this in, then the knight continued, berating himself for his own stupidity and thumping his palm. ‘Oh, why didn’t I look at the body myself? As soon as I was told that the man had had his throat cut, there seemed no point – many men die in such a way. I would have been able to put you on the right scent much sooner. Edwin, I’m sorry.’

Edwin’s surprise at the discovery was such that he had none to spare at the thought of a knight apologising to him. This was – well, really. All that time he’d spent looking for a knife and the man had been strangled! He himself had looked at the body, why hadn’t he noticed? The answer to that was obvious, of course – mercifully, he didn’t have much experience of looking at men who had been murdered or executed, so he wouldn’t know the difference anyway.

He jumped up. ‘I must go and look at him again, before he’s sealed into his coffin.’

Martin had also moved forward, and he put his hands out to stop Edwin. ‘No – I’ll do it. I can easily run down there and look. What you need to do is sit and think, and you’re much better at that than me.’ There was no self-consciousness in his voice, only simple acknowledgement. Edwin wanted to say something, wanted to disagree, but he was given no chance as Martin bade everyone a hasty farewell and left at a run. Edwin sat down again, heavily.

It was father who spoke, his voice decisive.

‘I believe that this is what we know already.’ The others listened in growing amazement as he gave a succinct and summary account of all that he knew, which matched Edwin’s thoughts exactly. No wonder he’d been such a good bailiff – he had the gift of hearing everything once and understanding the important issues immediately.

Once he’d got over his shock at the strength which his old friend still exhibited, Sir Geoffrey filled in the details of the encounter with Walter, including his own bafflement at being unable to tell whether the man was telling the truth or not. He turned to father for his view, but Edwin felt that he had to interrupt. He held up his hand and the other stopped.

He spoke slowly, feeling his way through the labyrinth in his mind. ‘I don’t think he can have had time to go up to the top of the keep and then down again. If he’d sent Lady Isabelle out of the chapel, he would have needed some time to get up to the roof, kill the earl and then come back down. Peter said that he’d seen them all, but that they’d come out one after the other. He didn’t mention that Walter had been much later than the others, and he had no reason to lie.’ He described his interview with the boy earlier that day, and wondered again where he might have got to.

Father took all this in and spoke again.

‘I agree with Edwin – Peter had no reason to lie, and if he is telling the truth then the man would not have had time to murder his brother. There is also the fact that he appeared to you to be in much distress – when a man is in
extremis
he normally resorts to telling the truth simply because it is easier, and he does not have the courage to lie. There is always the chance that he is just a very fine dissembler, but from what I have heard I do not think that is the case. So, we have ruled out one of the main suspects. Now, what is the best way forward from here? You have only a short time, Edwin, and although you have others to help you –’ he looked around at the others, ‘including you, my old friend, and you, the friend of my son – it is
your
task, Edwin, to find the culprit. What are your thoughts?’