B0078XH7HQ EBOK (13 page)

He’d never been in the room before. His first impression was of bright furnishings, but he dared not look around; instead he locked his gaze on the man standing before him. He tried to stop himself from trembling, and was almost surprised to find that the earl was a man much like any other. No, not quite like any other … it wasn’t just the clothes, although these were of rich cloth, nor the rings on his fingers, although these were of fine gold: these things were just the outward trappings. The man in front of him was of middle height, probably nearer to forty than thirty years of age, dark hair and beard just starting to be flecked with grey. He was compact and solidly muscled, as one might expect from someone who had been training with weapons all his life, but he carried with him an air of authority that was unmistakeable. He was not just the lord of the Conisbrough estates, he was one of the legendary Plantagenets, one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, and the aura of that responsibility was all around him. You could dress him as a beggar, thought Edwin suddenly, and still it would be clear to anyone with eyes in their head that he was the earl … he realised that he was staring and hastily dropped his gaze.

That broke the spell, and the earl looked away, giving a brief glance at Sir Geoffrey before speaking.

‘You understand French?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Good. Now pay attention.’

Edwin straightened up to listen, and was by turns amazed and increasingly horrified as the tale unfolded: the murder of an earl was far, far worse than anything he might have imagined himself. But what had this to do with him?

The earl was continuing. ‘As you may imagine, Weaver, this is a matter which is not merely important to me, but also to the lords of the realm, to the regent and even the king. Which is why it must be dealt with satisfactorily.’ Edwin felt a jolt go through him at the mention of the word ‘Weaver’ – that was his father’s name, not his. Dear Lord, if the earl thought he could step into his boots just like that … and he still couldn’t fathom why he should be standing listening to such a tale. What did it have to do with him, all this talk of earls and kings? So the blow, when it fell, was like a blacksmith’s hammer. ‘So, are you up to the task?’

Edwin gaped. ‘Me, my lord?’

‘Yes, you. You are the bailiff, are you not? Any crime committed in my demesne is your concern?’

The room started to spin. He was tumbling into an abyss; he couldn’t say a word. Sir Geoffrey stepped in, speaking slowly and clearly. ‘Edwin, if your father was able, he would be performing this service for the earl. He is not able. You won’t be acting alone, will have help from the earl’s household. But we need you to do this.’

Edwin recovered slightly, his mind already at work. Who might have killed the earl? It must have been someone who was within the walls last night, and he supposed it would be easy enough to find out who had been present … after some thought, the task didn’t look so impossible. Given the help of the household and the backing of Sir Geoffrey, he was sure he could work it out. All he needed were his wits and plenty of time. As long as he had the leisure to think, he would be fine. His mind set, he turned to the earl. ‘I’m sorry not to have answered straight away, my lord. I am your loyal servant, and of course I will undertake any task you require me to.’

The earl looked at him again for a long moment, and Edwin forced himself to meet that slate-grey stare without wavering. ‘Good. You will report directly to Sir Geoffrey, who will give you anything you need, and we will find the culprit.’ Edwin essayed a clumsy bow and started to turn, but the earl hadn’t finished. ‘You have until sundown tomorrow.’

Edwin tripped over the doorstep as he left the room. Sundown tomorrow? Why, that left him only a day and a half in which to discover everything he needed to know. What would he do? How would he even start?

He looked about him and realised that he’d wandered blindly into the earl’s private chapel. It was cool in there, with coloured light filtering in through the window to make strange patterns on the floor. A shrouded form lay on a board, supported by trestles. Edwin stood for a long moment looking down at the figure: this, then, was what all the fuss was about, was why the earl had caused him to be awakened from his pleasant dream. I suppose I should look at the body, he thought to himself, after all, I don’t even know how he died, and that’s something I’ll need to find out before I can discover who killed him. I will look at the body. I must.

He reached out his hand towards the cloth which covered the figure, and then stopped, unsure. How should he go about this? What was he supposed to do? Should he say a prayer over the dead man? Or was that not suitable? He compromised, and, sending up a silent thought to the Almighty, he pulled the cloth away.

After a few moments he opened his eyes.

He supposed he should start some sort of examination of the body, to see what he could discover. He would just have to put his natural revulsion to one side. He took a deep breath. Well, there were no obvious wounds which might have caused the man’s death, no crushing blow to the head or gaping stab wounds; the clothes were whole, bore no slash marks. Not a fight or a frenzied attack, then, but something else. The jaw was starting to gape open, revealing that the earl lacked two teeth on the left-hand side of his mouth, but Edwin didn’t think that had anything to do with the murder: he’d noticed the same gap when the man had smiled during his welcome by the earl yesterday. No, he needn’t concern himself with that.

Edwin’s mind was already focused on his task, his distaste dissipating as he bent closer over the body and touched it, looking for any mark. What was that wound on the neck? Here was something …

‘What in the name of God are you doing?’ The hysterical voice made Edwin jump, and before he could recover himself he was seized painfully by the hair and dragged backwards away from the body. ‘You filthy animal! My brother has been foully murdered and yet even his body is not safe from pilferers!’ Edwin’s eyes were watering, and it felt as though his hair was being pulled out by the roots, the skin being torn from his head. He tried to explain, but couldn’t make himself heard over the tirade. ‘How dare you do such a thing! I will have you flogged! I will kill you myself!’ The man drew a knife. Edwin was paralysed with fear. Oh Lord, he thought, through the pain in his scalp, the first time the earl has ever asked me to do anything and I’m going to get myself killed before I’ve even started. What will my father say? He closed his eyes and flinched as the knife was raised.

The blow never fell. Realising that he had felt no pain other than that in his head, Edwin risked opening one eye, to see that the man’s arm had been caught by Sir Geoffrey, who had entered the chapel silently. With contemptuous ease the knight forced the arm back and twisted the knife away from Edwin’s assailant, and it fell with a clatter to the floor.

Sir Geoffrey spoke. ‘Let go of him.’

Walter de Courteville, for it was he, seemed momentarily surprised by the strength of the old man, and he sought refuge in bluster. ‘How dare you! This ruffian was robbing my brother’s body. Is it not enough that he should be murdered within your lord’s domain and under his protection, but his body must be desecrated too?’ He tried unsuccessfully to free his right arm, still held by Sir Geoffrey, but eventually admitted defeat and released his left hand from Edwin’s hair. Edwin fell back and gingerly put his hands to his head to make sure it was still there.

Sir Geoffrey dropped Walter’s arm. ‘I am very sorry for your brother’s death, Sir Walter, as are we all. But this is no cutpurse: he is the earl’s bailiff, and was merely viewing the body as part of his search for the truth of what happened.’

Walter looked incredulously at Edwin. ‘Bailiff? This boy? Is that the best the earl can come up with? You jest, surely.’

Sir Geoffrey was speaking again. ‘It is no jest, I assure you. The earl has complete confidence in his man. Now, if you would like to come with me, my lord will see you now …’

Brusquely he shepherded Walter out of the room, but Edwin barely noticed. He dropped the cloth back over the body and sat dejectedly on the floor, all the skin on his head stinging, as he realised that the man had been right. How was he, Edwin, commoner and erstwhile bailiff’s assistant, who had never in his life travelled more than twenty miles from Conisbrough, ever going to solve the riddle of the death of one of the most important men in the kingdom? It was hopeless. He was a joke. The black demons lurked again in the corners of his mind.

He stared into the distance until another voice spoke from the doorway.

‘Edwin?’

He looked up to see Martin looming over him as he stepped into the chapel. A large bruise marked one side of his face, but Edwin was too bemused to wonder how he had come by it. Martin was looking from Edwin to the body and back, but misread the reason for his dejection. ‘Horrible, isn’t it?’ His face registered sympathy as he extended a hand and helped Edwin to his feet. ‘I have to admit I was sick when I saw it, and then I had to help Robert carry it all the way down here.’

Edwin was still dazed. ‘Robert?’

Martin misunderstood again. ‘No, he can’t be here to help you, the earl wants him to stay with him, so he sent me instead.’ He paused, unsure, hesitated, and started again, the words coming out in a rush. ‘Look, I know I’m not as clever or useful as Robert, but I’ll try to help you as much as I can – I’ll do whatever you say.’

Edwin was jerked back into reality. ‘What? You, help me? Do what I say? But …’

‘Yes, my lord has said that I should help you however I can. I’m excused most of my other duties until you’ve found the killer.’

Edwin looked up at the younger man, who was gazing at him earnestly. There was something fundamentally wrong in this. ‘But I can’t give you orders! You’re the earl’s squire! And I’m just …’

Martin finished the sentence for him. ‘You’re just the man who’s in charge. And I’m used to taking orders. So, what do you want me to do?’

Edwin felt very uncomfortable. How could he issue commands to a member of the nobility? Still, if it was the earl’s wish then there was nothing he could do about it. And an extra head and pair of hands might come in very useful, although the thought did cross his mind momentarily that it was a shame it wasn’t Robert. ‘All right then,’ he sounded more decisive than he felt, ‘You can start by coming with me to talk to the porter.’

They started down the stairs, with Edwin hoping that he might begin to feel more positive about the whole thing. He wasn’t alone. But still, how was he to work his way through this? On top of everything else, the responsibility of finding a murderer on the earl’s behalf threatened to crush him. He could feel his shoulders bowing under the weight already, and he hoped they wouldn’t break.

Walter de Courteville’s mind had been working furiously ever since he had been awakened by Adam, and the possibilities raced through his mind as he made his way across the inner ward to the keep. How should he act? What was the best way to turn the situation to his advantage? Clearly, the most important thing would be to secure the wardship of his young nephew and assume control over the estates: after all, who was the best person to look after the boy but his own uncle? And just four years old; Walter would have control over the lands for many years, and who knows what might happen in that time …

It was at this point that he had pushed past a guard coming down the stairs, reached the chapel and seen the figure leaning over his brother’s body. He stood for a moment looking at the corpse, but could feel nothing other than excitement at his own prospects. However, perhaps now was the time to practise the grieving brother act which he would need for the foreseeable future, a mix of sadness coupled with much anger and perhaps a touch of righteous indignation at the insult to his family name. He prepared himself mentally before stepping into the room.

On the whole he felt it had gone quite well, apart from the interference of the old man at the end – and I’ll find a way to pay him back for that some day, he thought – the boy had appeared thoroughly intimidated. Walter stood a little straighter, pleased at the thought that someone had been afraid of him. Or had he overdone it slightly? He would have to rethink before he went in to meet with the earl …

But the laughable news that the boy was the bailiff had set other thoughts scuttling through his mind. Supposing nobody ever discovered who had killed Ralph? This was surely a possibility, given the shabby peasant who had been given the task of finding out. If so, might it be possible to intimate to the regent that Warenne had something to do with it? After all, the murder had been committed within the grounds of his castle, so he was certainly to blame for failing to protect his guest, at the very least. But if suspicion should fall on him for the greater crime … well, surely the regent couldn’t allow a man who had murdered a fellow earl to remain in control of such power? Especially one who had not exactly been a pillar of loyalty throughout the past year or so, and whose motives might be open to question? And might there not be an opening there for a clever man, one who might perform some act of service – yet to be determined, but he would think of something – for the crown?