B0078XH7HQ EBOK (17 page)

By the time they sat down to dinner, she was convinced that Isabelle’s distraction had something to do with Walter de Courteville. She was staring at him, leaning towards him, pining after him, trying to catch his attention. But he was studiously ignoring her, speaking to the older knight, the friend of Sir Geoffrey’s whom she had seen yesterday evening. A thought struck Joanna, one so scandalous that she immediately sought to quell it. But it wouldn’t go away. The absence of Isabelle during the night. The insistence on walking around the castle this morning, probably looking for Walter. The fawning looks she was giving him. His disregard of her. Surely, surely, she hadn’t spent the night in his bed? It was appalling. Unthinkable. But possible?

She was shaken out of her reverie by her neighbour, Sir Geoffrey, who noticed that her cup was empty, and gestured to Martin to fill it. The squire had been in his usual position behind the knight, but Joanna hadn’t noticed. As he bent over to reach her cup, she saw the purple swollen bruise on the side of his face, and her heart went out to him instantly. How he’d suffered in her defence! He’d braved the wrath of an earl for her, and she would be forever in his debt. Just as well the man was dead, or he would doubtless have found some way to exact revenge on a defenceless squire. She smiled at him as he filled her cup with wine, and he looked into her eyes in silent understanding.

And now the meal was over. As the men departed she rose to leave, until she noticed that Isabelle hadn’t moved. Walter had risen and hurried away so early that it was bordering on discourtesy, without so much as a gesture towards her. Now she sat, alone at the high table, looking forlornly at his empty seat as the servants collected up the gravy-soaked trenchers to distribute later to the poor.

She looked so broken-hearted that Joanna felt a rush of sympathy towards her, despite her normal dislike of her mistress. All women were destined to suffer at the hands of men – they should support each other in a sisterly fashion in such an hour of need. Gently she persuaded Isabelle to rise, and accompanied her back to her room in the guest quarters.

It was calm up on the wall. Edwin was not actually sure how he’d got there, but in his oblivion he had taken himself to one of his favourite peaceful spots. He needed some peace and quiet in order to take everything in and put together a plan of what he was going to do. He sat in one of the battlement embrasures at the top of the wall, arms around his knees, looking out over the village and the surrounding countryside, and letting the sun and the breeze play on his face. It was quiet: other than those detained at the stable, everybody who was entitled to a meal at the earl’s expense would be eating dinner in the great hall, and the masons working on the kitchen had also stopped for food. There were one or two people walking amongst the houses in the village, some coming out of the church, and further away he could see small figures labouring in the fields. One of them would be Berold’s father.

Thoughts cascaded through his head. Now, the visiting earl was certainly alive at suppertime, as he has seen him in the hall. And he was dead by dawn this morning, as that’s when his squire found the body. So what happened to him in between? Did anyone else see him? What was he doing? Why was he on the roof of the keep? And why would anyone want to kill him? All right, stop there. Going down the path of ‘why’ created too many questions to which Edwin didn’t yet have the answers. Think of practical things instead. What time was he killed? He needed to narrow that down, so he would have to find anyone who saw de Courteville after supper. The gates were shut at nightfall, as usual, so if it was after that then the killer could only be someone who was inside the gates – although that still left a large number of people, surely. What about all the masons? Edwin didn’t know them very well. No, they all stop work at nightfall and then go to lodgings outside the gates, so it wouldn’t have been one of them, although he supposed he should check that they all left as usual. Plus there was always the chance, as his father said, that someone who was known to the porter might have come in, and he hadn’t paid them much mind. Oh dear, he would have to go and talk to him again, and he hadn’t done that very well the last time. He was not doing anything very well at the moment – what was he going to do if he couldn’t find the killer by tomorrow? How would he tell the earl that he’d failed? And father would feel so ashamed of him … stop! Get back to the facts. What about Berold? His death must be connected. The deaths are different – he was stabbed in the back, with all that blood … no, stop that as well. What did he want to tell me? Was he on duty in the inner ward last night? Perhaps he saw someone, witnessed the earl’s murder, and that put his life in danger. But how did the killer find out that he’d been seen? That was something Edwin didn’t know, but it was reasonable to assume that was what had happened. So, someone gets into the keep and kills the earl in the night. Berold sees him, and the killer needs to murder him too so that he’s not discovered. So he need look for only one person. The task is no more difficult than it was before, it’s just that the murderer has one more death on his hands. Just? There’s nothing ‘just’ about it. A second victim, this time someone who’d done nothing wrong, a simple village man who spent his boyhood wishing to be a soldier, only to be struck down in his blood in a stable in his home village before he could ever go to war.

But thinking of the tragedy will not help. What did he need to do now? Make a plan, that’s what father would say. So, find out if anyone else entered the castle gates. Find a weapon. Find out what time the earl was killed, or at least narrow it down further than ‘sometime between supper and dawn’. Think about who could have gone up to the keep at the same time – what was everyone else doing last night? Try to discover who might have wanted him dead – for who in Conisbrough had known the man, apart from the earl and Sir Geoffrey? Or had anyone known him before? He’d heard that de Courteville did much evil in his life – perhaps someone wanted revenge. People don’t just go around killing anyone they fancy, certainly not peers of the realm, or at least Edwin hoped not, for it would make his task all the harder. No, people normally kill for a reason, although the reason doesn’t always make sense to others. He’d known his father bring justice to a number of wrongdoers in the past, and he always looked for a cause, not just the facts of who was where, and when. But who here could have had a reason to kill the visiting earl, a man of such importance? He needed to do some more thinking.

‘You should be careful there, you know. Someone might decide to push you over the edge.’

Edwin hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps, but he surfaced at the familiar voice, and moved up in the embrasure to make room for Robert. He’d spoken in English, as he always did when they were alone, claiming that he needed the practice. French was, of course, the language of the nobles, and they and their Norman-descended men spoke it to each other; but the old English tongue was still the language of the people, used amongst themselves. Edwin had grown up speaking English at home and in the village, but as he grew older and needed to help his father, and as he came into contact with more of the earl’s immediate retinue, he had perforce to learn French and was now as fluent as anyone. Robert’s grasp of English was more tenuous, as he had less cause to use it, but he tried hard and was popular among the villagers as a result. He always said that one never knew when a second language would come in useful – Edwin had always pictured him being able to give commands to his men when he was a knight – so he should continue to attempt it whenever he could. He never had any trouble communicating with Edwin, as his friend was always ready to help him with any difficulty, and besides, as Robert had once jokingly pointed out, if things really got difficult they could always speak to one another in Latin, for both had been sent to learn the language of the Church and the law at the knee of the local priest. Edwin was profoundly glad that he was fluent in French, for it had saved him embarrassment when speaking with the earl earlier that day, but he was happy now to speak and think in his own tongue. Hopefully things might become less complicated.

Robert continued. ‘Why did you not come in for dinner?’

Edwin sighed. ‘I needed to think. It seems that the earl has given me an impossible task.’

‘Nothing is impossible. Tell me about what you were thinking.’

Edwin forbore to correct his friend’s grammar, and instead filled him in on his findings so far, few as they were, and on the thoughts he’d been having and the plan he’d made. As he mentioned his idea of finding the time of the earl’s death, Robert brightened.

‘I might be able to help you there.’ Quickly he told Edwin of his morning, how he’d come across Adam and heard about the letter, and how neither of them had been able to find it despite searching the chamber so carefully. ‘So you see, although we couldn’t find it, we know that he was alive after dark, for Adam saw him entering his chamber to change his tunic.’

Edwin pondered a moment. This would be a great help, for now he knew that the murder had taken place after the gates had closed. Then something struck him. ‘Why did he need to change?’

Another voice piped up from behind them, and Simon’s head appeared around the corner. ‘I can tell you that!’

Robert smiled at him and ruffled his hair. ‘So what do you know that we don’t, whelp?’ He looked down good-naturedly, but his face turned grim as he heard Simon’s tale of the events in the kitchen the previous night. By the time the page had finished, his fists were clenched. ‘How dare he? God’s blood, if he were not dead already I would kill him myself.’

Edwin agreed with his friend’s sentiments, but nodded as more things came together in his mind. ‘So that’s why Martin had a bruise on his face this morning – the visiting earl must have hit him when he came to Mistress Joanna’s rescue. And it’s also why the earl was in such a foul temper when he returned to his chamber, as your friend Adam said.’

‘He is not my friend – I pitied him, that’s all. But yes, you’re right. So what are we going to do now?’

Simon spoke hurriedly. ‘That’s why I came. My lord wants you to attend him, as he wants to ride out on his new destrier. He sent me to find you.’

Robert jumped to his feet immediately, but then turned to Edwin with a disappointed look. ‘Sorry I can’t help you more, but I must go to my lord. Tell me later what you’ve found out.’ Receiving a nod in reply, Robert hurried down the stairs and across the inner ward.

Edwin sighed as he watched his friend’s departing back. How much more reassuring it would have been to have Robert at his side while he explored the tangled web of murder which confronted him! But it was not to be. He looked down at Simon, who was fidgeting, his eyes pleading, ready to be given a task, sent on an errand, anything that would help. His features lit up eagerly as Edwin’s gaze fell upon him.

‘Come on then – you can help me question the porter again.’

‘Really? What will we ask him? What will he know? Can I ask him questions myself? Will he …’

Chattering excitedly, Simon allowed himself to be ushered down the stairs.

‘I told you before, boy, there were no visitors to the castle last night. Now get out of my way and let me get back to my bed.’

This was not going exactly as Edwin had hoped. He’d felt businesslike and efficient as he’d approached the gate, but the terseness of the night porter, awakened once again, had put him off, and now the man had brushed him aside and was about to walk away. A lifetime of obeying orders ensured Edwin’s compliance, and with a heavy heart he was about to step aside and let the man pass when he saw that Simon was looking at him with a disappointed face. Seeing the boy so crestfallen and looking to him – him! Edwin, son of a commoner! – for a lead, Edwin’s confidence suddenly grew and he stepped in front of the porter and stretched out an arm to prevent him leaving, much to the man’s surprise. After all, who would be more intimidating? The porter, or the earl, when Edwin had to tell him he’d failed? He certainly didn’t relish the thought of that, and the apprehension made him bolder.