by C. B. Hanley
‘Very well.’ Denis turned to Everard, the sergeant-at-arms, and held out his hands in a gesture of compliance. Edwin watched them go: Denis was surrounded by the armed men, but he was not held or bound, so Edwin was satisfied he would reach the inner ward unmolested.
A great weariness came upon him as he stood. Had it only been that morning that he had been summoned, to find Ivo dead? He rubbed his face.
With the fire subsiding it was now almost dark except for the waning moon, but he could just make out a group of women between him and the masons’ camp. As he walked over he saw that two of them were Alys and Cecily, tending to a few injured men. He might have known that neither of them would stay safe in their beds if they were needed.
He stopped them long enough to let them know that he was fine. Thankfully it appeared that neither of them had actually seen the violence, busy as they were with their tasks and with the fracas having occurred further away from the light, though Cecily would no doubt hear it from William later. He explained what Sir Roger had said about tending to Denis.
‘To be honest I think he’s innocent, but even if he isn’t, there will be no danger to you – I’ll make sure a guard stays with you.’
Cecily waved away his fears. ‘Of course I’ll tend to him. I’ll walk up with William when he goes to work in the morning.’
Edwin nodded. ‘Do you want me to stay here now so I can take you home when you’re done?’
He saw Alys inspecting his appearance. ‘You look shattered. And no doubt you’ll be busy tomorrow. We’ll be fine: Cecily and I will walk home together, and Father Ignatius is also here,’ – she pointed out the priest, whom Edwin had not noticed in the gloom – ‘so we’ll be perfectly safe.’
Edwin was still hesitating when a rumbling voice from behind him said, ‘I’ll see them home safe.’ It was Crispin the smith, who hadn’t yet joined the men now drifting back towards the castle. ‘Something isn’t right around here. Don’t like it. You’ll need your wits about you. Get some rest.’
This was quite the longest speech Edwin had ever heard Crispin give, but he was grateful. He looked once more at Alys for confirmation. She leaned in to kiss him and then made shooing noises. ‘Go now. I’ll be back soon.’
Between them the priest and the smith – spiritual and physical might – would keep the two women safe, and Edwin admitted to himself that he was dead on his feet. Moreover, the bruises that would no doubt soon be visible on his back and ribs were already starting to stiffen. He accepted their assurances and set off home.
He was halfway through the village, which was empty but still awake, when he remembered his suspicions about how the fire had started.
Alys had been awoken by the sound of shouts from outside. Groggily she realised that she had fallen asleep sitting in Edwin’s chair, and that he hadn’t come back. An immediate sense of panic overtook her; even if the cries in the streets weren’t directly about him, he was sure to be involved in it somewhere.
Someone was knocking at the door. Trying to swallow her fears, Alys opened it to find Cecily, in a hurry and carrying a bag.
‘Alys. There’s a fire at the masons’ camp, and where there is a fire there will be injured men. I have salves here but more hands will be needed. Will you come?’
That wasn’t one of the things Alys had been envisaging, but her ‘Of course’ was automatic as she reached for her shawl. As was the next question. ‘Do you know where Edwin is?’
Cecily shook her head. ‘No. But William says he saw him earlier in the castle, so we may hope he’s still there.’
They joined the crowd from the village heading in the same direction, and Cecily identified a clear space away from danger. Brusquely ordering two of the nearest men to plant their torches in the ground, she began to unpack her bag.
Fortunately, the number of men injured was few and their wounds slight; most of them had managed to get out before the blaze really took hold. There was just one with a serious-looking burn to his face, an English mason who explained that he had been hit by a falling timber. Cecily examined him, warned him that he was going to be in pain for quite some time, and set about treating him, while Alys applied salve to a queue of men with lesser scorches and told those who were coughing and choking to sit down and stay out of the smoke as best they could. Father Ignatius arrived and, once he was satisfied that he would not need to give anyone the last rites, he gave thanks and stood with Alys to help her.
As Alys worked she overheard some of Cecily’s questions to her patient – designed, no doubt, to keep his mind off the pain – and his answers. His name was Alban. He had no idea how the fire might have started as they were always careful, and the cooking fires had already been doused. He was glad that the roof beams for the hall had been stored elsewhere, as they’d already done a lot of work squaring them off and he wouldn’t want to repeat it.
Alys’s relief on seeing Edwin, when he arrived, was great. She gave him a searching look but could not see that he was burned or otherwise injured, thank the Lord. She was surprised that he should think they would need accompanying back home; it was only a fire and it was not going to spread to the village. And he needed to sleep.
Eventually their task was finished. Cecily told Alban that she would come to see him in the morning, after she had visited the man Edwin wanted her to look at, and he was grateful. Alys’s curiosity had been piqued by this request, although she had been so busy worrying about Edwin that she hadn’t paid it much mind at the time, and she determined to find a way to go.
As they walked back to the village, Cecily was busy discussing herbs with the priest, so Alys turned to the imposing figure of the smith, thanking him for his company. She had seen him about the place, of course, but had never spoken to him. His huge physical size was a little intimidating, but he had seemed pleasant enough when he had spoken to Edwin earlier.
‘And your name is Crispin, is it not?’
Now they were away from the fire the darkness seemed even deeper, and she sensed, rather than saw, that he looked down at her. ‘Aye. Known your Edwin since he was a scrap of a thing. And his mother and aunt treated me for burns often enough when I was training.’
He didn’t seem overly disposed to talk, but she persevered. ‘And you live in the castle, not the village?’
‘Aye. Got a room at the back of my forge – comfortable enough. But I come down to the village regular to see my old Ma.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘But look,’ his voice dropped. ‘Edwin’s a good man. Looks after people. He ever has any trouble, or you do, you send for me.’ Even in the dark Alys could sense that he had flexed his arm muscles as he spoke.
‘Thank you. I hope we have no need to do that, but … thank you.’
‘Aye, well. Anyway, we’re here now.’
They had reached the cottage; he opened the door for her, waited while she entered, and then strode off without another word, shepherding Cecily along the street.
Edwin was already asleep, sprawled across the bed in his clothes, stinking of smoke. But Alys didn’t care. He was safe. The relief brought on a great weariness, and she lay down next to him.
The next thing she heard was the normal sound of the village waking up; it was nearly dawn. Remembering her wish to accompany Cecily up to the castle, Alys rose quickly and went to check the fire. It was cold – she hadn’t banked it up properly last night – and the remains of what was supposed to have been Edwin’s evening meal were stuck to the pot. But there was no time to worry about that now; she would miss her chance otherwise.
She put her head around the bedroom door. Edwin was still asleep. She was tempted to leave him to rest, but he wouldn’t like it if he was supposed to be somewhere and overslept. She shook him gently, and as soon as she was convinced that he was almost awake, she slipped out.
Cecily and William were just leaving their cottage when she got there. They looked surprised to see her but made no objection when she offered to help; indeed, she go
t the impression that William was glad his wife would have the company, although he didn’t say so out loud. He was concentrating on his balance, and the three of them made their way with aching slowness along the village street.
They were passed on their way by the swineherd, and William stopped for a moment to catch his breath. ‘All men are supposed to be at the court this morning, but it might be as well for him to be out the way. He’ll have nothing of use to say, poor lad.’ They waited while Gyrth and the pigs passed them, the pungent odour disappearing up the street, and then continued on their way.
Alys had only been in the castle’s outer ward a couple of times since her arrival in Conisbrough, and had never been through the inner gatehouse at all. They left William there, white-faced with pain now they could see him properly in the dawn light, and were met by a guard. Whoever had organised this was taking no chances; the guard in question wasn’t tall, but he had a neck thicker than his head and he looked as though he could snap an iron bar in half if he felt like it.
The guard, whom Cecily greeted politely with an enquiry about his mother, led them around behind the gatehouse and into a small room that contained only a stool and a staircase leading downwards. Warning them to mind their step, he descended and unlocked a door at the bottom. ‘In here. I’ll leave the door open so you’re not shut in with him, and I’ll be just outside.’
Such were the elaborate precautions that Alys was beginning to feel oppressed and a little afraid. Thus it was that the appearance of the man inside the cell came as something of a shock. She had been expecting a violent-looking criminal, but here was a small, inoffensive fellow sitting quietly in the straw with his back against the wall. He looked up and shielded his eyes as the door opened, and then stood when he saw them. It took him a little while to get to his feet, and he was holding his side.
Alys was glad the door was going to remain open, for it would have been very difficult to see, otherwise; the only other light and air came in through a small barred window high up in one wall, which must have been at ground level outside. As it was, she could see that the cell was almost bare, but the straw was of reasonable freshness, there was a bucket in the far corner, and a bowl and cup lay near the opposite wall.
The mason said something in French. Alys looked at Cecily, who shrugged. ‘He’s one of them foreigners,’ interposed the guard outside, helpfully.
‘We’re here to treat your injuries,’ said Cecily, loudly.
He looked at them uncomprehendingly.
‘I said –’
Alys interrupted with a smile. ‘I’m not sure that saying it louder will help. I sometimes had to deal with foreigners in our shop – may I?’ Cecily nodded.
Alys pointed to herself. ‘Alys.’ She repeated her name and then pointed to him. ‘You?’
This he understood. ‘Denis.’
‘Denis. Good.’ She pointed to herself again. ‘I’m Alys, Edwin’s wife. Edwin.’
He looked briefly confused and then realisation dawned. ‘Ah, Edouin?’ He said something else she didn’t understand but which she assumed was about Edwin, and he seemed cheered.
Alys repeated the performance to give him Cecily’s name, and then pointed to the dried blood on his face and then to the bag Cecily was carrying. He seemed to keep up with this, especially when she opened the bag and displayed the cloths and rags.
Cecily addressed the guard. ‘I will need a bowl of water.’
He began to shake his head, saying he wasn’t allowed to leave them. She clicked her tongue and spoke as though he was five years old. ‘Why don’t you shout for someone else to bring one?’ He had evidently not considered this, and thought it very clever.
By the time the water arrived they had succeeded in getting the mason to stand in the best of the light so that his wound could be seen. Or rather, two wounds: he had one on his cheek and one a little higher up on his temple. Neither was overly serious and Cecily cleaned them up before applying a little salve. Then she stepped back and smiled at him. ‘Better?’
‘Is good,’ he managed in English. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now, to those ribs.’
By dint of much pointing and gesturing they managed to get him to take off his tunic and shirt, although he seemed embarrassed at doing so in the close company of two unknown women.
Alys was equally disconcerted, but she tried to copy Cecily’s calm demeanour as the older woman examined Denis’s bruised side, and then tried not to think too much about the touch of a strange man’s skin as she helped wind bandages tightly around him.
It was soon over and he had dressed again. He started to say something, then stopped and simplified. ‘Edouin? Edouin comes?’
Alys wasn’t sure of the answer to that – maybe she should have waited until she could have spoken to him before she left the house – but she was saved by a familiar voice from the top of the steps. ‘I’m here.’
Edwin made his way down past the guard and then, rather unexpectedly, stopped dead as he looked into the cell. It was as though something had hit him, but there was nothing there, no barrier. He did then come in, but it was like he was stepping through fire and his face held some powerful emotion that Alys couldn’t identify. He was walking stiffly and with a bit of a limp, and Alys realised she hadn’t yet had the chance to ask him what had happened the previous night. But there was no time now; after a brief greeting he had broken into rapid French. Anyone who didn’t know him would think that his uneasiness had passed, but she could see the shadow on his face.
His conversation with Denis went on for some moments and ended with them both looking grim, Edwin reaching out a hand to lay it on the other man’s shoulder and saying something that was presumably meant to be reassuring.
Edwin turned back to them. ‘There is going to be another court, so you had best get to it. Sir Roger is assembling the castle men now to bring them down to the village. I’ll wait here so I can come with Denis.’
‘You’re going to translate for him? What is he accused of? He didn’t start the fire, surely?’
He shook his head. ‘To be honest I’m not sure who is going to end up being accused of what. Some of the villagers attacked him, and I want to bring that up, but they say he killed Ivo.’
Alys looked in shock at the mason, who was watching their exchange with both interest and incomprehension. ‘No! Surely not? I mean …’
‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think he did, either, so I’m going to try my hardest to argue for him. But …’ He turned so he stood between her and Denis, his back to the mason, and continued in a lower voice. ‘Everyone’s blood is up, and they’re against him because he’s foreign. I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do, so be prepared.’
His voice was grim and Alys gasped, knowing her eyes were wide as she looked over his shoulder at the polite, appreciative mason who might soon be hanging from the neck for a crime he didn’t commit.
Chapter Six
Edwin had met with Sir Roger, as agreed, before he made his way to the cell. The knight had been at prayer when he arrived. He still seemed brittle, but although he remained dead-eyed, he had so far roused himself by the time Edwin left to agree to oversee the court in person – for what other figure of authority was there? – and to bring a substantial detachment of castle men to help keep the peace. Edwin’s desire was that he could persuade the jury to make no decision yet, not until he could find out more, but failing that he at least hoped, in case of a guilty verdict, to keep Denis alive until the sheriff arrived. And he hoped that Sir Roger could hold himself together for the duration of the court.
Sir Roger agreed with Edwin’s plan, on the basis that it would be up to the relevant authority to pronounce the death penalty anyway. He didn’t seem convinced of either Denis’s innocence or his guilt, or even particularly interested, but Edwin knew he could be relied upon to do whatever would be in the earl’s best interests, which would mean not allowing any summary ‘justice’ to be meted out. That would have to be good en
ough for now.
The mood of the assembly on the village green was dark and uneasy. There were a few murmurs, shaken fists and even shouts when they arrived, but with the garrison out in force nobody attempted to attack Denis or to throw anything.
Sir Roger had a chair placed and sat on it, the looming castle visible behind him to remind everyone of where the power really lay. Behind him were the ranks of the garrison, armed, but with swords sheathed, spears held upright and arrows still in their quivers. To the knight’s left sat Father Ignatius, with parchment and pens at the ready; to his right were the jury, Edwin not among them this time as he stood in the middle of the central open space alongside Denis. Also missing, due to the short notice, were the jury members who lived further out of the village: Edwin couldn’t see Aelfrith or a couple of others. The spectators were spread around the other two sides of proceedings: a tight-knit group of masons at a little distance off to Edwin’s right, and the rest of the villagers, somewhat disconcertingly, directly behind him.
Sir Roger opened proceedings, deciding to start with the fire. When he spoke the words ‘potential case of arson’ there was an uncomfortable shifting around the place, for this was a serious offence. Philippe was called to give evidence; his grasp of English was a little better than Denis’s, but he still needed Edwin’s help with the translation of some points, and it was a laborious business. However, he did state – and Edwin wondered if he was really speaking the truth or just trying not to antagonise the villagers – that he couldn’t absolutely say it was arson, and that the blaze might have been started by a cooking fire getting out of hand.
A wave of relief passed across the assembled company.
‘And your losses?’
‘By the grace of God, no deaths. One man too injured to work, though he will recover. Most of our tools were up in the castle, so … our lodgings, beds, clothes, food supplies.’ He spread his hands. ‘It could have been worse.’
