by C. B. Hanley
The bread became suddenly tasteless. But there would be plenty of people around the village. If he knocked, she would keep him outside where anyone walking down the street could see them.
Edwin came back in, breaking into her thoughts. She looked at him enquiringly.
‘Just went to check on the pigs, as they won’t go out today. But they’re calm – now they’ve finished the slaughtering, most of the smell has gone so it’s not worrying them so much.’
He sat at the table and took some bread himself. ‘After Mass, I think I’ll have to start round with more questions again.’ He grimaced and spoke with his mouth full. ‘That’ll make me popular.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Chores be damned; she would feel safer with Edwin.
He smiled at her. ‘That’s kind of you, but I think I’d better go on my own.’ Because nobody will take me seriously if I bring my wife with me, hung unspoken in the air. ‘But if you happen to hear anything useful while you’re all gossiping outside church, you let me know.’
Alys nodded and tried to pretend she didn’t care. Gossiping. Was that all she was good for? Then they both heard the sound of the church bell.
They made their way up the street, greeting and meeting neighbours as they went. They stopped at the gate of Cecily’s house to wait for her and William to join them; as the couple made their way down the path Alys could see that William’s face was drawn with pain, though he was walking and only leaning on one stick. Edwin held out a hand to assist him, without thinking, then quickly dropped it by his side again. Their slow pace as they followed the crowd to the church meant that others passed them, and they were almost the last to enter. The only others behind them were Osmund and Gyrth, who slipped in behind them and stood at the back.
The congregation stood, most of them paying attention but a few still chattering, as Father Ignatius entered. He made his way to the altar and then stood facing it, his back to everyone else, and began to intone the Latin of the Mass. Nobody except Edwin understood a word of it, of course, but the lines were so familiar that they slipped over Alys and she felt comforted. All over England, the same words were being spoken in churches, and her own family would be listening to them far away in Lincoln. Were any of them thinking of her?
Her mind drifted, but she was brought back to the present by William’s painful shifting next to her. Standing still must be even worse for him than walking, and she longed to suggest that he should sit on the bench at the side, placed there for the elderly and infirm, but there was no point; he was too proud. Eventually, though, came the words Ite, missa est, and the villagers were streaming out the door before Father Ignatius had even left the altar, allowing space for William to force his stiff legs into motion.
Outside it was grey and mizzly, though not actually raining. The women gathered in a little knot, as they always did, before they had to go back to their cottages and face the daily grind again; the men did the same. Alys hovered on the edge of the women’s group, listening to them with one ear but also trying to keep up with what the men were saying, for she had heard Edwin’s name spoken, and as far as she knew, he was the only one by that name in Conisbrough. He wasn’t there, having not yet come out of the church.
She didn’t dare edge closer to them, so she caught the mood rather than the actual conversation, but it didn’t sound good. Rumbling, angry tones, with even the reeve, whom she could just see if she glanced surreptitiously without turning her head, getting quite agitated.
The carpenter, who was also of the group, broke off to cuff a couple of his smaller sons, who had started fighting, and then he called over to Avice. ‘Stop jangling there, girl, and get back home. We’re all hungry.’
Avice bowed her head, collected two much younger sisters, and hurried off without saying anything.
The remaining group of women were broadly sympathetic. ‘Difficult for her, and so young, too.’ ‘He wants to marry again, get a wife to sort them all out before they get too wild.’ ‘Aye, but who wants a man with thirteen children already in the house? You’d have to be desperate, and even then there’s other men you’d choose first.’ ‘And maybe not so much work for him if everything is going to be in stone these days.’ ‘He’ll have to send some of those lads out for labouring. Shame for Avice there weren’t more girls, though – might share the work out a bit.’ ‘Well, after what happened to the older one … anyway, the littl’uns will be bigger soon, and that’ll help.’
Alys drifted away from the women’s talk again, because Edwin was coming out of the church alongside the priest. The men parted to let them through, staring at them in stony silence until they had passed and were out of earshot. Then the ugly buzz of complaints started again, though she couldn’t make out the details.
The groups broke up and everyone meandered towards home; the men to spend a few hours in their own vegetable gardens, rather than out in the fields; the children to help or get into mischief; the women to cook and try to keep their children out of trouble. Most of the houses in the village would be full of life and noise, but Alys’s would be empty.
She shrank closer to Cecily as the carpenter’s noisy brood scampered past them. Young Robin wasn’t among them – he was still talking to some others, evidently the subject of raillery about his injury.
Alys tried not to think about him. ‘Why are so many of them called Bert?’ she asked, suddenly.
William, keeping pace with them in his halting gait, snorted.
Cecily laughed. ‘Yes, it was foolish, really.’ She turned to Alys. ‘There’s no mystery. It’s only three of them, and they do have different names – Herbert, Lambert and Albert – but they were all born so close together, less than a year between each and poor Hawise having no time to recover, that nobody expected all of them to survive, so Robin said he’d just call them all Bert and have done with it.’
‘But they did – all survive, I mean.’
‘Yes, a miracle, we all said. Fourteen children that woman bore, and never lost a single one of them. Though having Barty at such an age killed her, poor soul.’ Cecily crossed herself before continuing. ‘Never seen anything like it in Conisbrough, not in my lifetime, anyway. Some manage not to lose any babes, but only ever in small families, never so many. And the rest have their … losses to deal with.’ She fell silent.
They reached Cecily and William’s cottage, and Alys watched them go in. Then she continued on her way home, entering the empty space between the four walls, and shutting the door behind her.
Once Mass was over, Edwin waited for the congregation to disperse before he went to find Father Ignatius.
The priest was in the little sacristy, taking off his white alb and folding it with care. ‘I’m on my way up to the castle to say Mass there, but this is difficult to get clean if it gets muddy.’
‘You’ll see Sir Roger in the chapel?’
‘Yes, and others too. Why, did you want me to pass on a message to him?’
Edwin poked at a candle that wasn’t straight in its holder. ‘No, not really. I don’t have anything new to tell him, not yet.’
Father Ignatius paused in the act of stowing his things in a scrip. ‘But you don’t think the mason is guilty?’
‘No.’
‘Then we must not let an innocent man hang. Tell me how I can help.’
Edwin made a helpless gesture. ‘The only way to do that is to make sure we find out who really did it, and I’m no further on with that. Nobody will talk to me.’
‘I speak with many of the villagers, so I’ll bring the subject up and see if anyone says anything. It’s not much, but it’s a start, at least. Of course, I couldn’t repeat anything anyone said in confession, but in general conversation …’
‘Thank you, Father. And you could also visit Denis in his cell to pray with him, give him what comfort you may.’
The priest slung his scrip over one shoulder. ‘Of course. I would do that in any case, even if he were guilty – every soul deserves its chanc
e for repentance and forgiveness. But now I must be on my way.’
Edwin turned to walk with him. ‘Well, if you’re saying Mass for Sir Roger, you can at least be guaranteed one person’s full attention.’
‘Yes. Almost too much, indeed.’ Edwin’s face must have registered surprise, for he continued, hurriedly. ‘I know it’s an odd thing for a priest to say, and of course I appreciate any man who wishes to serve God to the best of his ability. But the rules do try to encourage us away from fanaticism, and Sir Roger is … knocking on the door of it.’
They reached the main part of the church, now empty. Father Ignatius continued. ‘While such devotion, such asceticism, might be acceptable in a monk, he is a knight and therefore must serve in a different way. His continual withdrawing into himself isn’t good either for him or for the men under his command.’
‘I have noticed that he’s been different since we came back from Sandwich. You know why, of course.’
The priest crossed himself. ‘Yes. Requiescat in pace. But that can’t be the whole reason. It’s been several months since then, and I have trouble getting two words from him – or at least, two words that aren’t discussions of scripture. The only animation I’ve seen him display since he arrived is …’ he tailed off.
‘What?’
‘Of course, I should have mentioned it before. He overheard Ivo blaspheming, and was roused to great anger.’
Edwin stopped. ‘Really? When was this?’
Father Ignatius made an effort to remember. ‘About two weeks ago? Ivo came here to speak to me about tithes, and he took the Lord’s name in vain when he became heated. Sir Roger was just coming in to speak of something else, and he heard. I’ve rarely seen him so angry. It’s a sign, I suppose, of how much more devout he’s become.’
Edwin considered this. Sir Roger had always been pious – much more so than any layman Edwin had ever met – but he seemed to do it in a gentle, joyful way. This sounded different. Still, it couldn’t have any bearing on the murder, so he simply shelved it away in his mind.
They were now at the church door. Edwin’s eye was caught by a movement in the porch, and he saw Osmund hovering there.
Father Ignatius addressed him. ‘Yes, my son. Did you need to speak to me?’
Osmund had a nervous look; his eye went from the priest to Edwin and then back again. ‘No, Father, no. Not now.’ Then he was gone.
How strange. They made their way out of the church, where the villagers were gathered in groups as they usually were for a while after Sunday Mass. Edwin followed the priest. ‘I’ll walk up to the castle with you, if I may – I’ll start there with some more questions and then work my way back to the village.’
Once they were through the main gate, Father Ignatius carried on, while Edwin stopped in the outer ward to look about him. There was less work going on today, of course – even the forge was unlit – but some jobs never stopped, and Edwin spotted Arnulf supervising the mucking out of the stables.
He made his way over, and stood for a moment in the patch of watery sunlight that was temporarily bathing the front wall.
Arnulf joined him. ‘All right?’
‘Yes and no – I’m fine, thank you, but I haven’t got much further with finding out who killed Ivo.’
The stablemaster looked confused. ‘I thought that were what the court were all about yesterday – I heard tell that you’d found the guilty man.’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Who’s that locked up in the gatehouse cell, then?’
‘One of the masons. The jury found him guilty, but I don’t think he did it.’
Arnulf shrugged. ‘Foreigner, though, isn’t he? Probably best to let him swing and then we can all forget about it.’
Edwin wasn’t so tired that he couldn’t be incensed by this. ‘But what about justice?’
‘There’s little enough of that in this world. If he’s innocent then he’ll go to heaven, won’t he? And the guilty man will go to hell in the end, whatever happens now.’
‘Yes, but –’ Edwin’s eye was caught by one of the grooms, who was carrying a bucket in his left hand. He changed the subject. ‘What I’m looking for at the moment is someone who favours his left hand.’
‘Oh, like Sir Roger?’
‘Yes, it’s not something I’ve ever paid much attention to before, but now I realise that some people … what did you just say?’
‘I told you the other day, didn’t I? Or did I – I can’t rightly remember now. Sir Geoffrey had terrible trouble with him when he were a lad, ’cause he’d always hold his sword and his shield the wrong way round. But Sir Geoffrey beat it out of him in the end. Didn’t make too much difference to him when he were riding, luckily for me.’
Edwin was stupefied. And to think he’d never noticed! But then again, why would he? The issue had never been of any interest before, and besides, Sir Roger held his sword or lance in his right hand, the same as everyone else.
The thought was just too enormous to contemplate, coming on top of what Father Ignatius had just said. Sir Roger? The whole notion was unthinkable, impossible.
Arnulf was bidding him goodbye as he went back to work. Edwin answered him absent-mindedly and then walked off. He needed to think.
Alys stiffened as a knock sounded on the cottage door. She stood behind it, hesitating, but then heard Rosa’s voice. ‘Are you there?’
She forced a smile and opened the door. ‘I didn’t expect to see you today.’
‘I’m supposed to be at home helping Ma, but I said I had to come and fetch something I’d left here yesterday. I can’t be too long or she’ll crack her knuckles on me when I get back.’
‘Well, come in, then. Is anything the matter?’ Alys noted for the first time that Rosa seemed agitated. ‘Is anything wrong with Hal?’
‘Oh no, nothing like that – but thank you for asking. No, I came about two things.’
Alys ushered her towards the fire and offered Rosa a seat, but she remained standing, rubbing her chapped hands over the warmth.
‘The first is – thank you. About yesterday, I mean. Not just the meal but inviting me over while Aelfrith was here.’
Alys felt her lip curl up, despite herself.
Rosa saw it and rushed on. ‘Oh, now – nothing like that. He didn’t say nothing on the way home, but he did walk all the way with me and stop to talk with Ned for a little while. And he did say goodbye – to me, I mean – when he went.’
‘Well, that’s a good start. And you’re welcome. If I see him again, I’ll mention your name to make sure he doesn’t forget.’ She saw that Rosa was still fidgety. ‘What was the other thing?’
Rosa’s face went from pleased to agonised within a moment. The hand-rubbing became hand-wringing. ‘It’s about Master Edwin.’
Alys felt a weight settle in the pit of her stomach. ‘What about him?’
‘He’s not – what I mean is – all the men are angry with him because he keeps asking questions all the time. They reckon he’s trying to blame one of them for the bailiff’s murder, when everyone knows it was that foreigner.’
‘I don’t think we do know that it was him. But carry on – is there anything else I should know?’
‘Well, today after church when we got home, Pa says to Ned, we shouldn’t let our Hal work for Edwin no more. But he’s not much use to anyone else yet, unless we can get him a job in the castle stable. So if not, then you’ll have to labour for someone else, he says, and Hal can help me.’
‘I would be very sorry to lose Hal, but surely –’
Rosa interrupted her, unable to stop now she’d started. ‘But it’s not just that. Hal do love his job here, and I’m right happy for him, because he’s well fed and he’s not sick like he used to be. But you need to watch out over Master Edwin – I don’t know what they’re planning, but Pa says the men are going to say summat to him. Pa says he won’t go along with no violence – not with Hal having worked here and it’s not right anyway – but something
bad is going to happen.’ She dropped her hands. ‘So I just thought I’d better tell you.’
Alys embraced her. ‘Thank you. I’m sure it’s nothing we need to worry about too much, but thank you for telling me, and I’ll tell Edwin so we’ll be ready if anyone comes to speak to him. Now, you’d better go before you get in trouble with your mother.’
She opened the door for Rosa and watched her hurry away.
Once she was alone, she sat down to try and take it all in. She’d noticed herself that Edwin wasn’t making himself very popular with all his questions, but he’d dismissed her fears because, as he rightly said, these were people he’d known all his life. But it was easy to be jealous of the good fortune of another, and although Edwin had worked his way into his current high position – at great cost to himself – there were plenty who would see it as simple luck, and be envious. But what would they do? What could they do? Surely if they started to harangue him too much he could simply ask for the knight at the castle to intercede on his behalf? Or would that make things worse?
Another knock at the door made her start almost up off the stool. This time she peered out of the window to see if she could make out who was there before she risked opening the door. Dear Lord, between her and Edwin and all the people they didn’t want to see, was life going to be like this all the time from now on?
She felt a sense of relief when she saw that it was Cecily who stood outside, and rushed to let her in.
‘I’ve come to say that I’m on my way up to see Alban – you remember, the mason with the injured face? – and maybe also to see the one in the cell, if they will let me. Would you like to come?’
‘Yes, yes I would. Just give me a few moments …’ Alys busied herself placing the turfs around the fire and finding her shawl. Anything was better than sitting here on her own the whole afternoon. ‘Ready.’
The rain had started up again, and the road was muddy. They branched off before they reached the castle gate, making their way round to the remains of the masons’ camp. There they found some men busy taking down any charred wood that still remained upright, and piling it up some distance away; others sorted their way through damaged cooking pots and other possessions. They had rigged up some rudimentary shelters with canvas and ropes, and a cooking fire was going with something bubbling over it, but the overall scene was bleak and they must have spent the night cold and wet.
