[Mediaeval Mystery 06] - Cast the First Stone

by C. B. Hanley

  And his mother, his beloved mother – would she return from her honeymoon only to find that her only son was dead? Sir Geoffrey would be angry, furious enough to take revenge in any way he could, but it would be too late by then, for Edwin would be cold in the ground.

  Or not. An even worse thought, which put his head over the bucket again, was that his body would not be buried, but would be left to hang, like the rotting corpses of the outlaws that had adorned the crossroads for months. And he would be denied entrance to heaven.

  He heard a noise from outside the room, and straightened, wiping his face on the edge of a blanket. It wouldn’t do to be found like this. He wondered if it was Alys again – she’d tried to follow him up when he’d been taken away after the court, but had been denied access. Sir Roger had ridden off somewhere on his own again, otherwise he might have intervened; Edwin would try to get a message to him later, somehow. Surely even a condemned man should be allowed to see his lawful wife.

  But the rasping ‘I’m telling you now, boy, get out of my way or you’ll regret it’ gave away the identity of the visitor before the door even opened.

  William Steward dragged himself in, barked ‘Shut the door and leave us in peace’ at the guard, and waited until he was obeyed before he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Well. Here we are.’

  There was a moment of silence.

  ‘Edwin –’

  ‘William, I –’

  Edwin gestured for the older man to speak first.

  ‘I’m not going to let this happen, Edwin, I swear.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s much you can do about it.’

  ‘Dammit, I was a soldier once, before most of these striplings were born. If I have to take up my sword again –’

  Edwin was alarmed. ‘Don’t do anything like that! The last thing we need is you getting arrested as well.’

  William let out a strangled cry of frustration and thumped his hand down on the bed frame. ‘But it’s not right!’

  Strangely, his uncle’s anger made Edwin feel calmer. ‘There is still some time. But violence is not the way. I was just thinking that I wished Martin were here, but actually that wouldn’t help – the forces of justice are against us. I’ve been found guilty by the jury, so any attempt to start a fight about it will put you on the wrong side of the law as well. We must think. The only thing that will save me is finding the real culprit, and the answer must be here somewhere.’

  William sat for a moment, cleared his throat, looked as though he would start to speak, stopped, and then began again. ‘There is another way you could save yourself.’

  Edwin looked at him sharply.

  ‘You could …’

  Edwin started shaking his head, but William wanted to continue now that he’d started. ‘All you have to do is tell them that the mason did it. The men in the village are angry with you because you didn’t side with them when they blamed him. If you agree with them now they’ll surely overturn their verdict. And the sheriff won’t mind as long as he’s presented with a culprit.’

  Edwin looked at him for a long moment before trusting himself to speak. ‘And this is really what you think of me? You think I’d condemn an innocent man to death so I can save my own life? What would I be worth then, in the eyes of my fellow men, my family? In the eyes of God?’

  William had been staring at the floor during this, no doubt aware that Edwin was speaking the truth, and ashamed of himself for bringing it up, but now he raised his head again and spoke with anger. ‘Of course I don’t want you to do that, not if there’s another way! But dammit, boy, they’re going to hang you. Probably the day after tomorrow. And I will do anything – anything – to stop that, you hear?’

  ‘I can’t –’

  But William was in full flow, tears in his eyes and rolling down his scarred face. ‘I remember the day you were born! How happy your parents were, and Cecily, after we – I’ve watched you learn to walk, to talk, to think. You’re the living image of your father, God rest him, and thank the Lord he’s not here to see this. I can’t stand by and let this happen to you. I won’t.’ He thumped the bed frame again.

  ‘Stop that.’ Edwin spoke rather more sharply than he had intended, and William was surprised enough to break off. ‘You’ll only hurt your hand, and that’s the last thing you need on top of everything else.’ He tried to gather his wits. ‘Two days. Well, a day and a half. Maybe more if we can talk the sheriff round, but I wouldn’t count on that.’ He stood and began to pace up and down the chamber. ‘I’ve got all that time to sit here and think, which is good, but I won’t be able to get out and ask questions, which isn’t.’

  William was looking at him with dawning hope in his eyes. ‘I can do that, or some of it, anyway. And I can get some eyes and ears around the place.’

  ‘I’ll also need to talk to Alys, if we can manage that. We’ve tried already, but they wouldn’t let her in. Sir Roger could overrule them, but he’s gone again – and where does he keep riding off to, on his own?’

  Edwin stopped his pacing and took a deep breath. He didn’t feel sick any more. ‘First things first. Listen. Please, whatever you do, don’t put yourself in any danger, because there is a killer out there somewhere. But if you can sound out who in the village was most in favour of convicting me, and who might have been less keen, that would be a help.’

  William nodded and hauled himself to his feet. ‘Consider it done. At the moment you can trust me and Crispin, and that’s about it. And Father Ignatius. I’ll get him to come as soon as I can – they can’t stop you seeing a priest.’

  ‘Good.’

  William made his way to the door, then hesitated. ‘I know what you said. About the mason. And I admire you for it. But this is your life, Edwin – I’d rather have you perjured and alive than honest and dead, and so would Alys and your mother.’

  Edwin shook his head. ‘I won’t. I can’t. I will not send a man to hang when I know he’s innocent.’

  ‘Even if it kills you?’

  Edwin hoped his courage would last a little longer. ‘Even if it kills me.’

  The walls were still there. They had faded into darkness as the crack of light around the window shutter disappeared, but they were still there, confining him. Pressing in on him. There was a tallow rushlight in the chamber, but he had not yet asked for it to be lit. It would last maybe an hour, so he’d save it for later in case demons came out of the dark.

  He’d been given a bowl of vegetable pottage and some bread from the castle’s evening meal. Eating was the last thing he felt like doing, but if he was going to stay alert through the night and tomorrow, hunger would not be his friend. So he had forced it down. He’d been about halfway through when it occurred to him to wonder whether he should be suspicious of poison, but it was too late by then, and anyway, what would be the point? He would be dead in two days anyway. And besides, the danger came not from the castle but the village.

  All his life he’d been a villager, aware of the castle looming above him and proud that his father was admitted to it as part of his duties. But both he and Father had been one of ‘us’, not one of ‘them’. Now Edwin saw that it was the other way round; he might think he still belonged in the village, either because he slept there or through some kind of residual memory, but now he was one of ‘them’, and he needed to start thinking of the inhabitants of the castle, of the earl’s household, as ‘us’. It had become clearer over the last few days – indeed, he should have seen it earlier. He could come and go in the castle at will, with no challenge to his right to be here or his implied authority.

  Authority. That was what was currently missing from the situation. All of this would not have happened if the earl had been present, or even Sir Geoffrey. But Sir Roger was battling demons of his own and could not control the situation; and with no bailiff either, there was nobody to turn to. Which was why he, Edwin, had been asked to step in to resolve disputes recently. He was the earl’s only senior rep
resentative here.

  Wait.

  Had he been accused and locked up to stop him asking questions? If so, then the culprit had succeeded – he couldn’t do anything from here. But that meant that anyone else asking questions would also be in danger. And to accuse a third person of murder was impractical, so if the killer felt someone was getting too close then he might simply …

  Oh, Lord.

  A moment later, Edwin was up and banging hard on the door. ‘Hey! Let me out! It’s important!’

  There was no reply other than ‘Of course it is. Now shut up before I come in there and shut you up myself.’

  Edwin thumped harder on the door. ‘You don’t understand – you have to let me out! Now!’

  Alys opened her eyes. The bed was cold and uncomfortable this morning. She turned over to see if Edwin was awake.

  She wasn’t in her bed. She was lying on a straw palliasse in William and Cecily’s cottage. The tiny moment of half-awake comfort disappeared as it all came crashing down on her, and she felt heavy, nailed to the floor, unable to rise and face the day.

  A sound came from the bedchamber at the end of the cottage, and the door opened.

  It was Cecily. ‘Is William out here?’

  Alys managed to sit up. ‘No.’ The room was empty, and there was no indication that William had already gone out. Besides, his awkward, dragging gait so close to her would surely have woken her up.

  Cecily moved forward to coax the fire into life. ‘He said he would be busy until after nightfall yesterday, so he probably decided to sleep at the castle rather than trying to make his way back in the dark. I’m going to see Alban first thing, so I’ll go up into the ward afterwards and ask for William.’ A tiny flame sprang up on the hearth, and she fed it some twigs. ‘I hope he hasn’t slept on the hall floor, or he’ll be so stiff he can hardly move today.’

  The fire now well alight, she turned to Alys. ‘And we will consult him on what we can best do for Edwin. If I know William, he’ll be halfway to tearing the walls down by now.’ She put her hands on Alys’s shoulders. ‘Have courage. All is not yet lost.’

  Alys didn’t want to be left in the cottage on her own, so she agreed to accompany Cecily to the masons’ camp. Then she too would go up to the castle, and make as much fuss as she could about being allowed to see Edwin. If she could only talk to him, touch him, know that he was still real and living, she could perhaps persuade herself that there was still hope.

  Before long, they were on their way up the village street in the pre-dawn light. Others were about their business: men on their way to the fields, women starting the day’s chores, and Gyrth collecting the first of his charges to take to the woods. But no greetings came Alys’s way, no friendly looks or waves. Indeed, as they came level with the carpenter’s workshop where it stood on the other side of the green, Young Robin stopped what he was doing in order to fold his arms and glare at her with such ferocity that she shivered. And there was not just anger in the expression on his battered face; there was a sort of anticipation, as though he were a wolf looking at its prey. Alys hurried on, trying not to think of what might happen to her if Edwin did not return.

  They reached the path that wound its way up to the castle, and then turned off to the side towards the camp. But something caught Alys’s eye and she stopped. ‘What’s that?’ She pointed to one of the water-filled holes that rutted the path, a deep one. Something bulky was sticking out of it, but it was difficult to see with the sun not properly up.

  She took a few steps towards it and then stopped as she felt every hair on her neck rising. She turned and spread her arms to prevent Cecily from approaching. ‘Don’t look.’

  Cecily caught something in the tone of her voice. ‘What is it?’ Alys tried to stop her, but Cecily’s increasing panic made her strong and heedless, and she pushed Alys’s hands away. She walked one or two paces and then broke into a run. ‘No! Oh no!’

  There was nothing to do but follow her – follow her to the crater where the body of William Steward lay face down with his head under the water.

  Cecily’s piercing screams and howls of anguish brought people running from all directions: men came down from the castle and up from the camp and the road to the fields; women streamed out of the village. Locked in the horror of the moment, Alys sought only to hold Cecily, to stop her from injuring herself as the first, overwhelming grief struck her.

  More screams sounded as the village women saw the body. There was a clamour of people, nobody saying anything worthwhile or helpful, and then a man shouldered his way through the crowd. It was the castle sergeant-at-arms.

  ‘Stay back! All of you.’

  He knelt by the side of the hole and put out a hand to William, but it was clear to all of them that nothing could be done – he was dead and stiff.

  The sergeant stood up and turned to Cecily. His voice was gentle. ‘I’m sorry, mistress, but he’s gone. He must have tripped and fallen in the dark last night.’

  He crossed himself and then began issuing orders to his men to move the body.

  ‘Stop.’

  Alys hadn’t meant to sound so authoritative, and the sergeant was so surprised by the tone that he paused mid-word and turned to her. ‘Mistress?’

  There were murmurs and faint sounds of derision from the villagers – ‘Who does she think she is?’ and ‘Thinks she’s Edwin now, does she?’, but she ignored them.

  ‘If you please,’ she said, concentrating only on the sergeant, ‘he didn’t just trip.’

  ‘How can you know that? Did you see something?’

  There was a sudden hush.

  ‘I didn’t see what happened to him, but I can see him now.’ She pointed. ‘And there is a footprint on his hood, there, on the back of his neck.’

  The crowd surged forward, and it took a few moments for order to be regained. Alys was still holding Cecily, who had stopped screaming but was now making a dreadful keening noise, and she kept her arms about her as she addressed the sergeant once more. ‘Well?’

  He nodded. ‘You’re right. Whether or not he fell or whether he was pushed, after that someone pressed his foot down on him to hold his head under the water.’ He raised his voice so all could hear. ‘The steward has been murdered.’

  ‘What?’

  All turned at the sound of the voice to see Sir Roger striding down the hill. The crowd parted to let him through and he came to stand next to Alys and Cecily. He stared down at William’s body, standing in silence for so long that Alys wondered what he could possibly be thinking. Then she became aware that he was starting to shake. But he was a knight – surely he couldn’t be that shocked or upset at the sight of a body?

  But she had misinterpreted: it was not shock, it was anger.

  When he finally did speak, there was such fury in his voice, rage so barely suppressed, that those nearest to him had to step back to avoid being blown away by the force of it.

  ‘This is your doing,’ he almost spat at the villagers. ‘Murder. A murder in the dark, of a defenceless cripple, a man who has served the lord earl loyally all his life, a man who suffered terrible injuries in defence of the old earl and who has lived with the consequences ever since.’

  His eyes raked them all. ‘And more than this – he is dead because you were happy to convict the wrong men of murder. Denis the mason has been locked up all night and cannot have done this. Edwin Weaver has been locked up all night and cannot have done this. So unless you want to try and tell me that we have a third killer on our hands’ – he paused, as if daring anyone to say so, but there was silence – ‘then you have wilfully let the culprit walk free so you could blame others for your own purposes.’

  He allowed his voice to rise a little, and he put his hand on the hilt of his sword, although he did not draw it. ‘I have been too lenient. By all the saints, I have let you get away with too much, in the name of the law. And this is the result.’ He pointed at William’s body. ‘Look at him. Look at him, all of you! See what you ha
ve done.’

  Alys felt Cecily dissolve into sobs once more, but Sir Roger was continuing, oblivious. ‘So this is what we are going to do. There is only one man who can get to the bottom of this before tomorrow, and you all know who he is. He has been convicted, yes, so we will stay within the letter of the law – Everard shall stay by his side from the moment he steps out of his chamber until the moment he is locked back in it, so he remains in custody.’

  Sir Roger pointed a finger at all of them. ‘And he will walk among you. He will talk, he will question you. You will answer to him, or face me. And if one hair of his head is harmed, I swear by all the saints that I will hang every man who sits on the jury.’

  A final deep breath. ‘Is. That. Clear?’

  Even the more bellicose among the villagers didn’t dare speak, or even raise their eyes. They stared at the floor, nodded, murmured, and melted away.

  Sir Roger closed his eyes and turned his face to the heavens for a moment. Then he opened them, knelt in the mud, and began to say the prayer for the dead. He was joined by Father Ignatius, who had appeared belatedly – he would have been saying his morning service, thought Alys, inconsequentially, when Cecily screamed, but he did not allow it to disturb him.

  Once they had finished, the two men crossed themselves and stood up. Sir Roger’s eyes were sunk even deeper into the hollows of his face, and his voice was agitated as he gave his orders, telling the sergeant to go and let Edwin out, the other men to take the body to the church, and the masons to get back to work.

  Philippe, the master mason, hovered. ‘Sir …’

  Sir Roger indicated that he should speak. Philippe said something; he spoke in French, but Alys could make out that it was a question about Denis.

  Sir Roger replied in the same language, his tone conciliatory but with a shrug that seemed to indicate helplessness. Then he addressed the men who were watching their comrades lift and turn William’s body. ‘Have Denis taken out of that cell and put in a room in the household quarters. Keep him there, but make sure he’s warm and gets something to eat.’ And then something to Philippe again.