by C. B. Hanley
‘What?’ Neville was so shocked that he was momentarily lost for words. But then one of the castle men behind Alys sniggered, which made him find his voice again. ‘You have let a condemned man roam free?’
‘He is not yet condemned – the manor court has no such authority. And not free, either; my sergeant-at-arms will be by his side at all times.’
Alys watched as the sheriff considered, tapping his fingers on his folded arms. It was just possible that Sir Roger had pulled off something brilliant, diverting so much of Neville’s ire towards himself that there might be less for Edwin. Or, on the other hand …
Neville had reached a decision. ‘Well, I have the authority, even if they don’t. I hereby condemn – what are their names?’ – this to one of his own men, a clerk, hovering at his side – ‘Edwin of Conisbrough and Denis, a French stonemason, to death for the crime of murder.’
Alys felt her knees giving way as everything started to spin.
Sir Roger, too late, realised his miscalculation. ‘But …’
‘Silence!’ snapped Neville. ‘I will accept your offer of rest and refreshment, while you send out men to fetch this missing fellow back here. I will wait attended only by my clerk while the rest of my men, and yours, find a suitable place for the hanging.’ He turned to his sergeant. ‘No need to bother erecting a gallows – just find a decent tree. There was one near the bridge, so check to see if that will do.’
‘So you’re going to hang the both of them, without even hearing more about the murder, at tomorrow’s dawn?’ Sir Roger sounded outraged.
‘No.’
Neville’s reply took all the onlookers by surprise. Enjoying the moment, he continued. ‘As I said, I’m a busy man. I don’t want to have to stay here overnight – if we have the hanging this afternoon I can get back to Sprotborough before nightfall and stay the night there on my way back to York.’ He looked about him. ‘We’ll get on with it as soon as this man gets back, and as soon as we’ve got a noose ready for him.’
Alys couldn’t hold on any longer. Everything stopped spinning and went black.
Edwin could see smoke rising from the farm cottage as they approached. ‘Someone’s there, anyway.’
‘The fearsome mother, I expect,’ was Everard’s response. ‘Look – the door’s opening.’
An elderly woman appeared, wrapping a shawl around her and squinting towards them. ‘Who’s coming there?’
They reined in and Everard called out their names, and that they were here to see Aelfrith on a matter of importance.
‘Everard? Haven’t seen you for years. And you, boy – are you Godric’s son?’
Edwin dismounted with an ease that would have surprised him a few months ago. ‘Yes, yes I am. Is Aelfrith here?’
‘He’s out in the fields, but I can fetch him back.’ Edwin wondered how she was going to manage that, and was on the verge of saying he’d go out after Aelfrith himself, when she took up a stick and used it to beat a short length of metal pipe that was hanging from the cottage eaves. She was vigorous in her attack on it, and the noise was tremendous – it must have been audible for miles around.
‘That’ll fetch him back,’ said the woman. ‘Now, come on in and make yourselves comfortable – it’s not often I have company.’ She disappeared inside.
Edwin and Everard exchanged a puzzled glance. ‘I suppose that is his mother, and not someone else?’ ventured Edwin.
‘It’s her all right.’ Everard took both sets of reins and tied them firmly to the branch of a tree. ‘But now I’m thinking of it, although I’ve heard a lot about her in recent years, I can’t remember the last time I actually saw her.’
Edwin tried to recall whether he’d ever, in fact, met Aelfrith’s mother, or whether his own knowledge was entirely based on hearsay. To his shame he thought that the latter was more likely. But her bad temper – and her supposed ill-health – were both legendary in the village. How had such rumours come into being?
The unexpectedly welcoming atmosphere was even more evident when they entered the cottage; Aelfrith’s mother fussed around, making sure they were comfortable near the fire and fetching them cups of an ale that turned out to be very tasty. Then she quizzed Everard about some former acquaintances in the village, asking for her good wishes to be passed on to those of them who turned out to be still alive.
Edwin was still trying to come up with an explanation for all this when a sound from the door caught his attention and he turned to see Aelfrith standing on the threshold, aghast at the scene before him. He looked so taken aback that Edwin wondered if he might turn and run, and was half off his stool in anticipation, but Aelfrith stepped forward, composing his face into an expression that Edwin recognised as being ‘I’ve been caught in the act so I may as well confess’. But confess to what?
Aelfrith started with some false cheer. ‘So glad to see you have guests, Mother – I hope you’re making them comfortable?’
She smiled at him. ‘Of course. I just think it’s a shame you don’t invite visitors here more often.’ She turned to Everard. ‘I’m always telling him, you know, he should ask some friends to come and eat with us once in a while, and far past time he should be bringing home a wife to keep me company.’
‘Now, that’s enough of that, Mother – I’ll marry when I’m good and ready, and not before. But I’m sure that’s not what they’ve come to talk about.’ He made an effort to keep his voice level as he addressed Edwin. ‘So what can I do for you?’
Edwin gave what he hoped was a significant glance at the old woman, and Aelfrith took the hint. ‘Men’s talk, Mother – we won’t bother you with it.’ He sat down.
She grumbled good-humouredly about being deprived of precious company, but stood and moved off into a back room. ‘I’ll be about the bread dough if you need me.’
They waited until they could hear her about her task before Aelfrith spoke again. ‘Well then.’
Edwin’s mind was working. ‘This isn’t what we came to talk about, but I think I can see how it’s connected. The only way that rumours can have spread through the village about your mother being a bad-tempered crone – excuse my language, but that’s what the word is – is if you started them yourself, or at least if you made no attempt to stop them.’
Aelfrith had the grace to look ashamed, but he didn’t say anything.
‘But why?’ continued Edwin. ‘No, wait. It’s because you want to put people off coming here – that’s why you looked so shocked when you saw us.’
Aelfrith gestured his agreement but still didn’t speak.
‘So again, why? And what does this have to do with you being seen in the village on the night Ivo died?’
‘What?’ That shook the other out of his silence and almost to his feet. ‘Who saw me? Where?’
Everard stood. ‘Calmly, now.’ He moved to place himself between Aelfrith and the door. ‘You tell us everything.’
Aelfrith looked from one to the other. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow. ‘I was in the village. But I was just meeting someone – it had nothing to do with Ivo, and I didn’t even see him.’
Edwin gazed at him but remained silent, waiting to see if this would prompt further information.
Aelfrith pulled at the neck of his tunic. ‘Honest, I tell you – I’ll swear to it that I never saw him, nor heard anything.’
‘Who were you meeting?’
‘That I can’t tell you.’
‘For God’s sake, boy’ – that was Everard – ‘you do realise how serious this is? Edwin’s in danger of being punished for a crime he didn’t commit, we’re looking for a murderer, time’s running out and you’re holding us up because you’re squeamish about giving us the name of some girl you’re courting?’
Edwin was watching Aelfrith’s face as Everard spoke, and things started to fall into place. ‘I see it now.’ And Aelfrith’s expression of terror confirmed it. ‘You don’t want to get married, do you? That’s why you let the rumours fly that keep everyone a
way. The only person in the village who sees your mother, apart from you, is Father Ignatius.’ He could see that he was heading along the right path. ‘And he always comes back saying that she is a nice person and thanking the Lord that she is still in health. But nobody believes him because they all think he’s just being his usual charitable self, and it suits them better to listen to the gossip.’
Everard was confused. ‘But what has this to do with anything else?’
‘Do you want to tell him, or shall I?’ Edwin asked.
‘You’re doing well so far,’ came the bitter reply. ‘You may as well carry on.’
‘If people from the village came here more often, they would see a prosperous farm run by a handsome man with a pleasant and welcoming mother. How many girls – and how many of their fathers – do you think would be queueing up?’
‘But why is that a problem?’ Everard hadn’t got it yet.
Edwin kept his eyes on Aelfrith. ‘Because he doesn’t want to get married, because he doesn’t want a wife. And he won’t tell us who he was meeting in the village because it wasn’t a girl.’
He paused for a moment and then risked a glance at Everard, whose face now carried a mingled expression of loathing and contempt.
‘Oh, stop it,’ said Edwin. ‘Knights have close friendships between men all the time, and if Father Ignatius doesn’t condemn him then who are you to do so?’
‘But –’
‘Keep your voice down!’ hissed Aelfrith, with a glance towards the back room. ‘If she knew, it would kill her. Have mercy on her, at least.’ He faced Edwin and squared his shoulders. ‘If you need me to swear to all this to save you then I will, but nothing you can do to me will make me give you anyone else’s name.’
‘It’s all right,’ replied Edwin absently as he got to his feet, mind already back to the murder now he was sure Aelfrith had nothing to do with it. ‘I know who it is. But I won’t say anything.’
They left the farm and rode back towards Conisbrough in silence.
After a while, Edwin began to sense that they were not alone. He looked at Everard to see if he thought the same, and the sergeant nodded and drew his sword. They continued on with caution, Edwin breathing a sigh of relief as he could see the forest thinning ahead; they were nearly home.
‘Come out from there!’ barked Everard, suddenly.
‘Don’t hurt me!’ squeaked a voice, and to Edwin’s surprise Hal appeared on the path in front of them.
Everard lowered his sword. ‘You stupid boy. What possessed you to –’
But Hal had eyes only for Edwin. ‘Don’t go back, Master Edwin. Just turn around.’
‘What are you –’ began Everard, but Edwin waved him to silence. They were near enough to the village for him to see what Hal was warning him against.
A group of men he didn’t recognise were slinging ropes over a broad bough of the great oak that stood near the bridge. Ropes that had nooses at the end.
Everard swore, loudly. ‘Get home, boy,’ he said to Hal, ‘before you get in trouble for warning us. Quickly now.’ He waited until Hal was out of earshot before turning to Edwin.
‘God forgive me, and I’ve never said this to anyone before, but if you want to run then I won’t stop you. Just ride away, right now. They don’t know who you are, not yet. I’ll make a show of following you and then make sure I fall off, or pull my horse up lame, or something. You could be miles away before anyone else noticed.’
The urge to flee was so strong that Edwin actually tensed, ready to put his heels to the horse’s flank, and it started to dance in anticipation. But what would be the point?
‘And become an outlaw? Starving in the forest and liable to be killed on sight?’ He shook his head. ‘And, more to the point, it would be seen as proof of my guilt. My father’s name would be shamed for ever, and as for Alys … no.’
Everard was looking at him with sympathy. ‘But …’
‘Yes, I know. They’ll hang me – tomorrow morning at dawn, I expect. Which still gives me a few hours. And besides, even if the worst comes to the worst, I can go to my death proclaiming my innocence, which might convince a few people, and it might help Alys a little.’
He calmed the horse. ‘My conscience is clear, and I will stand before the Almighty able to say truthfully that I had no part in Ivo’s death – or William’s. God will judge.’ He paused. ‘Now, let’s ride on and face it before I lose my courage.’
Everard nodded. ‘You’re a good man, and a brave one. Your father would be proud.’
And what will Mother think, wondered Edwin, when she comes back from her honeymoon to find her son’s lifeless body hanging from a tree? He would get the chance to say his farewells to Alys, but not to her – even allowing for the message that had been sent off to her following William’s death, he couldn’t hope that she would arrive back so soon. But she at least would have Sir Geoffrey to protect her. All he could do was to entrust Alys with a message to her, and then to trust that, in turn, Sir Geoffrey would extend his protection to Alys. The widow who had been his good-daughter for only a matter of weeks.
And what of him, Edwin? He wasn’t going to be able to solve this before the sands of time ran out, so death – painful, shameful, public execution – was the only future that beckoned. He remembered the day, back in May – had it only been half a year ago? – when his best friend had gone willingly to meet his own end. He only hoped he could last out long enough to die before he broke down and dishonoured his name.
They rode across the bridge, now only inches above the churning water, and Edwin concentrated on that in order to keep his eyes and his mind away from the men at their work by the tree.
Someone must have been looking out for them: they had barely entered the castle’s outer ward when they were surrounded by a crowd of yelling, gesticulating men. Edwin was pulled from his horse before he could dismount, and found himself grabbed, buffeted this way and that.
‘Stand fast there!’ A voice Edwin didn’t recognise came from somewhere past the crowd. The pushing and pulling slowed down and then stopped, various groups moving apart. Edwin found himself surrounded by a close knot of men from the castle, who were looking warily at a wider circle of men dressed in what was presumably the livery of the sheriff. No weapons had been drawn – yet – but the threat of sudden violence was certainly in the air. Edwin had been around it enough recently to be able to smell it.
Sir Roger pushed his way through. He was wearing his armour, which was surely not a good sign. ‘Edwin, I …’
‘I said stand fast there!’
On being addressed in such a manner, Sir Roger’s hand went to his sword hilt, his face rigid with anger. He turned.
A finely dressed, albeit travel-stained, man approached, others clearing a path for him. He looked Edwin up and down, and then addressed Sir Roger. ‘This is him? You identify him?’
‘This is Edwin, yes. A member of my lord earl’s personal household.’
‘And one who has, by due process, been found guilty of murder. Or are you suggesting that your lord is above the law?’
There was complete silence. Every single man there – the garrison, the sheriff’s party, and all those who worked in the castle ward, who had also gathered when they heard the fracas, watched Sir Roger. Edwin could hear them all breathing. He could hear them waiting. Sir Roger’s next move would be crucial.
Sir Roger looked at the floor, and then directly at Edwin. Those blue, blue eyes, so hollow now, were filled with sadness. ‘I’m sorry.’ Slowly he unclenched his hand from the sword hilt, held his arms out from his sides in a gesture of peace, and stepped back.
The garrison could do nothing but hold off as the sheriff’s men came forward, seizing Edwin’s hands and binding them before him. He felt the rope burn around his wrists as they pulled it tight. But why was this necessary? Was he going to have to stay like this all night?
The sheriff was speaking to one of his men. ‘The priest is with the other, is he not?
Take this one to the cell so he can confess as well. Never let it be said that I don’t let men make their peace with God. And while you’re waiting, round up everyone in the castle and the village. They all need to see justice being done.’
Edwin felt himself being pulled away, his arms jerking forward uncomfortably, but he still didn’t understand what was going on.
The sheriff saw his bewilderment and smiled. ‘You’re a murderer – what did you think was going to happen to you? We’re going to hang you.’
It was getting noisy again, and Edwin was so confused and frightened and panicked and terrified that he almost didn’t hear the last word of the sheriff’s sentence.
‘Now.’
Chapter Thirteen
Alys had awoken to find herself in a strange bed. She sat up in a panic and was rewarded with a return of the dizziness that sent her reeling.
But then she heard Cecily’s voice, and she fell back as she realised where she was.
‘I’m supposed to be looking after you,’ she said, weakly.
Cecily stroked her head. She seemed to have aged ten years in a day. ‘Just lie still until you feel like yourself again.’
After a few moments Alys tried sitting up, more slowly this time. She managed. ‘But what …?’ And then the panic hit her. ‘Edwin!’
‘He’s not back yet. And I hope to God he never will be.’
Alys felt like her head was full of wool. ‘What?’
‘We’ve done what we can. We couldn’t exactly disobey the sheriff’s orders, but we’ve found a few boys and sent them out into the woods to look for Edwin. If they see him, they’ll tell him what’s going to happen, and if he’s got any sense he’ll turn around and ride away.’
Alys put her fingers to her forehead. ‘We?’
Cecily looked towards the chamber door. ‘She’s awake – you can come in.’
Old Agnes entered, followed by Crispin and Father Ignatius.
The priest came to kneel by the bed. ‘Let us pray for a miracle.’
