by C. B. Hanley
‘But …’ Alys’s wits were returning, albeit slowly. ‘But, Father, you can’t go against the law, surely?’
‘There is man’s law, my child, and there is God’s law.’ He sounded sterner than she had ever heard him.
They all prayed for a few moments, and then Father Ignatius got to his feet. ‘I must go up to the castle. Regardless of what happens to Edwin, Denis is under sentence of death, and I must hear his confession.’ He stopped to rub his back with a grimace. ‘Trust in God.’
They heard him leave the house. ‘Trust in God, aye.’ Crispin tapped the hammer at his belt. ‘But not only in God.’ He looked at Cecily. ‘I’ll see if there’s any more news.’ He, too, left, and the three women were alone.
Alys swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘How did I get here? The last thing I remember was …’ she swallowed.
‘Crispin brought you here,’ said Agnes. ‘I was keeping an eye on Cecily, and next thing I know he’s kicking at the door, carrying you and saying he’d seen you fall up in the ward.’
‘And then he told us what had happened up there,’ added Cecily.
Alys stood up. Would her legs hold her? They did. ‘There must be something else we can do.’
The other two exchanged a glance that didn’t look hopeful, but Alys could feel energy and rage pouring back into her. If Edwin was going to die, she would die trying to save him, and then at least they could be together. Or she would kill anyone and everyone who meant him harm. She looked around for anything that might be used as a weapon.
They all heard the commotion from outside, but it was Alys who first distinguished the name ‘Edwin’ being cried aloud.
She was halfway to the cottage door when Crispin’s head appeared round it. ‘He’s back. Come quick.’
They ran out. Had the message not reached him? Versions of it were being shouted in the streets as he rode by with the sergeant alongside him. How could he not hear?
But then she caught a glimpse of his face, and the expression on it.
‘He knows,’ she said to Cecily. ‘He knows, and he’s made a decision.’
She watched his beloved figure as he passed, looking neither to the right nor the left, and then she let herself be carried along in the current of the shouting crowd.
But they had hardly reached the outer gates of the castle when they were almost ridden down by the sheriff’s men, who herded them all back to the village. Alys now saw what she hadn’t noticed on the way up: the two nooses hanging from the bough of the oak next to the bridge.
This time she was not going to faint. The world was not turning black, but red. She pushed her way through the crowd and strode up to the swinging ropes. Before anyone realised what she was doing, she had taken out her eating knife and was beginning to saw through one of them.
One of the sheriff’s men shouted, ‘Hey! Stop that!’, and before she had been able to do any significant damage she felt herself being pulled away, hands dragging her backwards and pinning her arms. Then there was more shouting and pulling as others got involved, and a shrieking which she eventually realised was coming from her own mouth.
One man was wrestled away from her, but a shout of ‘Don’t hit any of them!’ from Agnes stopped Crispin in the very act of raising his fist. One blow and they would hang him too.
Voices of authority were now sounding, and people were stepping back and away. Alys found herself in the centre of a space, and she turned to see a procession of men approaching: the sheriff, Sir Roger, Father Ignatius, Denis – being held by two of the sheriff’s men – and behind them all, Edwin.
Her heart was pounding so loudly it would soon force its way out of her chest. Her head was in a whirl, but through it all was the running question, How can I stop this?
One urge was to throw herself at Edwin for one last embrace, but that would be self-indulgent. No, she had to prevent this, not give in to it. Begging the sheriff would be no good, and would only serve to amuse him further. There was only one chance.
Alys ran to Sir Roger and dropped to her knees before him. ‘Please, Sir Roger. Please, do something!’
The agonised expression on his face was her only hope. She clutched her arms around his legs so he could not move without kicking her off, which he would never do. She pressed her face against the mail links of his hauberk and prayed.
‘Mistress, please …’
She looked up at his face. ‘You can’t let this happen.’
He was torn. ‘But the law …’
Behind them, the sheriff was ordering his men to make ready. Alys knew that if she turned, she would see the noose being put around Edwin’s neck.
She stared deep into the knight’s eyes.
‘Coward.’
She hadn’t said it loudly, but there was force and feeling behind it, and she felt the shock jolt through him.
This was her last chance. ‘The law. What is the law? Man’s law, or God’s? Is this right?’ She unclasped her arms from around him and stood. He was taller, but she took handfuls of his surcoat in her clenched fists and looked into the blue depths of his soul. ‘Tell me, is this what God wants you to do?’
Edwin had no time to think as he was surrounded, pulled out of the castle gates and down the hill, his hands still bound in front of him. Everything was loud, blurred, overwhelming.
Alys was there. He saw her encircled by hostile men and started struggling against his captors, but it was no good. But then she was released and he saw her turn. If he could have held out his arms to her, he would have done, but instead he was pulled past.
He was brought to a halt under the tree, with Denis beside him. There was a brief pause while Edwin, and maybe everyone else as well, tried to decide if what was happening was really true. He exchanged a long look with Denis, and then nodded. It was all over.
Alys was facing away from him, kneeling in front of Sir Roger and presumably begging for his life. It’s too late. It’s over. Please turn around and look at me so the last thing I see is your face.
The rope was being put about his neck. The knot was to the back, and he knew what that meant. Surely he should be praying, but he couldn’t.
And then, everything seemed to slow down, and he could see about him with perfect clarity. The horror and the hate, the terror and the sympathy. Every face, every movement. Everard and the garrison, unsure and looking to Sir Roger for the leadership he was not providing. Crispin, tense, one hand hovering over the hammer in his belt while his other arm was holding his mother in a protective embrace. Osmund – but not Gyrth, poor lad; at least he would be spared. Alwin, with his sons and daughter, Hal crying and looking sick. The reeve, hands clenched. Wulfric and Barty, hiding their faces in Avice’s gown so as not to have to watch. Young Robin, his bruised face carrying a smirk. Robin, cuffing one of his other sons with the back of his hand as he sought to keep them in check. Cecily, tears streaming. Father Ignatius, his lips moving in prayer but his face a mask of rage.
Faces, faces. The only one he couldn’t see was Alys’s. She was now standing, but still with her back to him. But then she turned in disgust from Sir Roger and strode forward, and to Edwin it was like an angel come to welcome him home. She could not get near enough to touch him – the sheriff’s men had weapons drawn to keep everyone back – but she stood proud and locked her gaze on to him.
Faces, movements. What had he just seen? He’d just seen something important. Something that meant –
At the sheriff’s order, Denis was hauled up, kicking and thrashing.
In his last, desperate, splintered look at the world, Edwin kept his eyes on Alys, but his mind was still working. That was it. He knew, now, what had happened. He knew who the murderer was.
But it was too late.
‘Pull!’
And then he was choking, and nothing else mattered.
Chapter Fourteen
And then he wasn’t.
He was lying on the ground – he could feel the cool, solid wetness against hi
s body and the side of his face. The rope was still tight around his neck but the awful, choking pressure had ceased. He could breathe a little, enough to force in some air that gave him the strength to move his hands. They were still bound together but he managed to squeeze his fingers inside the rope and loosen it. He took in a huge gulp of blessed air, but it was too much and the pain in his throat overwhelmed him for a few moments.
He became aware of two pairs of boots. One was standing on the ground in front of him; the other was kicking in the air. Denis!
Somehow he managed to get to his hands and knees and crawl half a yard so he was under the hanging mason. He felt Denis’s feet plant on his back and the kicking ceased. From somewhere above him a rasping, choking wheeze sounded.
The other boots were attached to mailed legs, supporting a figure wearing a hauberk … Sir Roger. How had this happened? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He concentrated on staying as still as possible and breathing as shallowly and evenly as he could while he came to terms with the fact that he was, somehow, still alive.
Belatedly, he began to hear, to make out words that were being spoken.
‘You will pay for this.’ The sheriff’s voice, cold fury.
‘No doubt I will, but only in this life. I would pay more if I let innocent men die and went to hell for it.’ Calm. Had the real Sir Roger returned at last?
‘Stand down, I tell you. Let the execution proceed and we will say no more about your … lapse.’
A woman’s sob. Was it Alys? And pain in his throat, throbbing terror that the noose might be replaced.
‘No. And I tell you to stand down, for you are outnumbered.’
‘You wouldn’t dare –’
‘Oh, I would.’ Edwin heard Sir Roger raise his voice. ‘All of you. I say that what I am doing is right, but it goes against the law. Any of you who wish to depart, do so now. Any who wish to obey my orders, release those two men.’
Edwin felt tears running down his face as there was a surge towards him. Through the legs of the crowd he could see a few people slipping away, and others pushing children back towards the village, but he was being surrounded, the weight on his back was lifted, he was supported, and then the scent of flowers … Alys was with him.
She cradled his head and he felt her tears dripping on to him. All he wanted to do was lie there, waiting for life to make sense again, but there was something important. Just before the rope had bitten – back in his previous life – he had been struck with insight.
He remembered. He opened his mouth to speak, before the culprit could get away, but all that came out was a croak. His throat was on fire.
He tried again. Alys bent her head to listen, and he managed to whisper a few words in her ear. She stiffened as she understood and then he heard her voice, calling for everyone to stop what they were doing. And then, after a pause, ‘Edwin knows who the real killer is!’
There was silence. Edwin could see everyone turning to look at him. He tried to take another breath but it got caught and he couldn’t speak. Instead, he pointed.
Alys had seen the change in Sir Roger’s eyes, and she stepped back. Whatever he would do now she didn’t know, but her own duty was clear. She placed herself as close as she could get to Edwin and looked into his eyes, willing him to know that she loved him and that she would be with him to the last. She heard the word ‘pull’ and saw Edwin being jerked off his feet as the noose tightened and the sheriff’s men hauled him up. She screamed. She couldn’t help it.
But then everything moved very quickly. Sir Roger drew his sword, stepped forward and sliced through the taut rope, which parted straight away to drop Edwin to the ground. He was alive – she could see him moving – but she couldn’t get near to him, as the whole space under the tree was now a sea of sharp steel. She felt Cecily pulling her away from the danger.
Sir Roger, sword in hand, took up a position in front of Edwin. ‘I will not let this happen.’ Alys had expected him to shout, but he sounded unnaturally calm.
She watched the sheriff stride forward, his own sword drawn. Some of his men surrounded him; the others were still behind Edwin, off balance after the weight of the rope they were holding suddenly disappeared. She pointed them out silently to Crispin, who nodded and drew the hammer from his belt.
All was not yet over – she heard ‘let the execution proceed’ and Cecily’s sob. But it was not to be; Sir Roger had prevented it, and now there was a rush of people, the sheriff’s men were surrounded, she could move forward … she was with Edwin.
Why was she crying, when she was so happy? She didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was here, he was alive, he was safe.
He was trying to tell her something. At first she made to shush him as he croaked, for surely nothing could be that important, but when he kept trying she put her ear next to his mouth.
‘What?’ He nodded to her; what little voice he had spent already. She looked wildly around her, unable to see … she had to do something.
‘Stop!’ She was little heeded. ‘Stop, everyone! Stop what you’re doing!’ And then, when she had some attention, ‘Edwin knows who the real killer is!’
And every single person there followed the line of Edwin’s shaking hand as he pointed.
Robin the carpenter didn’t even try to deny it. Once he saw Edwin indicating him as the culprit he just collapsed in a heap.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … but they were … and he was … and oh, William, I didn’t want to hurt William …’ He raised his hands to shield his face as he wept.
There was a stunned silence. It was broken by Young Robin, who grasped two handfuls of his father’s tunic and hauled him to his feet. ‘What are you saying?’ Alys heard him hiss under his breath. ‘Stop it right now, before –’
‘But it was me,’ he moaned. He turned his face from his son and shouted at them all in a kind of sobbing defiance. ‘It was me, do you hear? I did it!’
Robin’s other children were horrified, stupefied, unable to take in what they were hearing. But no, thought Alys to herself as she looked around. Not his children – his sons. Avice was looking at him with nothing more than contempt. And another glance told Alys that the little ones had, thankfully, disappeared somewhere.
She was still sitting on the ground holding Edwin, who was just starting to come back to himself, though he was in no condition to elaborate on his accusation.
The sheriff recovered more quickly. ‘A confession. So we’ll hang him instead and sort the rest of this out later.’ He gestured to his men. ‘Fashion another noose.’
‘No!’ This was from Young Robin. ‘No, you can’t!’ He looked wildly around him. ‘Stop them! Isn’t anyone going to help?’ He cast a begging look at Sir Roger. ‘You were willing to save them – what about him?’
But the knight was shaking his head. ‘They were innocent. He is guilty by his own confession.’
Young Robin addressed his father again, shaking him. ‘Take it back! Tell them you didn’t do it!’
‘I did it for you,’ was the weary, hopeless answer.
Young Robin lowered his voice. Alys caught his words, but Sir Roger and the sheriff, who were further off, probably didn’t. ‘Then run. Run now. If it’s the last thing I can do for you.’ With a sudden movement he dragged Robin a few paces and shoved him in the direction of the bridge. ‘Now!’ Then he barked at some of his younger brothers to help him.
‘Oh no you don’t!’
‘After him!’
The orders had come from sheriff and knight simultaneously, and both sets of soldiers sprang into action. But as they moved forward to capture Robin, his sons formed a scuffling, punching, kicking, biting barrier that gave him just enough time to find some life in his legs. He ran for the bridge.
He’d only made it halfway across when, by ill luck (or divine providence, as Father Ignatius would say later) a rider appeared at the other end. Seeing his way blocked, Robin spent a few agonised moments wrenching his
head this way and that, but he was trapped. With a despairing cry he took the only other way out, scrambling up on to the parapet and casting himself into the river.
The waters were high and swollen, and he was carried away from sight almost immediately, amid the cries and screams of his sons, some of whom were already racing to the bank calling out for him.
Alys had no idea whether Robin could swim or not, but surely no man could survive either that torrent or the cold for long. She buried her head in Edwin’s shoulder.
Edwin clutched at Alys as he felt the life coming back into him. He couldn’t see what had just happened, but from the reaction of those around him he could make a guess. All around him was uproar, the sheriff shouting, his men trying to catch hold of all Robin’s sons, the villagers exclaiming, the masons shielding Denis from any further harm, Sir Roger trying to impose some sort of order on proceedings.
And then the sound of hoofbeats, and a voice that cracked through the air, reducing the scene to immediate silence.
‘What in the name of God and all His saints is going on here?’
It was Sir Geoffrey. Suddenly everyone – Sir Roger and the sheriff included – looked like guilty schoolboys. The last of Edwin’s fear and tension left him as he knew now that he would survive the day. But nothing else mattered except that his mother, who had been riding pillion behind Sir Geoffrey, was dismounting and running towards him and Alys. She knelt on his other side and put her arms around him. And soon Cecily was there as well, and Edwin was safe in the warm, comforting embrace of the women in his life.
After some moments they helped him to sit up. Edwin realised that his hands were still bound; he held them out to Alys, who produced from somewhere about her an unexpectedly large knife. He looked at her in surprise.
She tried to shrug it off. ‘Cecily’s cooking knife. I didn’t know exactly what I might have to do.’ It took her only a moment to slice through the rope, and he chafed his sore wrists and hands, feeling them sting as they regained some life.
