The Sins of the Father: A Medieval Mystery (A Mediaeval Mystery)

by Catherine Hanley

  Robert’s voice was full of laughter as he looked down. ‘Just imagine that, Simon: someone the same age as you being king!’

  Simon was busy chewing and didn’t answer, but his eyes widened as Robert continued. ‘So, clearly this meant that some of the nobles changed their ideas. All of the complaints about John’s injustice and misrule could hardly be brought against a young boy.’ He paused and took another mouthful. Martin too was eating steadily but hugely, as if he would keep going until the day of judgement, and Edwin hastily helped himself to more bread and sauce before it all disappeared. He listened with care as he savoured the food. Some of the nobles had changed their allegiance back to the young King Henry – and to the regent, who was ruling for him until he was older – and decided to fight against Louis. They didn’t really want a Frenchman as king, they just thought that anyone would be better than John. The earl was one of these men, and last month he had made a truce with the regent.

  Robert waved his spoon in the air as he concluded. ‘And today the regent has summoned all men who are loyal to him to muster and march to the relief of Lincoln.’

  Edwin felt that he understood a little more clearly after this explanation. ‘So the French forces hold Lincoln?’ He had no idea where Lincoln was, but he had heard of it, and it wouldn’t do to sound too ignorant. He hoped nobody would ask him any questions.

  ‘They hold the town but not the castle. Look, I’ll show you.’ Robert enthusiastically started to rearrange cups and dishes in order to illustrate his point, but gave up when he saw the confused faces around him. He sighed. ‘All right. Let us speak more simply. From what I could gather from the messenger’s words today, Louis holds most of eastern England except the strongholds of Dover, Windsor and Lincoln.’ He banged his finger down in three places on the table. ‘He himself is currently in London,’ – another bang – ‘but his army is at Lincoln.’ And another. ‘The town has surrendered but the castle within it is still resisting, so we will march to relieve them and hopefully destroy much of the French army behind Louis’s back.’ He thumped his palm down flat, as if to emphasise the finality of it all.

  He made it sound so simple. Simon’s eyes were shining at the thought, although the earl would presumably make sure that the boy came nowhere near the combat. Still, all three of them would march away with the earl while Edwin would have to remain here at Conisbrough. The darkness, which had been hovering around the edges of his consciousness, threatened to return.

  Robert finished his meal and looked across at Martin. ‘Come. We’d better get back across in case our lord needs us before he retires.’ The four of them rose from their seats and left the hall, Edwin to return to the village and the other three to climb up the stairs and across the bridge to the keep. The earl did have a luxurious great chamber – one of the wooden buildings inside the inner ward which would soon be rebuilt in stone – but Robert had once told Edwin that since his wife had died two years before, the earl had preferred the plain quarters of the keep’s bedchamber when he was at Conisbrough, leaving the more opulent apartments to his widowed sister. Edwin supposed that was fair, although he knew little of how the nobility arranged these things. Simon yawned and dragged his feet as they left the building, and Robert gave him an affectionate shove to get him going. ‘Let’s hope the earl doesn’t need you for anything else tonight, or you’d probably pour his wine all over him.’ He grinned at Edwin. ‘Mind you, all three of us are such sound sleepers that our lord practically has to set his dogs on us to rouse us in the mornings!’

  They walked across the courtyard, and Edwin turned towards the torchlit gatehouse to the accompaniment of a sleepy goodnight from Simon, a nod from Martin, and a promise from Robert that he would try to visit on the morrow if he could manage it. He nodded to the night porter and walked out through the outer ward, down the road and into the quiet, still street of the village towards his parents’ house, where he could see a rushlight still burning in expectation of him. He slowed his pace as he neared the house, the dread returning in waves. He knew what he would have to face when he got there. He couldn’t do it. The compulsion to turn and run was so strong that he could almost taste it. He slowed, nearly stopped. But he had to keep going, he must. It was his duty. The demon of fear must be overcome. He clenched his fists, prayed for strength, and forced himself to open the door and step over the threshold.

  Chapter Two

  Simon awoke just as the dawn light started to filter in through the window of the chamber. Something was poking him in the ribs and he shuffled sleepily to try and get away from it, but it was insistent, digging into his side. He sighed, grumbled and opened one eye to see what it was. It turned out to be the earl’s foot, joined onto a body which had already drawn back the curtains of the big bed and risen from it. Horrified at his own negligence, Simon disentangled himself from the earl’s two favourite hunting dogs, who were sprawled next to him, and sat up, throwing his blanket aside. He yawned. He hated having to get up in the mornings. Still, at least he was nice and warm, not like he had been in the winter: as the spring wore on even the rooms within the thick walls of the keep lost their chill. He was lucky that he slept next to the fire: this honour should of course belong to the senior squire, but when Simon had first arrived a couple of years ago Robert had let him sleep there to make him feel more at home, and the habit had continued. Simon hoped to himself that nobody would notice and that he would be able to keep the place, so he had never mentioned it, and so far nobody else had either. Robert himself was nearer the door, and the long form of Martin was stretched out, snoring gently, on the other side of the room. Simon kicked them both to wake them, even as he scurried to pour his lord a drink and fetch him water to wash.

  Once he’d finished, the earl retired downstairs to his private chapel for a few moments. Simon supposed he should say a morning prayer as well, but it was difficult to concentrate over the groaning noise from his stomach. How long would it be before he could get something to eat? But rules were rules, so he briefly dropped to his knees and asked the Lord’s forgiveness for any sins he might have committed since the last time, and added a request that there might be wafers in the kitchen that day. By that time the earl had returned, and Simon followed him down the stairs and out of the keep.

  Outside in the inner ward there were plenty of people around doing their jobs, and a lovely smell of warm bread coming from the kitchen. He started to drift in that direction but was brought up short by the earl, who looked up at the cloudless sky, sniffed the fresh air, and announced that they would go for a ride.

  Simon looked at him and the earl laughed.

  ‘Never fear – you’ll be able to break your fast when we return. But now I need some peace and quiet before all my knights descend on us with their retinues, so off you go and saddle Gringolet for me.’

  This was cheering news. Riding out with the earl, on the wide open spaces of his lands, was Simon’s second-favourite thing – and, even better than that, it was to be just the two of them, so he would be able to accompany his master like a grown man, and not have to trail along behind Robert and Martin. He skipped down to the stable. Ah. The problem with being his lord’s only attendant, of course, was that he now had sole responsibility for preparing his lord’s courser, with no Robert or Martin to help or to tell him what to do. He would have to be very careful to do everything properly so that the earl would praise his efforts.

  Now, what was it that Robert had shown him? He went over to the end of the stable block where all the tack was kept and took Gringolet’s bridle off its hook, slinging it over his shoulder to carry. Next he picked up the saddle: it was really heavy, but he was determined to do everything by himself, so he didn’t call a groom to help, although there were several attending to horses in their stalls. Staggering slightly under the weight, he managed to regain his balance and made his way down to the other end of the building. As he went past the stall which held his lord’s new warhorse he paused to look for a moment, but scuttled
hurriedly past when it snorted and pawed the ground. He was glad he didn’t have to saddle such a daunting beast on his own. But seeing it reminded him of the campaign. To think that they would soon be riding off to war! There would be knights, and campfires, and heroic battles … no doubt he would get to play a vital role, and would save his lord’s life in battle, to be rewarded with a knighthood and riches. He couldn’t wait!

  He realised that he was standing still, and that Gringolet, who was in the next stall, was getting excited at the sight of the tack, ready to go out for some exercise. He’d better get on with this. Simon looked around for somewhere to put the saddle down: when Martin was doing this, he just slung it over the top of the stall partition, but there was no way he would be able to reach. Grimacing, he turned it upside down and stood it carefully on its pommel in the straw, leaning against the wall. There would be trouble if the precious saddle were found to be scratched later. He moved to stroke the horse’s nose and speak to him, putting the reins over his head and feeding the bit into his mouth. Gringolet was docile, for which Simon was glad, and he had no trouble putting the head-piece behind the ears, pulling the forelock out carefully so no hair would be trapped underneath, which would make the horse uncomfortable. Then he fastened the chinstrap, hardly daring to believe that everything was going so well. The saddle was more of a challenge: Simon flexed his arms before picking it up, but still it took three tries before he could heave it high enough to get over Gringolet’s back. Finally it was achieved. Now, what was it Sir Geoffrey had taught him? Always put the saddle a few fingers’ width too far forward, and then slide it back, so that the hair underneath was smoothed down in the right direction. Simon was pleased with himself at having remembered.

  Finally he bent down and fastened the girth under the courser’s belly, doing it up as tightly as he could. Once he got outside he would tighten it again, for he well remembered the time he had failed to do this on his own pony: it had puffed its chest out when he fastened the girth, so that by the time he came to mount it had become loose, and he’d fallen flat on his back as he tried to get on, amid howls of amusement from his elders. He wouldn’t be caught out a second time.

  Feeling very satisfied with himself, he led the horse outside and left a groom to hold it while he repeated the same exercise with his pony, a task which was accomplished much more quickly. By the time the earl arrived, all was ready, and Simon felt a surge of pride to receive a nod of approval as he held Gringolet’s head ready for his lord to mount. Then he too was in the saddle and they were riding out of the gate. What a fine thing it was to be alone with his lord, to be his most important attendant. Now, to remember what he had learned about riding: sit up straight, shoulders back, heels down, and don’t pull too hard on the reins. And don’t fiddle with your hands, as Sir Geoffrey had always said – another thing he remembered clearly was the stinging flick of the birch on his fingers every time he fidgeted. He was a little disappointed that the earl didn’t turn and compliment him on his riding style, but one couldn’t have everything. His lord was busy acknowledging the salutes of the villagers with a gracious nod, and Simon watched the movement so he could practise it later.

  By the time they returned he was tired: it was difficult to keep up with his lord on his small pony, and he’d had to concentrate hard in order not to fall off. And now he really was very hungry indeed. The earl slid easily from the saddle and Simon managed to dismount uneventfully. His lord was already striding back up to the inner ward, speaking to Sir Geoffrey and Robert who had come out to greet him; everywhere looked busier than usual. Simon just had time to push the stirrups up and pull the leathers through before handing both sets of reins to a waiting groom. He would have to run to catch up. But as he turned to follow the earl, he saw something out of the gate. He stopped for a moment to check that it really was what he thought, and then raced up to his lord, grabbing him excitedly by the arm.

  ‘Look, my lord, another messenger approaches!’

  The earl, Sir Geoffrey and Robert all turned to where he was pointing. He felt very proud to be the one who had spotted the envoy first.

  One of the guards was accompanying a man in plain clothing who had flung himself from his horse’s back and was removing a letter from his belt pouch even as he walked. He handed it over to the earl with a bow and stepped back. The earl looked at the seal on the letter and raised his eyebrows questioningly at the messenger, who said, ‘From the earl of Sheffield, my lord.’

  Sir Geoffrey gasped. Simon looked at him in surprise. Sir Geoffrey was never shocked at anything. But yet there he was, looking sharply between his lord and the messenger.

  The earl broke the seal and ripped the letter open. ‘What in the Lord’s name can he want? I haven’t seen him in years.’ He scanned the lines written on the parchment. ‘He’s coming here, with his retinue. Today.’ He crumpled the letter. ‘Well, of all the …’ he stopped suddenly and looked at the messenger. ‘Return to your master and tell him that I shall be delighted’ – he sounded as though he were speaking through gritted teeth – ‘to offer him hospitality until we march for Newark. You may go to the kitchen and seek refreshment before you leave if you so wish.’ The man bowed his thanks and left – how come he was getting to eat when Simon wasn’t? That was hardly fair – as the earl turned back to Sir Geoffrey. ‘He says that as two loyal servants of the king, we should take this opportunity to meet and combine our forces before marching to meet the regent. What can he be up to?’ He handed the letter to Sir Geoffrey. ‘What do you make of it?’

  Sir Geoffrey glanced at the letter and handed it straight back. ‘Of the letter, my lord, nothing.’ Simon nodded sagely to himself as the earl took the parchment: he knew that Sir Geoffrey couldn’t read or write. It didn’t seem to stop him being a fine knight, though, so Simon didn’t see why he had to learn, either. He would make this point next time he had to have a lesson and nobody would be able to argue. But anyway, Sir Geoffrey was continuing. ‘But if you mean what do I make of the earl’s motive, I would say he wanted to keep one eye on you. He is probably hoping that you will do something which he can report to the regent in order to curry favour. He does not stand so high under the current regime as he did in the old king’s reign.’

  The earl nodded. ‘Aye, Ralph de Courteville was ever John’s lapdog. But he’ll find nothing amiss here, of that I am determined.’ He paused, then turned to his squires. ‘But all this is no excuse for you to neglect your training. Out to the tiltyard, both of you, and practise.’ Simon’s heart rose – he would slip after them and watch. But the earl had evidently not forgotten him. ‘And I believe you have a lesson with Father Ignatius, young man.’

  Simon grimaced. He would much prefer to be out in the tiltyard on the flat ground behind the castle, watching Robert and Martin practising their horsemanship. He was about to bring up his foolproof argument about learning to read, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the earl looked at him in that way which brooked no argument, and he shut it again. Orders were orders, so he sighed and slouched morosely towards the gate, kicking his heels as he went.

  Joanna sat in the great chamber, a small fire burning in the grate next to her. She was sewing, her head bent over the earl’s blue and gold war banner which she held up to the light streaming in through one of the windows; her needle flew in and out as she inserted tiny stitches. It was not a particularly interesting task – all those little squares made tears come to her eyes if she looked at them for too long – but he would need it on his campaign, and the Lady Isabelle wasn’t one for stitching. She didn’t enjoy it much herself, to be honest, but there was some satisfaction in a job well done. She looked critically at her completed work: the banner would at least not disgrace the earl on his campaign, although it was a shame his sister couldn’t bring herself to sew it for him. She tied off the thread and cut the end with a small, sharp knife.

  As her concentration moved away from the banner, she sensed someone else in the room and looked up to see that th
e earl himself was watching her from the doorway, evidently having been there some time. She jumped to her feet, feeling herself redden, but he gestured to her to remain seated.

  ‘You reminded me of my mother for a moment.’

  She opened her mouth, but surprise took her voice away.

  He moved further into the room. ‘I have happy memories of this room. My wife loved it here, furnished it to her own taste,’ he waved at the tapestries, wall-hangings and cushioned chairs, ‘and said that the light here made her feel happy. And of course we spent long evenings here when I was a small boy; I would lord it over my baby sisters and my mother and father would sit across the fire from one another and talk in low voices. I can still picture my mother in her chair by the fireplace, and for a moment when I saw you sewing it took me back.’ He sighed.

  Joanna still didn’t know what to say. The earl had never spoken to her in this way before, had never mentioned his past. On the one hand, she longed to hear more about the comforting family life, but on the other hand, it was extremely disconcerting.

  He shook his head and his tone of voice changed. ‘Do you know where my —’

  He was cut off by a strident voice issuing from the bedchamber at the end of the room. ‘Joanna, this gown is …’

  The earl muttered ‘Never mind’ under his breath, but she wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to her or to himself.

  Isabelle came through the door carrying one of her dresses, but stopped at the sight of the earl. ‘Greetings, brother. And what brings you up to our little domain?’ There was not the slightest sign in her voice that she might be pleased to see him, and Joanna readied herself for another confrontation. She was in between them; there looked to be no escape.