by S. D. Sykes
‘And they didn’t see you?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
She shook her head. ‘Of course I’m sure. I’m good at being invisible. But listen to me. They whispered for a while, and then Edwin passed the boy a large bag of coins. A whole purse.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘You must find that suspicious?’
This did sound odd. ‘Do you know what the money was for?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I tried to listen, but they were talking so quietly. It was as if they were plotting something.’
‘Plotting what?’
She hesitated. ‘I couldn’t hear, Oswald. But if you ask me, Edwin is definitely the killer you seek.’ I tried to answer, but she carried on. ‘Of course, I don’t think that he did it himself. He had a . . . a helper.’
‘You mean an accomplice?’
She scowled at being corrected. ‘Yes. Whatever it is that you say in English.’
‘And you think that Hans is Edwin’s accomplice?’
Filomena repositioned Hugh again, so that she could turn to look me in the face, causing my son to grumble in some displeasure. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said confidently. ‘That’s why Edwin gave a purse of coins to Hans in secret. To pay the Dutch boy for killing Godfrey.’
‘That’s quite an accusation,’ I said.
‘Yes, but I know that I’m right.’
‘Why don’t I ask Edwin about the coins first?’ I said, now giving in to the cold, and returning my gloves to my frozen hands.
My wife screwed up her nose at this suggestion. ‘You don’t believe me, do you, Oswald?’ she said.
‘Of course I do, Filomena. It’s only that I’m cautious about making such a leap, before I’ve even questioned Edwin or Hans about these coins.’
‘Then go and speak to them now,’ she urged me. ‘Hurry up. It could be important.’
Our conversation was cut short as Alice Cross rang out the supper bell across the inner ward. ‘Let’s eat first,’ I said, thankful for this excuse to delay my next session of cross-questioning. ‘I’ll speak to Edwin after supper.’
Filomena turned her back on me. ‘Don’t be fooled by that man, Oswald. Edwin is pleased to be the new Lord Eden. He’s not sorry that his brother is dead.’
Chapter Eleven
We filed into the Great Hall, as The Fool plucked out a jovial tune on his citole, clearly forgetting that we had buried the lord of this castle that same morning. A fire roared in the centre of the room, but it was difficult to heat this voluminous hall in the winter, so the place was still as icy as a minster. The food didn’t promise to warm our spirits either, even though there was actually some meat floating about in the pottage that evening. It seemed my mother, on her expedition to the kitchen, had prevailed upon the cook to add some smoked ham to the usual mix of peas, turnips and minced onions.
Godfrey would not have approved of this luxury, of course, even on the day of his burial, but I was pleased to find some ham in my pottage. Unfortunately Mother had also persuaded the cook to add two other ingredients – vinegar and powdered cloves. I could almost hear her words to the cook. It will balance their humours on this trying day. A hot and sharp tonic for their damp and cold dispositions.
Hugh didn’t care for the pottage, which was entirely predictable, given that my son was notoriously picky, preferring only the blandest of dishes. His appetite for the sweetest foods never waned, however. The spiced plums, the apples baked with honey and nuts, and the custards made with precious sugar and currants. Not that such delicacies were on offer that night, so Hugh was faced with eating the strangely spiced pottage or going to bed hungry. Luckily it was a choice that he seemed resigned to making. Filomena let him sit on her lap as she spooned the pottage into his mouth, though he still grimaced after each serving, as if she were trying to poison him.
Mother tapped me on the shoulder. ‘The boy is four years old, Oswald. He should be sitting up at the table like a young man.’
‘At least he’s eating something,’ I said.
‘Your wife is too soft with him.’
‘That’s because Filomena knows that kindness works better with Hugh,’ I said pointedly, recalling some of the painful episodes at Somershill, when my mother and her lady’s maid had attempted to push spoonfuls of boiled trout into Hugh’s mouth, only to receive a shower of regurgitated fish for their troubles. I’m pleased to say that my son had inherited his birth mother’s temper, and would not meekly give in to the barbarous antics of his grandmother and her fearsome assistant.
‘I know why Filomena fusses over him, of course,’ said Mother with a knowing smile. ‘It’s very obvious why she treats him like a baby.’
‘Please be quiet, Mother,’ I said. ‘Or she’ll hear you.’ But, thankfully, my wife wasn’t paying us any attention. Instead, she was distracted from listening to our conversation by singing to Hugh, tickling his chin each time he agreed to eat more.
‘Filomena wants her own child, Oswald,’ whispered Mother. ‘You must see that? Especially after her own daughter died.’
I continued to eat. ‘We’re in no rush, thank you, Mother,’ I said equably. ‘And please don’t let Filomena hear you talking about her daughter. It upsets her.’
Mother shrugged her shoulders. ‘We’ve all lost children, Oswald,’ she said. ‘It’s the way of things. And at least you don’t have to bring up a daughter that isn’t your own.’
‘Please, Mother,’ I said. ‘I’ve had enough.’
She was not deterred, however. ‘I worry about your line,’ she said.
‘I have a successor. Hugh is sitting two yards from you.’
‘Ah yes,’ she said, tapping my arm with a bony finger. ‘But one son is never enough. Look at me. I had eight children.’
‘No, you didn’t. You had nine.’
She waved this comment away, as if I were being pedantic. ‘The point is that only you and your sister are still alive, so you cannot assume that Hugh will reach maturity. He could die at any point.’
‘Thank you for that thought, Mother,’ I said.
Mercifully this conversation could not continue as Edwin had risen to his feet and was now clapping his hands to gain the attention of the whole table. I was pleased to see that he looked cleaner than usual. His hair was brushed and he had taken the time to trim his beard, though I was surprised at his choice of clothing. His cloak was a richly embroidered garment, edged with squirrel fur and fastened with a silver clasp. I recognised it immediately, for it had belonged to Godfrey – though I must say that Godfrey had only chosen to wear this fine cloak on feast days, or when visiting the archbishop. I suddenly pictured Edwin searching through his brother’s wardrobe and picking out the most expensive garments, even though most of these cloaks, surcoats and tunics would be too large for him. And then an image stuck in my mind – of a carrion crow picking over the bones of a dead rabbit. Filomena must have read my thoughts. She looked at the cloak and then she looked at me with a pointed expression. Edwin is not sorry that his brother is dead.
Edwin clapped again for silence. ‘Dear friends,’ he said, holding out his arms and looking along the table. ‘I wanted to say some words to you all on this tragic day.’ He followed this opening flourish with a long pause, during which I found myself wondering if he had forgotten what he planned to say next. Hugh filled this silence with a grizzle and a complaint about a piece of fat that was caught in his teeth. It was this interruption that spurred Edwin back into action.
‘This morning we buried my brother,’ he said. ‘And I am distraught with grief.’ As he ostentatiously wiped a tear from his cheek, Filomena again caught my eye.
Edwin continued, making sure to look in my direction, and now I wondered if he was about to make an announcement about Godfrey’s son. But I should have known that this was far too noble an act for such a man. Edwin only wanted to talk about himself. ‘Now that I have become Lord Eden,’ he said, still staring at me, ‘I feel it’s important to re
assure you all that it is my intention to honour Godfrey’s plan.’ He cleared his throat and then paused for dramatic effect. ‘And so,’ he announced, ‘I extend my welcome to you all. Please. Be my guests here at Castle Eden until the danger of plague has passed.’
Lord Hesket answered with a loud harrumph. ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ he said, as he chewed upon a hunk of bread. ‘Your cellars are full of our food.’
The candlelight caught the twitch in Edwin’s eye. ‘Of course,’ he said, with a nod. ‘I only meant to pledge my own commitment to Godfrey’s plan.’
Hesket snorted. ‘That’s very good of you,’ he said scornfully. ‘Though I’d like to see you try to throw us out.’
Edwin flushed, trying to smooth over this humiliation by lifting his mug of ale from the table and holding it aloft. ‘I raise a toast,’ he said. ‘To Godfrey’s death and to our long lives.’
We raised our own mugs without enthusiasm, for this was hardly a fitting toast. If Edwin’s unfortunate words did not leave enough of a bitter taste in the mouth, then the ale succeeded in doing so. The cook had added honey, cinnamon and galingale to disguise the sourness of the brew, but it was still barely palatable.
When I realised that Edwin intended to carry on speaking, I quickly rose to my feet. ‘If you don’t mind, Edwin,’ I said, making a point of not calling him Lord Eden, ‘I would like to take this opportunity to say a few words to the household myself.’
Edwin was surprised, if not a little annoyed, at my interruption, but had the good grace to bow his head to me. ‘Please, de Lacy,’ he said, sitting down with a thud. ‘Carry on.’
I looked at my fellow guests along our table, before calling to the servants at the other end of the hall. ‘Come forward and join us, please,’ I said. ‘I would like to speak to everybody.’ My request was met with silence, since the servants of this castle were not used to being summoned to the dais. They only padded past the central fire, once Alice Cross had rounded them up like a determined sheepdog. I noticed that Hans crept into the hall at this point, skulking through the shadows and joining his uncle at their own table, at which point he received a stern reprimand from de Groot for his late arrival.
Once everybody was gathered in front of me, I began. ‘As you all know, Godfrey, Lord Eden, was murdered yesterday.’ My words were met with nods and sighs from everyone except Lord Hesket, who continued to chew loudly upon his bread, as his sleeve dipped in and out of his bowl of pottage. His wife, Lady Isobel, subtly lifted the sleeve from the bowl and laid it back on the table without Hesket even turning his head. She looked embarrassed by her husband’s poor manners, especially when his clumsiness caused the three maids to nudge one another surreptitiously and smile.
‘Godfrey was a good friend to me,’ I continued. ‘And I am shocked by the manner of his death.’
‘He was a good friend to us all,’ said Robert of Lyndham, once again causing the maids to nudge one another, though this time it was the knight’s deep voice and handsome face that caused the giggling.
I continued, once Alice Cross had silenced the girls with a fierce stare. ‘I believe that Edwin of Eden has already informed you of this,’ I said, ‘but I wanted you to hear it from my own lips. In the coming days, I will be looking for Godfrey’s murderer. It is my intention to find this person as soon as possible.’
‘That’s right,’ said Edwin, jumping to his feet again. ‘I appointed Lord Somershill to this task myself. It was my idea.’ He then waved his hands about awkwardly, seemingly lost for words. ‘So, just do what he asks,’ he said, before returning his bottom to his seat with another thud.
I thanked Edwin for this contribution and was about to continue, when Old Simon’s crow Corvina swooped down from the roof truss above us with a great flapping, before she landed clumsily upon the monk’s shoulders. The elderly monk was perhaps the only person in the hall not to be alarmed by this, since the crow had misjudged the angle of her descent, and had only just missed my mother’s head. As Mother shrieked, the monk turned to me and spoke sharply. ‘Please, carry on, Lord Somershill,’ he said. ‘Corvina is just a crow. She won’t hurt anybody.’
Following her master’s words, Corvina scrutinised me for a moment with one of her beady eyes, before flaring her wings and commencing to noisily preen her plumage – her curved beak flicking industriously through her feathers.
I looked away and continued. ‘I want you all to think back to the night that Godfrey was murdered,’ I said.
The bird squawked. ‘Ave Maria.’
This caused some giggles, particularly from the three maids again, but I raised my voice and carried on. ‘For example, did you hear or see something unusual that night? Is there anything that has made you suspicious in the last couple of days?’
The bird chirped again. ‘In nomine Patris. In nomine Patris.’
I spoke louder. ‘Or perhaps you have some other information that you’d like to tell me? In confidentiality, of course.’
‘Ave Maria. In nomine Patris.’
By now I had lost my line of thought, which caused more muted laughter – and not just from the three maids this time.
It was Lord Hesket who brought this farce to an end. He thumped on the table, and shouted out in his gruffest voice. ‘Will somebody silence that damned bird? It’s like eating supper in the royal menagerie.’
Old Simon stiffened at his words. ‘Corvina is only rejoicing in her faith, my Lord. She’s not hurting anybody.’
‘It’s a bird,’ replied Hesket. ‘It’s not capable of faith.’
The old monk stuttered. ‘I . . . I don’t think that’s—’
‘Ave Maria,’ squawked Corvina. ‘In nomine Patris.’
Hesket thumped the table again. ‘By God. This is insufferable.’ At which point, a stone hurtled past my nose before hitting the bird soundly in her chest. This missile caused Corvina to flap her wings and retreat back to the roof beams with a grating squawk.
‘Who did that?’ said Old Simon, struggling to his feet in outrage. ‘Was it you?’ he said, pointing at Hans, who was the obvious culprit. For his part, the young Dutchman made no efforts to hide his guilt. In fact, he was smiling and looked rather proud of himself.
The monk waved a fist at the boy. ‘How dare you attack Corvina? She is one of God’s creatures.’
‘Please sit down, Father,’ I said. ‘I have some more to say.’
Old Simon squinted at me. ‘But that brute just threw a stone at my crow, Lord Somershill. The boy should be reprimanded at the very least.’
‘He should be congratulated,’ said Hesket. ‘The stupid thing is quiet at last.’
Old Simon folded his arms. ‘It was an act of cruelty. If a man would hurt a bird so freely, then I ask this. What else would he do?’
It was Pieter de Groot’s turn to jump to his feet, pointing his finger at the old man. ‘Be careful what you’re saying, priest,’ he shouted. ‘You’re not blaming a Dutchman for this murder, just because Hans threw a stone at your bird. Any one of these people could be the killer.’ When this assertion was met with shouts, he continued. ‘Yes, that’s right. Somebody in this hall is guilty.’
‘Please sit down, de Groot,’ I said. ‘I want to continue.’
There was no point carrying on, however, as the hall had descended into noisy uproar – the guests and servants airing their fears and suspicions about Godfrey’s murder in a cacophony of accusations and denials. The loudest voice belonged to Pieter de Groot as he continued to defend himself and his nephew against all allegations, taking pains to be offended by every comment made to him, no matter how innocuous. This show of umbrage culminated in de Groot striding out of the hall in a temper, with his nephew trailing behind him like a naughty child, smiling with glee at the mischief he’d managed to cause.
Seeing an opportunity to speak to the boy, I caught up with Hans in the inner ward, gripping his shoulder and causing him to jump.
‘What do you want?’ he said, looking back at me with his s
trange, grey eyes. At this proximity, I could see that his fleshy lips were cracked and scaly from the cold.
‘I have some questions for you, Hans,’ I said.
‘I don’t know anything,’ he protested, trying to wriggle away from my hold. ‘You can’t blame the murder on us,’ he said, repeating his uncle’s refrain.
‘Just answer my questions,’ I said.
He tensed. ‘What questions?’
‘I want to know why Edwin of Eden gave you a bag of coins.’
He looked at me blankly.
I pushed him against the nearby wall. ‘You met Edwin of Eden in the stables today and he gave you a bag of coins.’ I pressed my hand against the hard plate of his breastbone. ‘You were seen, so don’t waste my time with lies.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Yes you do,’ I said. ‘Either you tell me, or we can have this conversation in front of your uncle.’
This threat was enough to scare an answer from him. ‘The coins were payment of a debt,’ he said.
‘What sort of debt?’
‘Ask Edwin of Eden,’ he said.
‘No. I’m asking you.’
He thrust out his chin stubbornly, so I grasped his collar and pulled it tightly about his scrawny neck. ‘Tell me why Edwin of Eden owed you that money?’ I said.
Hans repeated his earlier words. ‘I don’t know anything.’
I tightened my grip on the cloth, feeling the bony outcrop of his Adam’s apple. I didn’t apply enough pressure to choke him, but he still made a show of coughing. ‘What sort of debt?’ I repeated.
‘I won it,’ he croaked.
I pushed his head back against the wall, hearing his skull knock against the stone. ‘How?’
‘We played at dice, and . . .’ I loosened my grip a little to allow him to speak. He put a hand to his throat and let out a thin, pathetic moan. ‘He lost every time we played. So he owed me that money.’
‘Are you lying to me?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Ask . . .’ He wriggled again, trying to get away from me. ‘Ask Edwin of Eden.’
