by S. D. Sykes
‘That’s not true,’ she exclaimed.
‘You might not have carried out the murders yourself,’ I said to the woman. ‘But you won’t be spared the same punishment.’
She regarded me momentarily with hatred, before a smile began to cross her lips. ‘Very well then, Lord Somershill. Have it your own way. Yes. Robert and I are lovers. Yes. I did plot my husband’s murder with Robert when the opportunity arose. And yes, it was my idea to kill Shute, though Robert spoke against it, since the two of them were friends.’ She threw a smile at Lyndham. ‘I’m sorry, Robert. I panicked when the door was locked. I should not have tried to blame you for these crimes, for we acted together.’ She turned back to me, and gave a short, mocking curtsey. ‘So, Lord Somershill. I hope that you’re satisfied now? You have your confession.’ She paused. ‘Though I wonder what you are going to do with it?’
‘I’m going to make sure that you’re punished,’ I said.
She smiled again. ‘Yes. I can understand why that would be your intention. But then again, you’ll have to get out of this dungeon first, won’t you? And it seems to me that you are trapped inside this room with two people who don’t really want to let you out. Not alive, anyway.’ She strolled over to the bucket of birch oil. ‘I think Lord Somershill might be interested in an experiment, Robert,’ she said. ‘A re-enactment of one of our crimes.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Lyndham, not fully placated by her apology.
‘I think we should burn him, of course. Set fire to the man and let him see how The Fool died. After all, Lord Somershill has worked out how we did it last time, so let’s celebrate his powers of deduction. And, of course, once there is a fire in here, I’m sure that somebody in this castle will come to our aid and let us out.’
Lyndham drew back, and for a moment I sensed indecision in his face. Part of him had liked me. Part of me had liked him. You might even say that we had become friends in the last few weeks, so I hoped he might resist Isobel’s calls to end my life. That our friendship meant something to him. So, I didn’t extinguish the lantern in my hand, instead I held it aloft, daring him to act. But, I should have guessed that he would take Isobel’s part in the end. After all, he had already murdered two people in pursuit of this woman’s affections. He looked to me with sad, almost apologetic eyes, but he still threw the bucket of oil over me. He still made the decision to kill.
I was soaked, but not in flames. My clothes were wet and the light of my lantern was extinguished.
‘What’s going on?’ screamed Lady Isobel, now that we had been plunged into darkness. ‘Why isn’t de Lacy on fire?’
‘It was water in the bucket,’ I said.
‘What?’ said Lyndham.
‘I wanted to see if you would attack me, Lyndham,’ I replied. ‘Now I have the answer.’
It took a moment for Lyndham to digest this information, before he found his voice again. It was a hostile growl, all remembrances of our fledgling friendship now obliterated. ‘I underestimated you, didn’t I, Oswald de Lacy?’ he said. ‘I can see that now. I thought you were just an observer, when we first met. Happy to untangle a mystery from the safety of the flanks. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Because it turns out that you do have courage as well as curiosity.’ He grasped hold of my wet tunic and pulled my face to his. ‘Do you know what makes me really sad about having to kill you? I think we could have been friends. I really do. But then you spoilt that friendship with all your annoying little investigations.’ He shook me. ‘So, tell me this, de Lacy. Why do you do it? Why not leave the dead to take care of themselves?’
I had been asked this before – by Lord Hesket – but this time I had an answer. ‘You were right to call me an observer,’ I told Lyndham. ‘And yes, I do spend much of my life on the flanks. It’s where I’ve learnt to watch other people.’ I paused. ‘And shall I tell you what I’ve observed about you, Robert of Lyndham?’
‘What?’ he said scornfully.
‘We could never have been friends. You’re wrong about that. Because there’s an ugliness beneath your handsome face, that I could not fail to see.’
‘Well, did you see this?’ he asked.
Within a moment, his hands were about my neck, squeezing the breath from my throat. The pain was overwhelming at first. I fought back against him, but I was no match for such a skilled and practised killer. Soon I slipped into the dark nothingness of death – inert and unfeeling in a silent, empty oblivion.
It was the shouting that brought me back to life. For a moment, I was confused. The dark chamber about me was full of people and movement. It was Sandro’s face that I first registered. His bright eyes and halo of curls were a wonderful sight.
‘Master Oswald,’ he called as he patted my cheek repeatedly. ‘Master Oswald. Wake up. Wake up!’
I rose onto my elbows, and then looked around to see that de Groot and Edwin were holding Robert of Lyndham against the wall. Filomena stood beside Alice Cross, as the sturdy steward of Castle Eden held a poker to Lady Isobel’s chest. The woman was screaming that she was innocent, but to no avail.
‘Did it work?’ I asked Sandro.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Mistress Cross gathered the guests outside the door as she promised. We heard their confession. Every word of it.’ He clutched my arms. ‘You did it, Master Oswald. You caught the killers.’
Epilogue
It was a spring day in the early April of 1362 when we felt it was finally safe to leave Castle Eden and return to Somershill. Sandro and I had already been out on a scouting mission in the days before our departure, making sure that plague had loosened its grip on the island. When we discovered that there had been no reported deaths for at least two weeks, we decided that it was time to leave the confines of this sanctuary.
My family might have survived all winter inside the walls of the castle, but we had still seen death in those months. My mother had suffered from a great sweating sickness, though she had recovered, whereas the same affliction had killed Lady Isobel – even after we had moved her to a drier, warmer cell in the coldest months of January and February. She and Lyndham could not be housed near to each other in the dungeons, as their bitter arguing had kept the castle awake at night. Each blamed the other for the murders. Each claimed the other had dreamt up the plans and then enacted some form of coercion to force the other to take part. There were no vestiges of love between the two of them now that their crimes had been uncovered. Lyndham only laughed when we told him of Isobel’s death. He said that she deserved it.
His own death would be soon in coming, now that we could report the murders to the Royal Court. I left this task in Edwin’s hands, hoping that he could be trusted to bring the murderer of Lord Hesket and William Shute to justice. But I could not trust Edwin with his nephew Simon. Edwin claimed repeatedly that he only had the child’s best interests at heart, but I would never be convinced of this. Simon would become my ward until he was eighteen and could defend himself against his uncle. I would then release him from my care and he would take over the Eden estate.
Of course this plan depended upon two outcomes. Firstly that Simon’s right to the estate was recognised. I still had Godfrey’s letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, but I could not be sure that this hand-written missive would be sufficient evidence to ensure the boy’s future. I would deliver it to Islip myself, as Godfrey had requested – but as yet, I could not be certain that he had survived the Plague himself. A different archbishop might be less inclined to support Simon’s hand-written claim to Eden.
The second assumption was this. That there would be an estate to inherit, after the Isle of Eden had been left in Edwin’s hands for eighteen years. The man had not improved with familiarity. In fact, the longer I spent in Edwin of Eden’s company, the more apparent his faults had become. Our winter together had only proved that Edwin was an ignorant, lazy churl with no aptitude for managing a large estate. Unfortunately it was quite possible that Edwin might have squandered Simon’s birthright by the ti
me the boy came of age.
We took a whole day to pack our belongings back onto the same cart that had brought us to Eden all those months ago. Sandro had rounded up the pony from the nearby woodland, whilst I buried poor Annora in the chapel graveyard, alongside the other victims of this cold and cruel winter. I hoped and prayed that we would not see plague again for many years, but I knew its cunning. I had hunted down three killers in this castle, but man could never wreak the same havoc as this disease.
Pieter de Groot was to leave Castle Eden the same day, heading back to the Low Countries with his large wooden chest full of tools stowed away on the back of his own cart. He had offered to stop at Somershill, to build me a small clock in thanks for clearing his nephew’s name. But I had refused his offer, on the grounds, privately I should say, that I was still not convinced by Hans’s innocence. To my mind, it was quite possible that Hans had travelled to Abigail’s cottage with murder in mind. Of course, I would never be able to prove this one way or the other, as Abigail and Hans were dead, and Edwin still insisted the purse of coins that he gave to the young Dutchman was simply in payment for bringing Godfrey’s wife and child back to the castle. In truth, Hans had been the strangest of young men with an unhealthy appetite for death and cruelty, but de Groot liked to console himself with the idea that he had ‘cured’ the boy in the end, and I felt no reason to disabuse him of this belief.
Lord Hesket’s child, Lady Emma, was to accompany us to Somershill, before I made arrangements for her to return to her home in London. She had formed a bond with Sandro, and now followed my valet everywhere like a small and loyal puppy, trying to persuade him to play with the collection of wooden wheels that de Groot had made for her. Sandro bore this devotion with typical good humour, though I think the girl’s affections were sometimes a little too overwhelming, even for this warm-hearted Venetian. I hated to think of the pain Lady Emma would feel when separated from my valet, but I was not sure that I would be able to keep her at Somershill. She was the heir to a great fortune and I feared that she would soon be whisked away by her family for a strategic marriage. I could only hope that her relatives would choose a kind and understanding man as her husband.
It was the morning of our intended departure and I was checking the contents of my strongbox, when I realised that something was missing. I always kept this wooden box locked, for it contained important documents, as well as Filomena’s jewellery and two purses of coins. I had foolishly opened the chest earlier that morning to count out some pennies, and then forgotten to relock it before I wandered out of our apartment to check on the cart. In that brief time, she had crept in and retrieved it. I will say this for the woman. She had not wasted her one and only opportunity.
I rushed to the kitchens. ‘Where is Alice Cross?’ I asked the cook.
The woman told me that she had seen the steward leaving the castle earlier, so I bolted to the gatehouse. The portcullis had been raised at dawn and the door in the gate was unlocked. I then ran out onto the headland. The air smelt of salt and mud that morning. Gulls rose and fell above my head. Calling me to arms with their screeches. I couldn’t see Mistress Cross anywhere ahead of me, but I could see a thin column of smoke rising into the air above the nearby woodland.
I ran towards the smoke, following the smell of burning wood. When I finally reached our steward, I knew immediately that I was too late – for she stood like a champion beside the flames. Victory was hers.
‘Why did you do it?’ I asked, as I watched the fire devour the last pages of Godfrey’s bible translation.
Alice Cross looked back at me proudly, poking a long stick into the fire. ‘I promised my father that I would destroy this heresy,’ she said proudly. ‘And I have. Look at it. Nothing but ashes and smoke.’
‘Until somebody else makes another translation,’ I replied.
She looked up at me sharply. ‘Oh no, Lord Somershill,’ she said with a triumphant smile. ‘That will never happen.’
Glossary
Astrolabe
A circular instrument, typically about the size of a dinner plate – used in the Middle Ages to measure the altitude of stars, the height of buildings and also employed as a navigational aid.
Astronomical clock
The first mechanical clocks offering reliable timekeeping were built in the early fourteenth century. They also displayed astronomical information, such as the age of the moon and the position of the sun, hence the name.
Birch bark oil
A thin oil made from the bark of the silver birch tree. The bark is burnt to a charcoal within an airtight container, causing the oil to be sweated from the bark. It was used as a sealant, but is also highly flammable.
Bone fire
Going back to a pre-Christian tradition, the bones of oxen, sheep and pigs were burnt on large open-air fires to celebrate midsummer. ‘Bone fire’ is the origin of the modern word, ‘bonfire’.
Braies
The medieval version of underpants for men. A loose undergarment – usually made from a length of linen that was wound about the legs and bottom and then tied at the waist with a belt.
Caparison
An ornamental covering for a horse, often decorated in the livery of the owner’s family.
Chamfron
Sometimes spelt shaffron or chanfron. Metal armour designed to protect the face of a horse.
Citole
A stringed instrument, popular in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and closely related to the medieval fiddle.
Dais
A raised platform at the end of the dining hall/great hall. Usually furnished with a long table and benches, it was reserved for people of high status within the household.
Fabliau, Fabliaux
A short story, sometimes told in verse, with crude and comic content.
The Falling Sickness
The medieval term for epilepsy.
Galingale
A rhizome from the ginger family, used as a popular flavouring.
Humours
Harking back to the teachings of Galen in antiquity, the human body was said to be ruled by four humours, or bodily fluids, which needed to be kept in balance. Yellow bile, phlegm, black bile, and blood. The balance of your humours ruled both your health and your disposition.
Indulgence
Usually taking the form of a letter or receipt, an indulgence was an award from the church for the remission of sin. It was earned by prayer and good deeds, but increasingly in the later Middle Ages through a money donation.
The King’s Evil
Scrofula (the swellings in the lymph nodes of the neck caused by tuberculosis) was known as the King’s Evil in the Middle Ages, because it was believed that this disease could be cured by the touch of the reigning monarch.
Lammas Day feast, Lammas bread
A feast, held during July or August to celebrate the first wheat harvest. The bread made from the first milled wheat was taken to church to be consecrated, before it was eaten as part of the festival.
Mazer
A highly decorated, ceremonial feasting cup.
Oblate
A child, often of noble birth, given to a monastic community by his parents, to be raised and educated as a monk.
Pottage
A soupy stew, usually made with vegetables, grains, meat bones and thickened with oats. It was a staple food of the Middle Ages, particularly amongst the poorer classes.
Psalter
A small, portable book of psalms and prayers.
Royal Judge
Royal judges, from the court of the king’s bench, were responsible for justice with regards to serious criminal cases. Travelling to each county approximately twice a year, they tried those criminal cases that had been referred to them by the sheriff.
The Royal Touch
It was believed that the disease known as the King’s Evil (see above) could be cured by the touch of the rightful monarch. This practice began during the reign of Edward the Confessor, and e
nded with Queen Anne.
Shawm
A popular medieval woodwind instrument, now replaced by the oboe.
Solar
A room that was set apart from the rest of the household for use of the lord’s family. This room usually had a large window, giving rise to the idea that it was named after the sun. However, the word may have derived from the French word ‘seul’, which means to be alone.
Spiced hypocras
An alcoholic drink, made from wine, sugar and spices.
Steward
A high-ranking servant, usually in charge of the domestic arrangements for the castle or manor house.
Sweet Malmsey
A sweet, fortified wine, made from the Malvasia grape and imported mainly from Greece.
Trencher
A large, flat serving plate.
Valet
A male servant assigned to a lord or knight, carrying out an equivalent role to a lady’s maid.
Author’s notes
I wanted to begin by saying a few words about the setting for this novel. The Isle of Eden is a place of my own invention, but is based loosely upon the Isle of Oxney in Walland Marsh, on the borders of Kent and East Sussex. In the fourteenth century, the Isle of Oxney could only be reached by ferry – from what was then a port, at Tenterden. Over the centuries, the salt marshes of Walland and adjacent Romney have been reclaimed for agriculture, and now Oxney is landlocked, being over eight kilometres from the sea. However, if you go to Oxney, it is still very clear that you are on an island rising from the vast, flat fields that were once below sea level. Even now much of this land is kept from flooding by the maintenance of sea defences at the coastline, and the constant dredging of ditches – or sewers, as they are known on the marsh.
