by C. B. Hanley
The earl, for it must be he who was still in the pavilion, paced up and down. Martin could hear ‘But what to do?’ repeated a couple of times, and then the sound of a chair being kicked as he swore under his breath. Then he came through to the sleeping area.
Martin roused himself, and he was careful to say nothing, to give no indication that he had heard anything, as he helped his lord prepare for the night. Then the earl settled himself in the bed, the ropes creaking under the feather mattress, and fell asleep.
Martin returned to his pallet.
It was still dark when he awoke again, confused. He was normally a heavy sleeper – why was it not dawn yet? Was anyone still arguing? No. Then what had roused him? A thought of candles came into his head, and he scratched at his hand where the wax had stuck. No, it was gone. What was he thinking of? He should go back to sleep, get some rest before tomorrow’s ride. Why was he still thinking of wax and flames?
Ah, it was because he could smell smoke.
Too much smoke.
And a crackling noise.
Jolted thoroughly awake, he sat up and reached out a hand to the heavy curtain. As soon as he pulled it back he choked, scrambled to his feet and began shouting, all at once. The pavilion was on fire.
Chapter Two
Something was amiss. Martin quite clearly had some kind of history with that other squire, and a history that wasn’t pleasant. Edwin spent the short journey back to his tent worrying about his friend: Martin could, of course, take care of himself on a physical level, but he wasn’t quite as tough as his size made him out to be. And there was a considerate side to him that not many others knew about. After the wedding, Edwin, Alys and most of the villagers had packed into his – their – cottage and shared out whatever they could bring at short notice: simple fare at the hungry midsummer time of year. They had barely settled down to it when a commotion was heard outside and, to everyone’s surprise and delight, several of the men from the castle kitchen entered, laden with bread, cheese, ale and meat pies thick with mouth-watering gravy. It wasn’t until afterwards that Edwin found out that Martin had promised Richard, the earl’s cook, almost everything he owned if he would only divert a portion of the hall’s evening meal down to the village celebration.
Brother William was already asleep and did not stir as Edwin entered the tent and rolled himself in his blanket. He didn’t really need it, as the night was warm, but he felt better for having it wrapped about him. Safer, if such a thing was possible under the circumstances. He thought he would probably lie awake for most of the night, but the day’s ride had tired him and his self-made cocoon was comfortable.
The shouts woke them both up in the middle of the night, and they scrambled out into a smoke-filled darkness alive with cries and shadows. Edwin stared in horror at the blaze, but Brother William was already pulling him. ‘Quickly!’
They ran towards the flames. Surely it couldn’t be – but it was. Dear Lord. The earl’s own pavilion. Where was he? And Martin and Adam? Edwin cast about frantically, feeling panic rise, until he saw with a wrench of relief a huge figure silhouetted against the orange glow. That could only be Martin. And there was the lord earl and Adam, both bent double and coughing. Thank God.
Edwin rushed over. ‘My lord! Are you all right?’
The earl straightened and nodded, still gasping. ‘Yes.’ He pointed. ‘But … my treasure.’
It took Edwin a moment, but then he realised. Several of the kists that were brought into the pavilion each night were stuffed with bags of pennies and other precious items, ready to use for paying his knights and men. How would this be done if the silver drained away in a molten stream? And there were letters, pieces of parchment, all in wooden boxes – they would be destroyed.
Brother William had already hurried off to join the line of men passing buckets of water up from the stream. Adam was still struggling to breathe. Edwin was the only one with no immediate task. ‘I’ll go, my lord.’
He felt the heat starting to singe him as he approached the pavilion, hands held up to shield his eyes. Thick smoke poured up into the night sky, and flame belched out from the open doorway. Edwin searched for the giant shadow, found Martin and grabbed his arm. ‘Come with me.’
The flames were loud, and so were the shouts of men. ‘What?’
Edwin stood on his toes to get nearer to Martin’s ear and bellowed. ‘We have to save my lord’s treasure!’
Martin heard him this time. ‘But how? We can’t get through that!’
Edwin pulled harder at his arm. ‘Round the back!’
He succeeded in dragging Martin away and round to the rear of the pavilion, where more water was being thrown on to the wet canvas and all the nearby tents were being hastily struck and moved.
Edwin realised he hadn’t put on his belt and dagger, and cursed. He pointed to the wall of the pavilion, at the sleeping end. ‘Cut it open!’
‘What?’
‘I said cut it open! It doesn’t matter if you ruin it – it’s going to burn anyway!’ He pulled Martin’s knife from his belt and plunged it into the taut canvas, dragging it down with both hands to open a vertical rip. He jumped back as a burst of heat boiled out, but no flames yet. He stabbed the knife again, trying to enlarge the hole.
Martin belatedly realised what he was doing, grabbed the edge of the cut and heaved. This tore a hole large enough for Edwin to squeeze through, and he made his way in. The smoke was thick, choking, but the heavy hangings separating the area from the rest of the pavilion would keep the worst of the flames out for a few moments more. Edwin tried as best he could to cover his nose and mouth as he groped his way around. There. Wood. A corner of something. He started to drag the kist.
It was heavy. How long would it take him to get it back to the rip in the canvas? And for how long could he hold his breath? Suddenly Martin was beside him, and the kist moved as they heaved it together. A third man joined them, and then others were there outside as they reached the hole. Edwin took a huge gulp of air and then pushed his way back in. How many kists were there? And had they all been together?
By the time he’d made it out with another box he could hardly breathe at all and he collapsed in a heap on the ground. Someone bent over him and he recognised Sir Roger’s voice. ‘Edwin! Edwin, are you all right?’ Edwin couldn’t speak but he managed a nod. Sir Roger straightened and turned back towards the pavilion, but the flames had now reached the sleeping area. ‘I don’t think we’ll —’
A small figure darted past him and dived through the hole. Sir Roger shouted after it. ‘Peter! Come back!’
And then Edwin watched as the flames burst through the pointed top of the pavilion, creating a funnel, a natural chimney for the fire. It roared up into the night and the remaining canvas ignited with a whoosh, a huge flaming torch lighting up the night sky before it caved in on itself and disintegrated into a scorching whirl of flying cinders.
It was dawn.
Edwin stood among a circle of men staring at the sodden and steaming heap of ashes. It could have been worse, he supposed. The pavilion was entirely destroyed, as was much of its furniture, but no man had lost his life, and the earl’s treasure and correspondence had been saved.
No boy had lost his life, either, but Peter was soon going to wish he had, judging by the way Sir Roger was berating him. As Edwin had found himself yelling hoarsely at the flaming pavilion he had seen a shape, head down, running towards them: a tall figure carrying something that kicked. Both he and Sir Roger had thanked God, and the knight had said nothing at the time, overwhelmed by his relief. But it appeared he had merely been saving up his efforts.
Leaving the others to continue damping down the ashes, Edwin cleared his throat to dislodge some of the grit and made his way over to see if he could intervene.
Sir Roger was in full flow, arms waving. ‘What were you thinking? I told you to stay near my tent! You could have been …’
Little Peter had tears streaming down his face, making tracks
through the soot. He kept his head down and his hands behind his back as he endured the tirade, saying nothing. Edwin saw the tears drip to the ground. He stepped over to the boy and put a hand on one heaving shoulder. ‘Please, Sir Roger.’
The knight stopped in mid-sentence. For a moment Edwin thought the outburst was going to be redirected towards him, but Sir Roger merely expelled a long breath and glared at them both. ‘You tell him, then.’
Edwin looked from one to the other, the boy miserable and the knight as animated as Edwin had ever seen him. He knew why. ‘Peter. You disobeyed an order, didn’t you?’ The boy sniffed and continued to stare at the earth under his feet. ‘But you did it because you thought Sir Roger might be in danger?’
Peter looked up and gave half a nod.
Sir Roger opened his mouth, shut it again and folded his arms. ‘Go on.’
‘My lord, I couldn’t see you, and I thought – I thought …’
Edwin saw realisation dawning in the knight’s face. ‘You thought I was in the pavilion?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘So you ran in to find me?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Sir Roger sighed. ‘That still doesn’t excuse disobeying my orders.’ But the anger had gone from his voice, and Edwin and Peter both knew it.
Peter risked meeting his gaze, his eyes red-rimmed. ‘Sorry, my lord. Please – please don’t send me away.’ His voice trembled and the ground engaged his attention again.
The knight crouched and laid his hand on Peter’s shoulder. ‘Look at me.’ The boy obeyed. ‘I’m not going to send you away. But you must do as you’re told. You could have been killed, and then where would I be?’
Edwin saw Peter’s first flicker of hope as Sir Roger continued. ‘I was worried about you, do you understand? You’re a good boy, and … I’d miss you if you weren’t around.’
Peter’s eyes grew wider. Slowly, slowly, his face changed, and it was like the sun had risen.
Sir Roger rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, all right. Off you go, then. Go and clean yourself up and see if the men have left anything for us in the pot.’ He called after the departing back. ‘But do as you’re told next time!’
Peter spared a glance for Edwin on his way past. ‘I’ll always protect him.’ His tone was so adult that Edwin almost laughed, but he managed to swallow it just in time.
Sir Roger turned to him and Edwin braced himself, but it wasn’t necessary. ‘You see things very clearly,’ was all the knight said to him, followed by, ‘I should give him a beating, really, to remind him to obey orders next time. Sir Geoffrey would have done it to me when I was younger.’
There wasn’t really an answer to that except to agree.
‘But I haven’t the heart. I’m sure he’s had plenty of beatings in his life for less.’
Edwin’s throat was sore and he wasn’t sure how much longer his voice was going to hold out. ‘He has. But … he’s a different boy since you took him on.’
The clear blue eyes looked into Edwin’s own. ‘I felt the Lord telling me to do it, and I’m glad I did. But now I must get back to my men, and the lord earl will no doubt have work for you to do. And we’ll still have to march today, even if we don’t start until later.’ He headed off.
Edwin went to find the earl. He was in conversation with Salisbury, as men around them packed what was left of his belongings on to the baggage carts, so Edwin didn’t venture too near.
He spotted Martin, dipping his hands into a bucket and splashing water on his head in what was an unsuccessful attempt to remove the soot. Martin raised a streaky face. ‘Are you all right? No burns?’
‘No. Just a few holes in my tunic from flying sparks. You?’
Martin held out his left hand, which had a raw-looking red mark on the back. ‘Just this. Could have been much worse.’ He gestured to where the two earls were speaking. ‘My lord is pleased with you.’
Edwin brightened, despite the pain in his throat. ‘Is he? Good. I’m glad we managed to get it all out. The money, I mean – I know you lost the chairs and things.’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘What about the chess set?’
Martin burst out laughing, continuing until it turned into a cough. ‘Trust you to think of that. No, sorry, it’s gone. But my lord hates to travel without one, so I’m sure he’ll pick up another from somewhere when he gets the chance.’ He stood, wiping his wet face with the sleeve of his tunic and smearing it even more.
Edwin was struck by another horrible thought. ‘Your new helm!’
‘It’s all right. I’d put it in one of the kists so as not to leave it lying out in the service area. So we saved it along with the treasure and parchments.’
‘Thank the Lord. I know I joked about it, but I wouldn’t want you to lose it.’
‘Me neither. Now, let’s see if we can find something to eat before we set off.’
They made their way past the now deserted remains of the pavilion to where Humphrey had set up the service area of the earl’s camp: a stores tent, cooking fires, and a neat array of kitchen equipment. Humphrey was trying to talk to several men at once but he saw them and signalled for one of the servants to bring them food and drink. They sat on a couple of upturned buckets, and Edwin took a long and grateful draught of the weak morning ale before he started appreciatively on a bowl of warm pottage and bread.
He paused after a few moments. ‘How did it start?’
Martin wasn’t listening. Edwin waited until he’d cleared half the bowl and then repeated himself.
‘The fire, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
Martin was dipping a piece of bread into his pottage, and he hesitated. ‘Well, that’s the strange thing.’
‘What is?’
‘There were candles in the tent, of course, but we always make sure to put them well away from the walls and from any of the hangings. The only ones left out when I went to bed were the ones on the central table.’
Edwin paused with bread halfway to his own mouth. ‘You went to bed and left candles lit?’ His pottage dripped and he hastily shovelled it in.
‘No, I mean – of course I wouldn’t normally, but my lord was still up and talking to the Earl of Salisbury. He told us to go to bed.’
That sounded odd to Edwin. He hadn’t been serving the lord earl for very long, it was true, but from what he’d learned and seen so far, he was almost never unattended. ‘And Salisbury’s squires?’
Martin spoke with his mouth full. ‘Also gone. He told them to go and check everything was ready for him in his part of the camp.’
This was curious indeed. ‘I wonder what they wanted to talk about?’
Martin shrugged. ‘None of my business. I dozed straight off. Although, come to think of it, they did have a bit of an argument just before Salisbury left.’
‘What about?’
Martin looked about him and lowered his voice. ‘I was half asleep, but it sounded serious. Something about supporting the young king, about de Burgh holding Dover and stopping the fleet before they could get to Louis.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Something about all being in this together, and all men knowing they were allies.’
Edwin pushed his bread round and round his bowl.
‘Stop doing that.’
‘Doing what?’
‘That. Staring into the distance like that, like you’re looking right through everything. Thinking.’
Edwin laughed. ‘You want me to stop thinking?’
‘What I mean is, stop making it complicated. I’m sure a candle just got knocked over by accident.’
‘Hmm.’ Edwin continued to push the bread, sopping up the last trace of pottage. ‘And Salisbury’s squires definitely didn’t come back?’
‘No.’
The answer was curt, even for Martin. Edwin looked at him more closely. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there? About that squire. The oldest one.’
Martin stood up abruptly. ‘I have to get back t
o my lord. I’ll see you later.’ He shoved his bowl at the nearest serving man and loped away.
They were late setting off. Edwin didn’t feel as though he’d been in the saddle very long, but it was already noon. The stink of smoke still lingered, but whether it was from his own clothing or from the burned-out village they had passed through, he didn’t know. This one had been completely deserted, no sign of life except for a couple of rats slinking through an overgrown garden. One or two of the men had strayed off the road to see if there was anything to be scavenged from the roofless, sightless buildings, but they came back with little more than a handful of scorched dried peas and some apples that were too green to eat. Edwin wondered about the people who had once lived there, and then wished he hadn’t, as it weighed on his mind. This time Brother William made no effort to cheer him, his mouth set as he stared ahead. Then he crossed himself and Edwin realised he had been praying in silence as he rode.
Just after noon they reached a crossroads, where a group awaited them. Edwin recognised Sir Hugh Fitzjohn as their leader and brightened a little. The grizzled knight was a great friend of Sir Geoffrey’s, and he had briefly been Edwin’s companion when he’d first found himself part of an armed host a few months ago. He looked as though he’d been addressing his assembled men, but he stopped and bowed as he saw the earl approaching.
The column itself did not halt, but the earl nosed his horse to the side of the road to accept Sir Hugh’s greeting and to acknowledge the men who knelt before him. Edwin cast his eye over the group. Sir Hugh’s squire was behind him, and there were six other mounted sergeants, a dozen foot soldiers with varying degrees of armour, and – he scanned along the line – nineteen archers. Behind them were servants and baggage carts, neat and well packed. Sir Hugh had been on campaign many times before.
The mounted sergeants fell in with the rest of the column; the foot soldiers and archers picked up their equipment and waited for the horses to pass; those driving the baggage carts prepared their animals and looked back to see if the end of the column was in sight. Edwin spotted a man and a boy in the back of one of the carts, which was unusual, but he couldn’t blame them for hitching a ride – this road was endless. The captain of the archers began pushing his fellows into a straight line, although he seemed to be having quite an altercation with one of them. Edwin heard an aggressive ‘Say that again!’ but he’d ridden too far past to catch the unfortunate man’s reply.
