Give Up the Dead

by C. B. Hanley

  Sir Hugh himself was invited to ride with the nobles, and his squire joined the others. The squire looked out of place: unlike his fellows, who were all boys of various sizes, he was a grown man in his forties. Alan, if Edwin recalled correctly: he’d been Sir Hugh’s squire since he was a boy but had never been able to afford knighthood so had remained in his master’s service as the years and decades went by.

  The road continued; the horse in front kept walking; Edwin allowed himself to fall into something of a stupor as the afternoon wore on. He was tired after being awake much of the night, and for once he was grateful for the horse and its steady rhythm.

  It was later in the afternoon by the time he next paid attention to his surroundings, and he could sense a change in atmosphere. What was it?

  He heard Brother William mutter something under his breath and followed the other’s gaze. They had entered another village, this one inhabited and with repaired houses. The streets were deserted but Edwin heard a shriek and saw a soldier come out of one of the buildings brandishing a smoked ham. Two or three others were pushing their way into other homes, one even kicking down a door. They were being directed by Philip, the Earl of Salisbury’s eldest squire.

  Edwin knew with a sinking heart that he was about to get into a great deal of trouble, for he couldn’t stand by. He prepared himself to get down from the horse, even as he heard another cry, a real scream this time.

  He was not as quick as Brother William, who had already dismounted and was pulling the wooden cudgel out from his pack. He thrust his reins at Edwin.

  ‘But Brother, you said…’

  ‘I know what I said, but I’m not having this.’

  Edwin watched in consternation as the monk marched over to the houses. Martin appeared beside him, with Adam just behind. ‘What’s going on?’

  Edwin gestured to where Brother William was shoving a surprised man out of the way and taking up a position in the doorway of a house; a woman and several children were just visible inside. The altercation had attracted Philip’s attention and he was making his way over, the others now at his back.

  Martin swore, pushing past. ‘Stay here. Stay out of it.’

  He was loosening his sword in its scabbard as he strode, and Edwin had to hurry to catch up. ‘No, Martin, stop —’

  ‘Stop?’ Martin gestured. ‘They will kill him, monk or no.’

  Edwin tried to grab his arm but he was shaken off. He looked back. A number of those riding or walking past as part of the column were looking over with interest, but, seeing the senior squires of the two earls, they sensibly decided it was none of their business and moved on.

  The men were now in a loose half circle about the doorway – four of them, with Philip behind. He was urging them on. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  One of the soldiers replied, a little uncertainly, ‘But my lord, it’s a monk …’

  ‘Which should make it all the easier, you halfwit. One monk? An untrained cleric against four armed men? Go on, get it over with.’ He gestured at the small heap of stuff they had piled up: nothing to him, thought Edwin, but a huge loss to these people, who have suffered enough. ‘Get rid of him, kill him for all I care, see what’s in there – you can see if she’s got a daughter hidden away if you’re quick, and we’ll be on our way.’

  Brother William did not move, except to loosen his stance and tap the end of the club into his left hand. Edwin realised he was the only one who knew what was about to happen, so he ran and pulled at Martin again. ‘You don’t understand.’

  Martin turned and Edwin was taken aback by the fury in his eyes. ‘I am not going to let him do this, do you hear me?’

  ‘But it won’t. You haven’t seen —’

  Their altercation had drawn Philip’s attention. ‘Oh, and look, the boy and the servant have come to even up the numbers. How sweet.’ He put one hand on his sword, still in its scabbard. ‘You want to try me again, Maaartin?’

  The drawling emphasis on his name seemed to ignite something within Martin. If Edwin didn’t get through to him soon, the Lord only knew what he was going to do. And there was no need. He threw himself in front of his friend, pushing his hands flat against his chest, knowing that he had no chance if Martin decided to throw him to one side. ‘For God’s sake, will you listen to me!’

  ‘What?’ Martin’s expression remained one of fury, but he was still in there, somewhere.

  Edwin lowered his voice. ‘You don’t need to intervene. Really. It is not Brother William who will end up dead.’

  The eyes focused on him properly. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘No. But I know something you don’t know. And neither do they.’ He still had his hands on Martin’s chest and he could sense the hesitation. He was getting through. ‘Trust me.’

  Chapter Three

  Martin was looking down at him. ‘What do you – no, never mind. Are you sure? Swear to it?’ Their eyes locked and Edwin nodded. Martin turned to Philip. ‘Go ahead.’

  Philip was taken aback. ‘What?’

  Martin gestured. ‘I say let them get on with it. Your men look like they’re out of condition – I’ll give you sixpence on the monk.’ He looked sideways at Edwin and muttered under his breath. ‘I hope you’re right.’

  Lord, Edwin hoped he was too, or the consequences were going to be too terrible to contemplate. But he knew what he had seen, that day on the road at midsummer.

  Philip, uncertain now in the face of their strange confidence, waved his men forward. Two had swords, one an axe and the other a dagger. Brother William held his cudgel with a casual air that Edwin recognised, and he allowed himself a discreet smirk.

  ‘What in the name of God’s blood is going on here?’

  Edwin jumped as the bellow came from behind him. A burly man on a horse was making his way over from the column. At the sight of him, the four assailants, as one, dropped their weapons.

  The horse was going to go through him rather than round him, so Edwin hastily removed himself from its path. The man had a voice that would carry across a battlefield. ‘Pick those up! Get back in line! And by God’s blood, if I see you attacking a man of the Church again I’ll have you all whipped and dragged behind the carts.’ He glared as they did as they were told and then scurried off, heads down.

  Philip drew himself up and opened his mouth, but he was no match for that booming voice. ‘The lord earl requires your presence, sir.’ Even Edwin winced. ‘Now.’

  Edwin watched as Philip struggled with himself and then decided to make the best of a bad situation. ‘As my lord wishes, of course. Thank you for alerting me.’ In a final, petty gesture he kicked at the pile of booty, sending the ham and a couple of loaves of bread flying, and bursting open a bag of peas. As he passed Edwin and Martin he gave them both a look of loathing. ‘Unfinished business, Martin. And –’ he looked at Edwin as though he were something to be scraped off the sole of his boot – ‘new business with you, it would seem.’

  Edwin heaved a sigh of relief as he left. He felt the tension draining out of him and moved forward.

  ‘Stay back, if you please.’ It was Brother William.

  Martin’s face was a jumble of conflicting emotions. ‘But —’

  ‘I don’t mean to offend, Martin, Edwin, but to these people armed men are armed men. Please, wait there.’

  Edwin watched as Brother William spoke to those inside the house, invisible now, and made the sign of the cross over them. As he left the village, several other women and children came out of their houses. Some called out for him to bless them, but most remained in silence until the three men were all well away. As he reached the main road and mounted his horse, Edwin looked back to see the children scrabbling in the dust for the scattered peas.

  It was evening. Martin knew that the earl’s temper was becoming short, and it was no wonder. The Earl of Salisbury had offered to share his own pavilion until such time as a replacement could be procured – and Martin hoped to heaven that the man Humphrey had sen
t on to the lord earl’s castle at Reigate would ride quickly – so they were all crammed in there. They’d managed to rig up a bit of privacy for the earl when he slept by moving the hangings around to create more and smaller compartments, but that didn’t help here in the service area, which was now both tiny and holding more people than it was supposed to.

  A bag of correspondence had just caught up with them – a single man on a horse could move much faster than the unwieldy host, so news was received every couple of days – and Martin handed it to Brother William, who tipped it out on to the corner of the table.

  No sooner had he done so than a splatter of red liquid splashed all over the parchments, and the monk jumped back with an exclamation to avoid his white robe catching most of it. He turned and started to shout before realising that the person before him was the page Matthew, holding a jug and quaking with terror. Philip was several paces away, but Martin wasn’t fooled.

  Brother William shut his mouth and concentrated on mopping up the spill with a cloth which Adam passed him. Martin jerked his head at the page, who, clearly unable to believe his luck, fled through to the main section of the pavilion.

  Martin watched the monk closely. He’d been in the household since midsummer, and to be honest Martin hadn’t really paid him that much attention. He was merely a figure in a robe drifting around, talking to the earl about letters and boring administrative matters, thus giving Martin the time to let his attention wander. He seemed to be quite friendly with Edwin, but that was natural, he supposed, as they shared some of the same responsibilities and were together at the times when everyone else was out training or hunting.

  However, Martin had in the intervening time spent a week in a Cistercian abbey, during which he had (if he was honest with himself) totally misjudged at least two of the men there, so he’d better not make the same mistake again. Brother William’s right hand, now he looked at it properly, was strong, and the forearm that emerged from his robe as he wiped up the spilled wine was thick and muscled. This was not a man who had spent his youth sitting down with a pen.

  The earls’ meal was arriving, so Martin and Adam went through to the main space, leaving Brother William patting the remaining letters dry and starting to sort them.

  Later, after everyone had eaten and the servants had been dismissed, the earl decided to walk about the camp to speak with his knights and show himself to the men. He elected to take Adam with him, so Martin, disappointed, occupied himself in checking that everything was as it should be in the cramped space set apart as their sleeping area. There wasn’t much to do, so he took the opportunity to sit down, take his boots off – too small, as they always were, and pinching his feet – and stare into space for a while.

  He closed his eyes and allowed himself the luxury of thinking of Joanna, conjuring an image of her face. It was all so hopeless. As companion to the Lady Isabelle, the earl’s sister, she had spent many years at Conisbrough during which he could admire her from afar, and during the last year he had come to know her better and (he really was being honest with himself tonight – why was that?) to love her. How cruel, then, that she should be torn away from him just as he recognised his feelings: the Lady Isabelle had gone to her new home following her marriage to Sir Gilbert, and Joanna had no choice but to go with her.

  Martin sighed. He kept trying to create scenarios where they could or would meet again, but they grew ever more fanciful. She would remain at Pevensey with her mistress; he would follow the earl around the country, but as his lord’s preferred residence was Conisbrough, almost the entire length of the realm would separate them. The only tiny chink of light he could see was the possibility that she would remain unmarried until he could become a knight and have a manor of his own. That might happen within the next few years, and then he might be able to get his father to talk to her family, and then her cousin might consider the offer … there were far too many mights in there, but it was his only hope, so he could imagine it if he wanted to.

  Far away in his daydreams, it was some moments before Martin realised that voices were coming from the other side of the hanging. It was Philip – no mistaking that tone – and the Earl of Salisbury. He was trapped. They evidently had no idea he was there, and, although he hadn’t been deliberately hiding, if he were to be discovered now it would look like he had been eavesdropping. The only thing to do was to stay as still as possible, hope that they would not come in here (and they would have no reason to, surely?), and wait, either until they went away, or possibly until others came back to the pavilion and he could attempt to mingle with a group.

  Of course, it wasn’t polite – wasn’t knightly – to eavesdrop, but now he was here he couldn’t help it.

  ‘… not pleased to hear that Tom Godsblood had to come over and find you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’

  ‘It’s fair enough to plunder an enemy’s lands, but it was unnecessary to do it yourself, and you kept me waiting.’ There was a slight pause, and Martin stiffened, trying not to breathe too loudly, until he heard the clink of jug on goblet and the sound of liquid being poured. Salisbury continued. ‘But, worse than that, you could have insulted the Church, which I can’t afford, and you almost made yourself look very stupid, which would reflect badly on me.’ There was the creak of a chair, and Salisbury’s voice was filled with menace. ‘I will not tolerate those who embarrass me, is that clear?’

  Even Philip wouldn’t dare talk back to that, and indeed, he sounded more subdued than Martin had ever heard him. ‘I understand, my lord. It won’t happen again, I swear it.’

  Salisbury grunted. ‘The way I heard it, Warenne’s men were certain that monk was going to win the fight. Which means they knew something you didn’t, which means you were about to go into battle without all the information you needed.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I’ll learn from this.’

  ‘Know what you’re getting into, boy, before you make any kind of move.’ Salisbury took a gulp of whatever he was drinking. On the other side of the hanging, Martin was so close he could hear him swallow before he continued. ‘Remember: you need to know your enemy.’

  Edwin inhaled. The cool evening air was filled with the smoke of cooking fires, but it was a friendly, homely smell and much nicer than the stale, cramped pavilion. He had not been needed by the earl, thank the Lord, so he could get away for a while. He had initially returned to his tent, where Brother William was already snoring away – his time in the abbey, with its constant broken nights, had given him the ability to fall asleep at will whenever he had the opportunity – but he was not tired enough to sleep. Instead he wandered through the camp in search of Sir Roger and company. He found him, but he was in conversation with Sir Hugh Fitzjohn; Edwin hesitated.

  Sir Roger saw him hovering and beckoned him over. Edwin was greeted by both knights and invited to sit. He was pleased that Sir Hugh remembered him and was able to give him news of Sir Geoffrey, who had been his friend and companion for many decades.

  The conversation turned to the afternoon’s altercation, which both knights had heard about but not seen in person. Edwin was able to give them a full account, watching as they first puffed out their cheeks in disbelief and then became outraged.

  ‘No discipline!’ Sir Hugh thumped his hand down on his knee.

  Sir Roger was shaking his head. ‘And to steal from women and children.’

  ‘Stealing anything from anyone shows a lack of control and authority, unless it’s foraging for supplies on specific orders. By God, I wouldn’t stand for such a thing from my men, and indeed I was telling them so when we all met up on the road. Discipline must be maintained in a host, else there is chaos. And you say it was a squire who was leading them? Joining in, encouraging them, rather than trying to stop it all?’

  Edwin nodded. ‘Yes. Philip, who is the Earl of Salisbury’s senior squire.’ There was more he could say, but that was Martin’s business, not his, so he kept his counsel.

  Sir Hugh called over to A
lan, who was, as Edwin now noticed for the first time, unobtrusively unpacking, sorting and making everything neat in Sir Hugh’s tent. ‘Do you hear that?’

  Alan inclined his head. ‘Yes, my lord. If I’d done anything like that when I was a boy, you’d have had me out of your service before sunset the same day, and I would have deserved it.’ He returned to his task.

  The three of them continued to chat as the light faded, turning to the more general subject of the present campaign, and before long Edwin became aware that food was being passed around. Sir Hugh, who enjoyed greater resource than Sir Roger, had a dedicated cook in his contingent of men, and the bowls smelled appetising.

  Little Peter lifted his nose and sniffed appreciatively, making Sir Hugh laugh. ‘You’re welcome to join us. In fact, it’s just you and the ten archers, is it?’ he asked Sir Roger, who nodded. ‘Alf!’

  A man sitting by the cooking fire turned, and Edwin recognised the man he’d seen in the baggage cart earlier. He kept stirring a pot as he replied. ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘If Sir Roger here pools his supplies, can you manage cooking for another twelve men? Well …’ he looked at Peter with a straight face, ‘eleven men and a boy who looks like he could do with some more of your good food?’

  The man still didn’t move, but Edwin saw his nod in the shadows of the firelight. ‘Of course, my lord. But perhaps he’d better taste the goods before he decides?’ He ladled something into a bowl and passed it to the boy who crouched next to him. The lad brought it over to Sir Roger, who took out his spoon and dipped it into what looked to be a thick broth. Edwin watched, his mouth beginning to water, as the knight tasted, savoured, and finally expelled a long breath.