by C. B. Hanley
He took a step towards them, saw Hugh flinch, and stopped. Then he went closer again. He was tall – the boy was just going to have to get used to it. But good God, the child’s head was barely higher than Martin’s knee. How on earth was he going to manage his duties?
Martin rubbed a hand over his face and crouched down. He took a deep breath and held out his hand. ‘I’m Martin. I’m the earl’s senior squire.’
To his credit, the lad squared his shoulders and replied without faltering, though it looked like it took some effort. ‘I’m Hugh. I’m proud to serve the lord earl, sir.’ He shook hands.
Well, that was something at least. ‘I’m sure you are. And you don’t need to call me sir – just Martin will do. And you know Adam already. And that’s Brother William, my lord’s clerk.’ The boy nodded. Martin could see Adam looking around, presumably wondering where Edwin was, but he couldn’t let that conversation start now. He stood once more, before Adam could say anything. ‘Good. Now, take your things round into the sleeping place and stow them – Adam will show you the box where we keep our gear. Then come back here and we’ll start getting ready for my lord’s evening meal. Clear?’
Hugh nodded, and Martin thanked heaven he seemed willing at least. And he wouldn’t always be so small. The boy could be pushed to the back of Martin’s list of worries. He turned to immediate practical tasks, the very regular, repetitive work of every evening helping to prove to him that a small part of the world was still the right way up. Sir Hugh was to dine with the lord earl this evening, so they would need more dishes, but of course Humphrey would know that, and in fact there he was already, directing various servants.
Adam and Hugh reappeared so Martin set them to work, instructing Adam to get Hugh to practise pouring water from a jug into a goblet. He wouldn’t let him loose on the wine until he could do it three times in a row without spilling a drop. He pointed out the newcomer to Humphrey, who replied with a completely straight face that he’d probably be able to recognise him again among all those in the earl’s household.
Martin risked casting a glance over at his lord. Brother William had succeeded in calming him, and they were continuing to go through correspondence. From what Martin could pick up of their conversation, the monk had managed to choose the dullest letters from among the pile, and they were currently engaged in something to do with the fitting out of a ship.
All was ready by the time Sir Hugh arrived, and Martin greeted him at the entrance. As the knight entered, Humphrey was on his way out and the two of them came face to face.
From the way they were standing, Martin realised that they knew each other, although he couldn’t work out how that might be. They stared at each other for a long and awkward moment before Humphrey remembered his place and stepped aside with a bow.
Martin expected Sir Hugh to clap him on the back, because that was what Sir Hugh did to everyone he knew, but instead he just nodded the barest acknowledgement as he brushed past into the pavilion’s main space.
Humphrey made to leave but turned back as he did so, and he had a strange look on his face that Martin couldn’t quite interpret. Sadness? Anger? Bitterness? Or a mixture of all three?
But then he was gone, and Martin had more important things to worry about. Later on, he’d tell Edwin —
It all came crashing back on top of him and he stumbled. Edwin. Joanna. Dear Lord, he had the whole meal and the rest of the evening to get through, in front of all these people, until there was even the slightest possibility that he could slip away and get a few quiet moments to himself.
Somehow, he didn’t know how, he managed to stay upright and not spill anything as the earl and Sir Hugh ate their meal and drank their wine. Humphrey had managed to conjure up several dishes of meat and sauce as well as the more usual campaign pottage, and they both put away copious quantities as they talked of the current campaign and the likely forthcoming engagements. Normally Martin would have been interested in this last, listening attentively and learning as much as he could. But tonight he just wished they would stop talking. Was the evening never to end?
Eventually the squires were dismissed, and they took the remaining dishes through to the service area. Adam started tucking in, but for once Martin wasn’t hungry. Neither, it seemed, was Hugh, who just stared at the bowl in his hand as though he were looking straight through it.
Martin observed him more closely. The boy looked dead on his feet, as well he might. There was also a certain redness of eye and biting of trembling lip. Martin remembered his own first day as a page, young and in a strange place, and sighed. He took up a piece of the white manchet loaf – the saints alone knew how Humphrey managed to produce anything so fresh and light while they were constantly on the move, but it was his job to do so, Martin supposed – and held it out. ‘Hugh, take this and go to bed. We can manage without you for the evening.’
The boy could hardly move, so Martin took his arm. ‘Come on.’ He hustled him quietly through the main space, where the earl and Sir Hugh barely looked up from their conversation, and into the sleeping area. There were now three mats on the floor around the bed, rather than two, so Martin pushed him down on to the nearest and crouched to wrap a blanket around his shoulders. ‘Eat if you feel like it, or sleep first and keep it in case you wake later.’ He made as if to stand but then stopped and patted the tiny shoulder. ‘Everything will be all right.’ He left so that Hugh could cry in peace, knowing from experience that it would make him feel less bad if he thought nobody knew. In truth, Martin was aching to do the same himself, but not yet. Not yet.
He returned to the service area and shovelled in half a bowl of something without really noticing what it was. Then there was everything to stack, ready for the servants to remove. Then there was … he couldn’t do it any more.
Adam was standing in front of him. ‘I can manage by myself if you want.’
Martin could barely take in what he was saying. ‘You can?’
‘You’re not yourself. Is it something to do with Edwin? Brother William said something earlier that I didn’t quite catch, and he’s gone to look for him. If you want to go, go. I can cover for you.’
Martin looked at him gratefully. ‘Yes. I’ll just … get a bit of air for a while. Thank you.’ He went outside and took in a deep breath of the night air, so much fresher than inside the pavilion. He needed to find Edwin, but more than that, he really needed some time to himself. The camp was full of men – many of them would be asleep by now, but he still couldn’t count on any privacy. Where …? Ah, yes, of course. He headed for the horse picket.
When he found his own mount he stroked its nose for a while and then sat down, heavily, in a pile of hay. He wanted to weep, but instead he just stared into nothing as he hovered on the edge of the abyss his life had just become.
He had no idea how long he had been there when he felt the first griping in his belly. Lord, he would have to be more of a man than this. He might feel like everything was collapsing around him, but he had the earl to serve, he was on a campaign, he was going to be a knight. They didn’t let themselves feel weakness like this.
He stood and was seized by a wave of cramping and pain. He was dizzy. Surely his thoughts couldn’t have done this to him? Was he actually ill? He should get back to the pavilion, and get to bed – that would be the best thing.
He managed to get about ten yards from the picket before he vomited spectacularly, fortunately facing away from the horses. Heaving and retching, hawking and spitting, he picked himself up. Bed … no. The cramps – he needed to get to the latrines, and quickly.
By the time he’d left half his insides in one of the camp’s stinking latrine pits and vomited again on his way back to the pavilion he was almost crawling. How he was going to sit on his horse in the morning, he didn’t know. Perhaps he could just get to his mat and curl up without anyone else noticing and sleep it off.
There were strange noises coming from the part of the camp behind the pavilion – groaning a
nd whimpering. And there were still lights on inside, despite the lateness of the hour. He staggered in, grabbing at a pole for support, to find a hellish scene. The earl was slumped forward in his chair, clutching at his stomach, a bowl of God knew what next to him and vomit down the front of his tunic. Adam was in a heap on the ground, pale as death, and little Hugh, although apparently not afflicted, was rushing from one to the other in a panic and with tears streaming down his face. He looked up as Martin appeared, first with hope and then with increasing dismay.
Martin thumped to his knees between Adam and the earl. ‘Hugh,’ he managed, swallowing hard. ‘Go and fetch Ed– Humphrey, or Brother William, or any of my lord’s men you can find. Go.’ He pointed vaguely in the direction of the part of the camp occupied by the earl’s household, and the boy disappeared. Martin tried to stay focused. ‘My lord?’ The earl only groaned. ‘Adam?’
Adam’s eyelids flickered as he recognised the voice. ‘Martin? Are you –?’
Martin reached out to grip his arm. ‘I’m here. What – what happened?’
Adam tried his best. ‘Ill – sick – the earl first, then me. After you went out. And Sir Hugh left. Think … maybe something … in the food.’ His voice trailed away as he passed out, and Martin lowered his dead weight to the floor.
Martin was just conscious enough to take in the full meaning of what Adam had said. Beside him, the earl spewed uncontrollably once more. Dear God. Had he been poisoned?
Chapter Five
Edwin stumbled blindly through the camp. What was he to do? Where was he to go? Could he even go back to his tent? It belonged to the earl’s household so maybe he shouldn’t. And anyway, he didn’t want to go back there, not yet. He didn’t want to lie down, because then it would all overwhelm him. He must keep going. But where?
Someone had put out an arm to stop him; someone was talking to him. He made an effort to see straight and recognised John the archer. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘Are you here to see Sir Hugh? He’s gone off to have his meal with the lord earl, I think.’
Mention of the earl made Edwin’s knees buckle, and he struggled to stay upright. But wait. Sir Hugh. Maybe Sir Hugh would speak to him, would advise him, would have some idea of what was going on and what he should do about it. ‘Can I wait here until he gets back?’
‘Surely. Come and sit by the fire.’
Edwin followed him through the twilight to where Sir Hugh’s men had set up their camp for the night. He nodded to Alf and found himself welcomed by the others, even the men he hadn’t spoken to before.
John sat next to him and cleared his throat. ‘I’m not a great talker, but I wanted to thank you.’
‘Thank me?’
‘For speaking up for me last night. I reckon I’d be strung up from a tree now if you hadn’t spoke up and saved me.’
He held out his hand and Edwin took it. ‘To be honest I think you were saved more by the fact that my lord was irritated by the Earl of Salisbury, but for what it’s worth, you’re welcome.’
‘You may be right, for these great men will hang us on a whim if it suits them.’ John sounded bitter, as well he might, given his narrow escape. ‘But not everyone would have done what you did in front of them all, and I owe you.’ There was a murmur of assent from the others round the fire, and John nodded to Edwin before returning to his fellows.
Edwin gazed into the fire as both the light and the world around him began to fade. Had that all really happened? Or had he just imagined it all? Was it a nightmare from which he would wake?
It wasn’t a nightmare and it had really happened. Brother William had opened the letter and read it out to the earl …
Letters. He had letters of his own. Perhaps they would shed some light on this whole sorry situation. He reached to his belt and pulled them out. He turned them both over in his hand, desperate to know what was inside but somehow loath to begin. He tucked Sir Geoffrey’s away again and broke the plain seal on the other. Father Ignatius’s writing, but Alys’s words.
Most worshipful husband,
Hot tears sprang into his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and started again.
Most worshipful husband,
I send you my greetings and my deepest affection. Know that I and your mother are in good health and await your return to us. Your mother begs to inform you that she wishes to marry again, to the honourable knight Sir Geoffrey who has asked her to be his wife. She asks you to understand that she does this with love for him, with honour to you and with respect to your departed father. She hopes you will find pleasure in this news in your absence. If it please you and you have the opportunity, send us word of you and your health. I pray that you are well and in God’s grace, and that you will return to me soon so that we may enjoy to the full the good things from God. From your most beloved wife, farewell.
Edwin sat in silence for a few moments. Then he opened the second letter.
Sir Geoffrey, knight of Rochford and castellan of Conisbrough, to Edwin son of Godric, of the lord earl’s household, greeting. I send this by the hand of Father Ignatius to tell you that I have asked the lady your mother to be my wife. Your father was my friend and I am pleased to protect his widow and driven by a deep love for her. I send also this news to the most noble lord earl by the same messenger and I pray that he may accept it. I pray you will speak with him on the matter and that I may greet you as a son when next we meet. Given on the feast of the Assumption at Conisbrough.
Well, there was no doubting the news, at least. It was no dream. He looked again. What was there to learn behind the words? Both of them wanted this marriage. Both spoke of love – and what it must have cost Sir Geoffrey’s pride to say that out loud to the priest while he was dictating, Edwin didn’t like to imagine – and of respect for his father. Poor Father. But he was cold in his grave and had spoken to Mother before his death about her marrying again. She was much younger than him so an early widowhood had always been a real possibility. Edwin earned enough that she need not marry again if she did not want to, but clearly she did. Which meant that this would make her happy. Which meant that, despite his shock, despite his own situation, this marriage was something he had to support, even though Sir Geoffrey could have little idea of what it had already cost him. But how to go about it? It seemed impossible, though perhaps if he put his mind to it, some idea would occur to him.
Edwin was so lost in his thoughts that he had not noticed Sir Hugh returning to the camp. Indeed, the knight had to touch him on the shoulder to get his attention. Edwin leaped to his feet.
Sir Hugh’s face showed that he knew everything. ‘Foolish old man. What’s he thinking, in God’s name? And you? Come in the tent and we’ll talk.’
Thank heaven, he had not cast Edwin out in loyalty to the earl. Edwin followed him into the tent; it was nowhere near as luxurious as the earl’s pavilion but had room for a small table and a couple of folding stools as well as a wooden cot and a straw mattress next to it. Alan lit a rush and placed it carefully on the table before leaving them alone.
Sir Hugh’s face and his bushy beard loomed in the poor light. ‘So. What did you know of this?’
Edwin shrugged. Lord, he was tired now. He could feel the strength draining out of him each moment. ‘As I told my lord, nothing. That is – I knew Sir Geoffrey would always protect my mother, for my father’s sake if nothing else, but this? No.’ He rubbed his hand over his face.
Sir Hugh nodded. ‘Very well. The lord earl is very angry about it – with you, with Geoffrey – at the moment, but perhaps in time he may calm. In the meantime, I offer you a place in my own household.’
That made Edwin sit up straight again. ‘Sir Hugh – I can’t – I thank you – but – what if my lord gets angry with you too?’
‘No doubt he will. But when he thinks all this through and remembers your service to him – and Geoffrey’s – he will be grateful to any man who stopped you leaving and getting yourself killed by yourself on th
e road.’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have need of a man of your … usual talents, but I’m sure you can fight or shoot, so just stay with the men, keep your head down and keep away from the lord earl for now. At least we’ll see you fed and sheltered.’
Edwin said nothing, overwhelmed in more ways than one.
Sir Hugh put out his hand. ‘Do we have a bargain?’
Edwin took it and, to his surprise, found that Sir Hugh’s hand, thick and callused as it was, had a slight tremor. He looked quickly into the other’s face and saw what he hadn’t noticed before – the grimace of a man trying to hide pain. ‘Sir Hugh! Is it your arm?’
The knight shook his head. ‘No. Just a griping in my belly. Something I ate, perhaps.’ He winced as a loud noise came from the direction of his stomach. ‘At my age, you know … anyway, perhaps you’d better go.’ He stood and hustled Edwin towards the tent entrance. ‘And call Alan.’
Even in the poor light Edwin could see that Sir Hugh’s face was ashen, and he now clutched at his stomach with both hands. Edwin hurried out and found Alan only a few yards away. On hearing the news, he did not exclaim or panic but merely nodded and looked over Edwin’s shoulder. ‘Alf. Find me bowls, if you please. Dickon, fetch cloths out the cart.’ He turned back to Edwin. ‘Just some bad camp food, I expect. I’ll look after him.’
Edwin was glad that Sir Hugh was in such capable hands, so he wandered back to the fire. Nobody else seemed to be suffering, so hopefully the situation wasn’t serious.
It hit him like a dash of cold water. Of course nobody else was ill, for they had not eaten the same food. Sir Hugh had eaten with the earl. And if he was sick, then …
To bemused looks from his new companions, Edwin hurried off into the dark.
Martin opened his eyes. Where was he? Wooden poles above him – not the chamber in the castle keep – no, they had left – campaign – yes, he was in the pavilion. He was lying on his back and there was a candle somewhere behind his head. Someone was sitting next to him on the ground.
