Give Up the Dead

by C. B. Hanley

  ‘How do I look?’

  It was just a croak, but if Adam was alert enough to worry about such things then he couldn’t be all that badly hurt, could he?

  He dipped the cloth again, turning the water pink. ‘Actually, not as bad as you did the first time I met you. You must be tougher than you look.’

  Adam managed a weak laugh. ‘He thinks he’s hard. He wouldn’t have lasted an hour with my old master.’

  Martin recalled the events of early May – only a few months ago! – and shuddered. Adam had never spoken of the time before he’d entered the earl’s service, but Martin knew that he’d been mistreated by both his lord and his senior squire. Well, the lord was dead and could do Adam no more harm, and if he ever saw the other squire again then Martin would know what to do. He still felt the energy coursing through him, could feel again and again the sensation of his fist hitting Philip’s face, and the satisfaction it had given him to see his enemy sprawling in the dust at his feet.

  He busied himself cleaning Adam’s face. ‘I think your nose has survived intact again. How do you do it?’

  ‘It’s a talent. Or he can’t aim properly.’ His voice sounded slurred, but he remained lucid. ‘To be honest, I was more worried that he’d keep hitting me in the gut. It’s still not right after the other day, and …’

  Martin contemplated for a moment the image of Philip being vomited on as he fought, but, cheerful as the idea was, he was glad it hadn’t happened in case it caused anyone to laugh at Adam for weakness.

  He’d cleaned as much as he could, but he had no salve or anything, and he wasn’t happy with the way Adam was wincing and holding his side every time he moved. Where was Brother William?

  Eventually the monk arrived, breathing heavily. ‘Sorry. Came as fast as I could.’

  ‘Where have you been? Adam needs you.’

  ‘So did Rob, Humphrey’s man.’

  Martin recalled the tortured figure. ‘Oh yes, of course. How is he?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Martin crossed himself. It could have been any of them.

  Brother William examined the cuts and bruises on Adam’s face and pronounced them not serious. Then he ran his hands down Adam’s left side and watched him for signs of pain. ‘Hmm, ribs, I think. Help me get this off him.’

  Between them they managed to remove Adam’s gambeson and his shirt. There was no cut – thank the Lord Philip had attacked with his fists rather than with a knife – but there was a nasty bruise forming.

  Martin watched anxiously as the monk poked his fingers into Adam’s side, making him flinch, although he kept his teeth gritted and didn’t cry out. ‘Anything broken?’

  Brother William sat back on his knees. ‘I think the padding saved him from the worst of it.’ He looked down at the pale boy. ‘Plus, of course, Adam’s too hardy to let a little thing like a grown man punching him cause any damage.’ Martin was pleased to see Adam smile. ‘I think we’ll still bind it up, though, just to be sure.’

  Once Adam had some strips of linen wound tightly around his body, and had taken a draught of the earl’s own wine – Martin didn’t think he’d grudge one small cupful, under the circumstances – they left him to rest.

  As they sat down in the pavilion’s service area, Martin realised how tired he was. He hadn’t done much, to be sure, throwing that one punch, but now the exhilaration of the event had worn off he felt drained. He poured himself some ale and sat in silence while Brother William busied himself with some pieces of parchment.

  After a while the monk looked up. ‘So, I heard of your victory.’

  ‘What? Who from?’

  ‘Are you jesting? It was all over the camp by the time I got here. You’ve got yourself something of a reputation.’

  Martin considered that. ‘Good … I think?’

  He knew that the monk had sensed his indecision. ‘How so?’

  Martin wiped his face as he was forced to confront the reality. ‘I don’t think he’ll bother me again. But he’ll want to find a way of getting back at me, and now I’m worried about the others.’

  ‘Well, that does you credit.’

  ‘It does?’

  ‘Of course. When you’re knighted you’ll have men under your command, and if you care for their welfare, as well as what they can do for you, you have the makings of a good leader.’

  Martin said nothing, but he felt himself slumping less and sitting a little straighter. ‘Adam is … I haven’t got a younger brother, but if I did then I’d want him to be like Adam. And Hugh is – well, I don’t know him that well yet, but I think he’s going to be all right.’

  Brother William laughed. ‘I hope so, though we might have to feed him a bit more.’

  Martin forced his mind to keep working. He had other things to worry about. One he didn’t want to mention to anyone, especially not a monk, but the rest … ‘Edwin, though.’

  He heard a sigh. ‘Yes. Whatever is happening in Conisbrough, he’s innocent of any wrongdoing, I’m sure.’

  ‘And my lord needs him.’ As do I, Martin added to himself.

  ‘We must work on a way to get him back into my lord’s good graces.’

  ‘I suppose finding out who’s trying to kill him would be a good start.’

  ‘Agreed. Whoever he is, he hasn’t succeeded so far, but he has two deaths on his conscience already.’

  ‘Two?’ Martin struggled to think for a moment. ‘You mean, Alan?’

  The monk shrugged. ‘It’s possible that he was just unlucky, as were others during the skirmish. But he was riding close to the lord earl’s litter, so I don’t think we can rule out the possibility.’

  Martin was considering this when the sound of the earl’s voice came from the main space. Martin ducked through to find that he and Arundel had both arrived, young Hugh and Arundel’s squires trailing behind them.

  The earl saw him. ‘Good. Now, plenty to do – the lord regent has ordered us all down to the dock to embark. The French ships are expected tomorrow morning, and we must be ready to sail out and meet them before they can reach land. It will take some hours so we need to get going.’

  Martin snapped to attention. Action at last. Proper action. ‘Yes, my lord. Do we strike the camp?’

  ‘No. All tents to be left here, along with non-combatants. The rest of us to be prepared and on the move as soon as possible.’ He turned to bid farewell to Arundel with a curt ‘Godspeed’, and then there was a whirl of activity to take Martin’s mind off everything else.

  Martin fetched his lord’s armour from the sleeping area and laid it all out in the main open space, where there was plenty of room. Adam was dozing, so Martin let him lie for now. He had been arming the earl for most of his life and could easily manage, not needing anyone to help with the weight, and Hugh could pass him bits and pieces as required.

  But it was not needed, or at least not yet. The earl broke off a conversation with one of his messengers to turn to Martin. ‘I’ll have my own cabin on the ship so you can have it stowed there and I’ll put it on later.’

  Martin sighed and started to put it all back in the bag, but the earl, dismissing the other man, shook his head when it came to the spurs. ‘No need. We’ll be on a ship, not on horseback, so you can leave those here.’

  That gave Martin pause – he’d been on ships, of course, but he’d certainly never fought on one; how was that going to work? – but he swallowed his misgivings.

  The earl gestured. ‘Get yours too. You’re plenty old enough to come, but you’ll need to be properly armed.’

  Martin’s heart leaped and he started to move off to get his own things. Then he stopped. ‘What about the others, my lord?’

  The earl looked down at his page. ‘Hugh will certainly stay here. How is Adam faring?’

  ‘He’s resting, my lord, but he’s not seriously hurt.’

  ‘Get him to help you and we’ll see. If he’s fit then he can come – the experience will be good for him. If he’s not fit then he
’ll be a liability and he can stay here.’

  Martin knew what Adam’s answer was going to be, so he rushed to shake him awake. As he expected, Adam’s face lit up. He tried to get up too suddenly, though, and groaned. Martin put a hand over his mouth. ‘Shh! Don’t let my lord hear that or he’ll tell you to stay here with Hugh.’

  Adam nodded and raised himself more carefully. They carried Martin’s mail, rather plainer than the lord earl’s, into the main space and Adam helped him into it, on the basis that it would be easier to wear it than carry it. Other than during his sojourn at the abbey he’d made a point of putting it on for at least some part of every day since midsummer, and the weight felt familiar and comfortable. He took his helm out of its bag.

  Adam wrestled himself back into his gambeson and belted a dagger around his waist. Martin made sure his own sword and dagger were loose in their scabbards and felt his excitement rising. He exchanged a glance with Adam. They were going to be in a real battle!

  Martin sent Hugh out to fetch some men to transport the lord earl’s armour. When the boy came back, Martin noticed how woebegone he looked.

  He put his own excitement to one side for a moment and crouched. ‘Hugh. You must know you’re too small.’

  ‘But —’

  Martin shook his head. ‘Never mind “but”. My lord told you to stay, and his orders must be obeyed without question. Always. Do you understand?’

  Hugh nodded, but his lower lip was still wobbling.

  ‘Besides …’ Martin cast about for an idea. He saw the white robe on the other side of the pavilion. ‘Besides, you have to stay here and protect the other non-combatants, like Brother William.’

  Fortunately, the monk got in on the act. ‘Of course. And between us we will keep the lord earl’s domain here safe, won’t we? It’s an important task.’ He slid his eating knife out of its sheath. ‘Here. This is probably more use in a fight than yours.’

  Hugh’s eyes were wide. ‘But won’t you need it?’

  ‘Tsk, boy, don’t you know that monks aren’t allowed to “smite with a blade”? I’ll just have to defend myself as best I can with my cudgel, so it’s a good thing I’ve got you to look after me.’ He winked at Martin.

  The earl was already outside, and it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting. Martin and Adam made to move after him but paused as Brother William raised a hand; he murmured a blessing and made the sign of the cross over them both. Martin said ‘Amen’, crossed himself, put his hand on his sword hilt and stepped outside.

  The order to move out had reached Sir Hugh just as Edwin got back to the camp. There would be no time for more shooting practice; this would be the real thing.

  Sir Roger was already armed, but Sir Hugh wasn’t, and Edwin felt guilty for not having arrived in time to offer to act as squire. It was too late now: they were already forming up, so the knight barked at one of his sergeants to bring the bag and he’d arm himself as soon as he could once they got there. He saw Edwin and thumped him heartily on the back. ‘Bound to be some time between us embarking and them getting here. Let’s go to it!’

  Strange how the prospect of imminent bloodshed and danger had a different effect on different men, thought Edwin, as he tied the proffered quiver to his belt and tried to hold on to the contents of his stomach. He had one final decision to make: everything else must stay here, but should he bring his letters with him? If he took them, he ran the risk that they would get sweaty, dirty or otherwise smeared, but if he left them … no, they had to come with him. If he was going to die today then he wanted the words ‘beloved wife’ next to his heart. He darted to where he’d left his scrip and extracted the letters, pushing them down inside his shirt before he turned to face the rest of the camp.

  Sir Roger was looking about him in consternation. ‘Has anyone seen Peter?’

  Edwin moved over to him as a chorus of negatives sounded. ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Earlier. I didn’t know we’d be moving out so soon, so I told him to go and play. I thought he might be at the butts but the others have come back without him.’

  He looked worried, and despite his own fear Edwin hastened to reassure him. ‘He’ll come back to find you gone, but at least he’ll be safe here.’

  Sir Roger nodded and called over to the fire. ‘Alf! If he turns up, can you keep him here?’

  Alf, with Dickon next to him, was busy wrapping and distributing various foodstuffs, but he managed a nod and a quick ‘of course, my lord’ as he went. He’d have to stay here – a one-legged man would be little use in a fight anyway, never mind one on a ship – but the rest of them would still need to eat, so Edwin accepted his share and bade them farewell.

  Then they were off. The town of Sandwich was eerily quiet as they marched through it: every street empty, every house shuttered. The people were right to be frightened, thought Edwin, recalling what he’d seen at Lincoln, but hopefully they would be able to defeat the enemy out at sea so that they never came rampaging through the town. Please God.

  The thought gave him a little more strength, and he tried to hold on to it as they neared the docks. Alys wasn’t here, but somewhere in Sandwich there would be a newly married young woman of her age. There would be mothers and children. They needed protecting, and he could help.

  They reached the docks, a scene of growing confusion as men had to wait to board the ships while others arrived behind them to crowd the space still further. There were even a few horses: it was beneath the dignity of the higher nobles to walk from camp to ship, so they had ridden and were handing reins over to grooms. Edwin spotted the Earls of Arundel and Salisbury among the others, the latter with Philip close behind him, not looking his best but, alas, seemingly otherwise recovered from the incident earlier. The two younger boys followed, and Edwin was close enough to see that they both had swollen faces that were starting to bruise. They certainly hadn’t looked like that earlier, and Martin hadn’t touched them: Philip must have taken out his frustration at being humiliated on the nearest and easiest targets. They both looked sullen rather than frightened, but Edwin worried for them when he saw them embark on the largest ship along with Salisbury and Philip.

  After watching Philip’s back disappear, Edwin looked for Martin; thankfully he was heading on foot for a different ship, clearing a path through the press for his lord. Edwin and his companions would surely be going there as well, as it was the ship that belonged to the earl, the one they had helped to load earlier. And indeed, the tide of men was carrying them that way, though it would no doubt be a while before they got near to it, never mind on it. Edwin watched as each craft took on its load of men and weapons. There were – Edwin ran his eye along the dock – twenty smallish ships and sixteen larger ones, of which one, the vessel Salisbury had boarded, was really huge. It was sitting very high up out of the water, although Edwin supposed it would sink lower once hundreds of armed men were on it. The most impressive things to him were the great wooden castles built up at the front and the back. Any archers positioned up there would be able to shoot downwards at their enemy, a significant advantage.

  Edwin still hadn’t reached the earl’s ship, and the crowd appeared to have come to something of a standstill. He occupied his mind while he was waiting by looking out for, and checking off in his head, the coloured devices he had learned by heart from Sir Geoffrey’s lessons. Salisbury and Arundel were easy, of course; and there was John Marshal, the regent’s illegitimate nephew who had so easily forgotten Edwin and his actions at Lincoln. The royal arms of red and gold, but with only two lions instead of three, would be Richard Fitzroy, another bastard but the son of King John himself and therefore an older half-brother of the young king. Fortunately, for his own sake, not old or influential enough to be involved in any struggle among those with royal blood. And there, flying from the mast of the furthest ship, was the red cross on a gold background of Hubert de Burgh, the most important man in the kingdom after the lord regent. Edwin hadn’t seen him before, for he’d be
en resisting Louis at Dover while Edwin was at Lincoln, and he looked with interest at the man who was in charge of the kingdom’s administration. What a job that must be!

  But there was one coat of arms Edwin couldn’t see anywhere – the red lion on a green and gold shield. He slipped his way through the stationary throng to reach Sir Hugh and managed to attract his attention. ‘Is the lord regent not here?’

  The knight shook his head. ‘No. He’s an old man, don’t forget. Fighting on a ship isn’t for him.’

  Edwin was mildly amused by the grizzled Sir Hugh, who must be well over sixty himself, describing the regent as an old man, but the smile was wiped off his face by the knight’s next words. ‘Besides, if they get past us then someone needs to be on land to co-ordinate the second line of defence.’

  Sir Hugh turned away to speak to someone else, and Edwin shrank back into the crowd. He had considered the possibility of his own personal death, of course, probably more times than was good for him. But he hadn’t thought too deeply about what might happen if the host as a whole failed in its purpose. For how could it? With all these nobles and men? But now the spectre of the French wading ashore over their bloody corpses reared its head; they would join forces with those already on English shores, and then make their way northwards to devastate the land and burn the villages …

  If he hadn’t been thinking of Conisbrough, he might not have noticed that the small boy weaving in and out of the ever-thickening crowd was Peter. He wasn’t cut-pursing, as he might once have done, but was rather slipping his way towards the earl’s ship. Edwin followed, but a grown man couldn’t slide through the thicket of elbows and weapons quite so easily, and they were almost at the water’s edge before he could reach out and catch the boy’s arm.

  Peter was startled and his initial reaction was to hit out and try to squirm free, but he relaxed a little when he saw who it was.

  Edwin tried to keep his voice low. ‘What are you doing here? You know you’re supposed to be back at the camp.’

  Peter shook his head. ‘I’m not disobeying his orders. I said I wouldn’t, remember?’