Ursula did not give him that chance. She went to him, and took his hand in hers. He tried to tug away, muttering that his hands were dirty. She tightened her hold on him.
She pulled on his hand, drawing him towards her grandfather. Reluctantly, he went with her. She raised her voice so that all the crowd around them should hear her words.
‘And this, grandfather, is the man whom my lord Aylmer has sent to act as your right hand, until such time as he shall be able to come with a strong force to relieve Salwarpe. This man will show us how to defend ourselves under attack. He is a man both strong and true, and I commend him to you all. He is …’
‘Christian de Huste’s son, as I live!’ said Sir Henry, his eye brightening. ‘You are young—Benedict! That is the name, is it not? Why, you are the very image of your father. I would have known you anywhere. Welcome, indeed!’
Something quivered in Benedict’s face. He went down on one knee before Sir Henry and kissed the old man’s hand.
Sir Henry’s wrinkled claw rested on the tousled black head and he repeated his words with emphasis. ‘You are welcome, de Huste. For your father’s sake, and for your own.’
Ursula had been expecting … she knew not what. She had not thought Benedict would be so unfeeling as to show amusement at the ancient knight’s transformation, but she had feared there might be some moment of ungraciousness, due more to shyness than rudeness, which might have given offence.
But Benedict had done the right thing.
More, his gesture was noted not only by Sir Henry, but by the hundred odd men, women and children around them. A murmur of appreciation rose from their midst, and someone cheered. Ursula felt tears flooding her eyes.
Ursula had not really thought further than the moment of her return to Salwarpe. She had assumed that once she had cast herself into her grandfather’s arms, all her troubles would be over. She had thought she could drop back into her old position in the castle, without responsibilities, except perhaps to tend the less serious of the cuts and bruises that befell the Salwarpe retainers. She had forgotten that the Lady Editha had been responsible for the smooth running of the domestic side of the castle, and that the Lady Editha was now far away.
Ursula stood straight and tall at her grandfather’s side and felt the weight of her aunt’s cares descend upon her own slim shoulders. Her grandfather’s hand was light as a leaf within hers. He was trembling with fatigue. In spite of the red on his cheeks, and the yellow on his hair, he was nothing but a tired old man.
She caught his arm within hers and, for the first time in her life, he leaned upon her. ‘When did you last sleep?’ she asked, quiet in his ear.
‘I … not sure,’ he said, in a dry whisper. ‘Couldn’t let them take the armour off. Not sure when needed, you see.’
‘Benedict and I slept well enough last night. We will watch for you, if you will rest awhile.’
‘Yes,’ said Benedict. ‘If you will give your permission, Sir Henry? If you will detail one of your men to accompany me, I would like to see everything that is to be seen. I would also like the services of a man who can write, and perhaps someone to draw me a map. And what workmen have you here in the castle? If you will give orders that I may see everything …’
‘A sword I must have, and at once!’ said Reynold. ‘And armour! God’s wounds, but I feel naked like this.’
‘Certainly you shall have a sword,’ said Ursula. ‘Grandfather, go and take a rest. Benedict will come to you for orders later on.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the old man. ‘As you say, I must rest. Simon Joce!’ A big man clad in armour appeared at his elbow. ‘Simon, this is …’ Sir Henry gestured towards the newcomers. ‘See that they have everything they want. I will go rest awhile, now that my granddaughter is back.’
Sir Henry’s valet and his squire stepped forward to take their master’s arms, but he threw them off and, pulling himself upright, strode off to the keep with firm, unwavering tread.
‘That’s right, my man!’ said Reynold, claiming Simon Joce’s attention. ‘Take me to the armoury at once!’
Simon Joce looked at Benedict, looked back at Reynold and hesitated. Then he plucked a tall bowman from the throng with his eye and jerked his head towards Benedict. The bowman shrugged, rolled an eye in humorous fashion and bowed to Benedict, indicating that he was at the knight’s service.
Ursula opened her mouth to protest. Simon Joce was her grandfather’s sergeant and had charge of the men of the garrison. Simon ought by rights to go with Benedict. But Benedict was turning away, apparently well satisfied. Ursula bit her lip. How could Benedict expect to receive his due, when he was content always to take second place?
Well, it was done, and there were a thousand other affairs waiting to claim her attention. The Lady Editha’s careworn face floated before Ursula’s eyes. Ursula had sometimes wondered what Editha had found to do all day; Ursula was about to find out.
Voices were raised around her. Where were the newcomers to be lodged? And Dickon … oh, poor Dickon! What should be served at the evening meal? Three men had been injured in the fighting before the gates on the day Hugo came … would she be so good as to have a look at their injuries? And which of the Salwarpe men should be appointed to serve the newcomers? And which of the knights ought to sit at the right hand of Sir Henry at table? And God be praised, but what have you done with your gown, mistress?
This last came from the elderly tirewoman who had served the Ladies of Salwarpe for as long as Ursula could remember.
Ursula looked down at her gown, and laughed. She said, ‘What can you find for me to wear tonight? And come to think of it, what can we find for the two knights to wear, for clothing have they none, other than what they have on their backs!’
Later, as she was crossing the garth from the infirmary, she caught sight of Simon Joce and sent a page to bring him to her in the garden.
‘Well, Simon? It is in my mind that I should speak to you about these two knights. You may say it is no concern of mine, but …’
‘Nay, lady. The spirit of the old lord lives on in you. I am listening.’
She laced her fingers together. ‘Then tell me what impression these men have made on you. I know you to be a good judge of character. For many years you have been set in charge of this garrison and your word here has been law. Now these two strangers come in from outside, and perhaps their coming is not welcome to you …?’
‘Did the lame one really carry Dickon up the cliff?’
‘Yes. And he delayed the guard boat, until we had time to reach the top.’
‘Aye.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘That other one. I can’t be doing with him.’
Ursula had no difficulty in interpreting that. ‘Yet Sir Reynold is a brave knight, and wishes to help us.’
‘In his own way, perhaps. Yet I do not think his way is the old lord’s way.’
‘Authority is vested in Sir Benedict. Sir Reynold will be very useful too, no doubt.’
Simon looked doubtful. His nose twitched, as it did at all times when he was worried. ‘That lame one. He wants to see inside the granaries. Told him “no”. He didn’t insist. He’s got a man making lists of everything … horses, pigs, hens … men, women and children … pikes, swords, bows and arrows. Just like a clerk.’
She seized on the important point he had been trying to convey to her. ‘You told him “no”. Is that because the granary is not as full as it is supposed to be?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t seen inside it myself. But he gave me such a look when I denied him entry. Went through me like a needle through wool. I thought – clerk or no clerk—you’ve put your finger on the weak spot before you’re fairly within the walls.’
‘I believe that my grandfather will trust Sir Benedict, as you should do. As I do. The man understands his business, and if he chooses to act like a clerk, then let us not denigrate clerks, but observe how useful they can be. How much grain is there left? Enough to last until Michaelmas?’
�
�I asked the old lord that, and he said “of course”. Hmph! I doubt it, myself, or he’d not keep the place locked so tight. But I’ve not said so to anyone, mind.’
‘I think you can take it that Sir Benedict has already guessed it. He is not a man who frightens easily, Simon.’ Simon tugged at his ear, unconvinced. ‘What is he doing now?’
‘Looking over the ramparts at the countryside below. He stares and stares, then asks our friend the bowman how many trees there are in such and such a clump, and he has a man at his side, scratching away at making a map. An hour or more he’s been on the west side, and hardly started. What sort of behaviour’s that?’
‘You are not impressed?’
Again Simon tugged at his ear. ‘Did I say that, lady? I say to myself that I care nothing for clerks, and then I remember the way his eye went through me, and his dragging Dickon up the cliff, and I wonder why I go on thinking about him.’
Simon was called away.
Ursula sat on, twirling a spray of honeysuckle between her fingers.
‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘I wonder why I keep thinking about him, too.’
CHAPTER SIX
Benedict straightened up with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes. He had been staring at trees and mounds and water and rocks till he could hardly see straight. The sun was hot on his bare head, and his leg ached.
But …
‘That’s the third side done,’ he said. ‘Now there’s only the marshes.’ He looked up at the sky, which was beginning to grow dark. ‘If the light holds.’
The dog panted at his side, tongue lolling.
Peter the Bowman, whose attitude had changed from veiled derision to respect during the course of that long day, also looked up at the sky, and then over at the marshes.
‘Who looks at marshes?’ he said.
‘Dickon does,’ said Benedict. ‘Fetch him, will you?’
One of the growing group of men surrounding Benedict nodded and slipped away. The man who’d been making the maps looked up, frowning. ‘Was that three humped rocks, about a stone’s throw from the end of the elms? Or four?’
‘Three!’ said several voices at once. The clerk corrected his map.
‘And you’ll not forget that I want a map of the town and quayside, will you?’ said Benedict.
‘You shall have it early tomorrow,’ said the clerk, ‘If I have to sit up all night to do it.’
Benedict put his hand on the clerk’s shoulder, and pressed it, smiling. Then he turned on the others. ‘You’re all familiar with the countryside as it is now. Tomorrow morning—maybe the morning after—maybe in a week’s time, there may be some change in what you see. A tree may be missing here, a new track made over a meadow there. I want to know about it, as soon as you see it. You understand why, don’t you?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Peter Bowman. ‘A tree can be cut down for many purposes. Maybe only to feed fires, maybe not.’
‘A new track may mean a cart is taking men to cut down trees. …’
‘A fresh line of earth may mean a mine is being dug …’
‘And what can we do about it?’ said another man. ‘Spit in the face of the wind? That’s all we can do about it.’
‘Now that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Benedict. ‘Many people—particularly those who haven’t sat through a siege before, think they can’t do anything about what the enemy chooses to do to him. But they’re wrong. There are all sorts of things that we can do. But we must have fair warning, so as to prepare our counter-attack. Oh, believe me! We will show Hugo such a bag of tricks as will break his heart, and cause him to curse the day he ever set foot on Salwarpe land!’
The men smiled, nudging one another. They liked what he said, and they liked the way he said it. They were all tall, well-built fair-headed men. Benedict thought it quite reasonable of them to expect nothing good from an ill-favoured dark lump of a creature like himself. Well, maybe they were right in thinking him not much of a man; but, God willing, he could show them how to defend themselves against the likes of Hugo de Frett.
Simon Joce wandered over, looking as if he had come that way by chance.
‘Finished yet?’ A nice blend of condescension and anxiety not to miss anything of importance.
‘I’d like to get a general impression of the marshes before sunset.’
‘Who’d choose to approach Salwarpe that way?’
‘We did,’ said Benedict and, though he had not intended to raise a laugh, the men about him chortled. Simon flushed. Benedict cursed himself. What good would it do to offend this man?
‘A moment of your time?’ Benedict laid his hand on Simon’s shoulder and urged him along the ramparts to where they might overlook the flooded marshland, and the guard boat.
‘That guard boat. Do you think it would be a good idea to sink it? I know it’s out of arrow-shot from here, but if I made you a set of drawings could you find enough timber, and rope, and some craftsmen? And set up a catapult … about here?’
Simon’s face went through a variety of expressions … unwilling respect fought with the distaste natural to one offered a tempting idea by a stranger … eagerness to fight won the day. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘It might be done, I suppose. If—I say if—we had any ammunition.’
‘We’re standing on it, man! This rock, the scree below … stones, man! Heavy, handy-sized stones. One or two of those, dropped neatly into the boat … farewell, boat! Eh?’
‘Aye … well …!’ Simon fought not to smile. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, but his shoulders straightened as he strode away, and soon his voice was to be heard, issuing orders.
Dickon was brought up, cowering away from the ramparts. ‘I only been up here in the castle twice afore in my life,’ he said. ‘Now don’t ago making me look over the edge. I tell you, I can’t!’
‘No-one’s asking you to do so,’ said Benedict, hiding impatience. ‘Here. I’ll stand in front of you. Now look over my head. That shouldn’t be difficult for a tall man like you.’ There was an amused grin from the men nearest, but no loud laughter. Dickon looked, blinked and straightened to his full height. He could see the sky, no more.
‘Now look over my out-stretched arm. No, no need to fear! I’m a good six foot from the wall itself, and it’s breast-high hereabouts. There, now! What do you see?’
‘The marshes in the distance. It’s like being a bird, with the tide swelling in beneath you, and the mist all gone … What’s that!’
He pointed to the middle distance.
‘What? Where?’ Men crowded around them, peering over the marshes.
‘Smoke? In the marshes.’
Benedict said, ‘Who was on the look-out here today?’
A man-at-arms shouldered his way through the throng. ‘Not to say look-out, exactly. But I’m the gate-keeper here.’
‘That smoke’s where my cabin ought to be,’ said Dickon, in a hoarse voice.
‘Yes?’ said Benedict, addressing the gate-keeper.
The man shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The guard boat went that way at high tide, surely, and I thought they’d lit a bonfire there later. …’
‘They fired my cabin,’ said Dickon. ‘They fired my cabin!’
‘Well, they would, wouldn’t they?’ said Benedict, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘A good thing we hauled you up here.’
Dickon turned on him. ‘I said, “They fired my cabin!”’
‘I know,’ said Benedict. ‘They fired your cabin, and broke up your boat. So what are you going to do about it?’
Dickon stepped to the ramparts, brushing Benedict’s arm aside. He stared out over the marshes for a long time. He turned his head, looking at the line of the shore. Then he stared back at the wisp of smoke which marked where his cabin had been.
Benedict said, ‘We are going to set up a catapult here, Dickon, to knock that guard boat out of the water. Peter Bowman, who is the best shot in the castle?’
‘I am,’ said Peter Bowman, without hesitation. ‘And then Dickon Fowler.’
; ‘Peter, there will be work a-plenty for you elsewhere. Will you cede the place of honour on this side to Dickon? Will you let him sink that boat?’
‘That I will!’ said Peter.
Dickon braced himself, put his hands on the stonework and looked over the edge. Then he stepped back, wiping his hand across his mouth. But his voice was firm as he said, ‘Aye, I’ll do that little thing for ye, my lord. And may God guide my hand!’
‘Amen to that,’ said Benedict.
Benedict was tired. He descended the steps from the ramparts, favouring his bad leg. Usually he had to swing his sword out of the way, when he was going down steps, but now there was an unaccustomed lightness at his hip … he felt strange without his sword. At the foot of the steps there was a small sheltered space where a bench had been set against the wall of the keep. It was full in the evening sun, and yet sheltered by a tangle of honeysuckle. He sank onto the bench to look over the papers he had taken from the clerk. It was good to sit down. He supposed he must have been on his feet for hours … someone had brought him a bite of food a while back … soon it would be time to wash and go into the hall for the evening meal. But at least there would be no formality here, no dancing, no women to hide smiles behind their hands at his awkward gait and general boorishness.
Not that the maiden would smile, of course. She was not like that. He had wondered, when he had heard that Aylmer was taking her as his second wife, whether his old friend was being wise. That tale about her birth had been widely circulated, thanks to Hugo. But then Benedict had met her, and she had been unexpectedly kind. And of course as soon as he’d seen her with Sir Henry he’d realised that she was certainly of the old man’s blood.
Benedict yawned. He leaned back, letting the sun warm the strain from his face. So many problems … so little time … it was always the way in a siege. Plans must be made at once. That granary! Simon Joce … obviously not enough food there to last till Michaelmas, which meant … which meant …
He was too tired to think. He laid the papers down on the bench beside him and said to himself that one ought not to make decisions when one’s mind was fatigued.
The Siege of Salwarpe Page 7
