The Sins of the Father Read online

  Edwin felt chilled. But here was the opportunity to ask William about that long-ago campaign, to try and glean some information while he could. He couldn’t help thinking that the key to this mystery might lie in the past rather than the present, so the more he knew about it, the better. He asked the question.

  William expelled another long breath. ‘I swore once never to speak of that campaign, but if you think it’ll help you, I’ll try.’ He settled himself more comfortably on the stool.

  ‘War is an evil thing. You may have heard tales of chivalry and high deeds, but it’s not like that. Pray God that you never have to go near a field of battle. The commanders may have some kind of view of how things are going overall, but for the common soldier it’s all about what you can see in front of you. Who will come running at you, trying to kill or maim you? How will you defend yourself? What will you do if someone comes at you from the side or from behind while you’re already engaged with someone else? There’s nothing you can do except take each moment as it comes.’

  His eyes took on a far-away look, as though he was seeing not the room around him, but shades from long ago. ‘The bloodlust in another man’s eyes, or the fear in them. The sound it makes when you run the steel of your weapon into his body, the noise of his screams, the struggle to wrench the bloodied thing out of him so you can use it on someone else. The feeling of your comrades around you, some standing shoulder to shoulder with you, others falling in agony. Their cries, and the knowledge that you can do nothing to help them, even if it’s someone you’ve known since childhood. And this goes on and on, hour after hour, until you’re so exhausted you can hardly stand, but you know that if you drop your guard for a moment, you’ll be one of the ones writhing on the floor, screaming for the mercy of a blade to put you out of your agony. Until finally it stops. Your enemies are fleeing – or you are – and there’s no one left to fight. You step over mutilated bodies, over severed limbs, over spilled guts, wading in the blood, looking for the faces of your friends, or at least those that still have faces that you can recognise. You finish off any enemies in cold blood, while trying to save those of your own who might have a chance of recovery. The birds start to circle and the flies hover, ready to feast on the dead, and you leave knowing that you’ll never get the smell of blood out of your nostrils, and that you’ll never wash it off your hands.’

  He paused for a moment, looking blindly down at his hands. Edwin felt sick, but he was mesmerised: he’d never heard William talk like this before. But there was more to come.

  ‘Oh, but there’s worse than the battlefield. The true battlefield comes along but seldom. All the time in between you’re seeking to destroy your enemies’ lands and resources, either to gain supplies for yourself, or simply to ensure that he shall not have them. A chevauchee,’ – he struggled with the French term – ‘the nobles call it, a fine, grand word. But what it involves is seeking out villages, the places where people have made their homes and their livelihoods, just like here, and stealing everything and burning their homes to the ground. Do you have any idea what that’s like? The screaming, the flames, the women, the children … God forgive me. I’ve never killed a child, but I’ve seen it happen, and there is no sight more guaranteed to stay in a man’s mind until the hour of his death.’ He bowed his head and crossed himself.

  Edwin sat in silence, the nightmare images playing in his mind. How could men do that to one another? He asked William.

  ‘Well, common men do it because they’re ordered to. Knights do it because they think it’s their purpose in life. And nobles do it because they seek more power and more lands, so they’re powerful enough to keep doing it to other people and to ensure that nobody can do it to them. And anyone caught in the middle is there because they’re unlucky. The only hope that we can have in life is to serve a lord who’s strong enough to protect us, so that we may live our lives in peace. God knows there are thousands who haven’t been so lucky.’ He pointed to the scar which disfigured his face. ‘Have you never wondered how I got this?’

  Edwin had wondered often, almost every day, but he dared not speak lest the spell break. He nodded.

  ‘It was on that campaign in Normandy, fifteen years ago. The one where we were fighting to decide who would sit upon the throne of England. It was a nasty campaign, even by normal standards – I’d never been on one like it. Villages of no importance and no worth burnt to the ground simply for enjoyment or revenge. Nobles with personal grudges against each other – a sure way to make sure that everyone suffers. We’d gone to forage for supplies and had come upon a village. Our earl was with us – unusual, for he normally stayed with the other nobles and left us in the charge of his knights while we went looking for supplies. He was a kind-hearted man, the earl, and he gave orders that we should take the supplies and the livestock, but that the people were to be spared if they offered no resistance. Soft-hearted. But not all were as merciful as him. Some of the knights began attacking the villagers, and they tried to fight back. It was pathetic – they had sickles and pitchforks, against fully armed knights and men-at-arms. There was a massacre, not just the men but some women and children as well. As the village burned I could see bodies everywhere. I was wounded – one of the village men came upon me while I was carrying off flour, and I didn’t see him until it was too late. He had an axe in his hands, and brought it down on my leg, crippling me such that I still suffer from it today. One of my comrades killed him, and I tried to drag myself back to the edge of the village where our wounded were being gathered. I saw the earl, looking in horror at the bodies around him. Suddenly a woman came at him from behind, with a knife. She was crazed by grief – I suppose some of the children must have been hers, or one of the dead men her husband – and the earl didn’t see her. I called, but wounded as I was, I couldn’t get there fast enough to stop her striking entirely. All that happened was that I got myself in between her and him, and received this for my pains.’ He ran his finger down the massive scar and the tortured mess it had made of his face. ‘When we left the village the earl swore that he would repay me for the service. It was clear that I would never soldier again, but he would see that I didn’t starve. So here I am.’

  His tale concluded, he sat back. ‘I have spoken of it only very rarely, for it’s not a scar to be proud of. Only my wife and a few others know of it.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘Who? My wife?’

  ‘The woman who wounded you.’

  ‘Oh. I don’t know, but we didn’t kill her. Even after what she’d done, the earl couldn’t kill a woman in cold blood, so we left her there. She was no further danger. We left her and the other survivors weeping in the ashes of their homes with the bodies of their loved ones around them. As many have wept over the years.’

  Edwin didn’t know what to say, except to offer up a silent and fervent prayer that such violence should never come near him or his family and friends. But he had more questions about the campaign.

  ‘What did you mean when you said that it was to decide who sat on the throne of England? Surely the old king inherited the crown from his brother?’

  ‘Aye, he did, but there was another claimant, another brother, who was by that time dead, but he left a son. This son was only a boy when King Richard died, but there were some nobles who sided with him. Whether they honestly thought that he was the rightful king, or whether they just saw an opportunity for gain, I don’t know. Sir Geoffrey will know more about that sort of thing, for he was there as well. What I do know is that after three years of campaigning the boy was captured, and after that nobody saw or heard of him again.’

  Edwin was aghast. ‘You mean, the king had him murdered? His own nephew?’

  William shrugged. ‘It’s the only explanation. These nobles are different from you and me, Edwin. Once they set their hearts on the crown, nothing will stop them, even if they have to murder their families. No war is nastier than that between kin.’

  ‘But yet …’ Edwi
n was still shocked.

  ‘Ah, but King John was an evil man all round, or so I hear. He did many dark deeds during his life. There was one time when he captured some enemies – a noble and his mother – and he had them starved to death in one of his dungeons.’

  Now that Edwin was not prepared to believe. ‘Starved? A nobleman? And his mother? A lady? That can’t be true.’ But a small part of him believed, and was revolted.

  ‘I told you, that particular war was more vicious than any I’ve known. And the king’s cruelty rubbed off on those who followed him, de Courteville among them. Sir Geoffrey will tell you.’ William looked up at the small window. ‘But I’ve talked too long. Look, the sun has risen and I’ve done nothing except remember things which are best forgotten. I have work to do, and so do you.’

  Edwin stretched and rose. ‘Yes. I’m still on the track of the knife which might have been used to kill the earl, for it’s the only one I know of which was missing. I need to go and talk to the cook.’

  Martin hadn’t thought that he’d be able to sleep, but exhaustion overtook him, and he was surprised to wake and find it already becoming light. He was thoughtful during the squires’ morning duties, but as he was often quiet nobody noticed. Once the earl was ready he sent Robert off to find Walter de Courteville, as he wanted to speak with him – Martin could only imagine the contents of that conversation, but was fervently glad that he wasn’t Walter – and told the other two that they should go and find Edwin. Martin sent Simon off, for he had a task of his own which he needed to see to before he spoke to anyone else.

  He eventually found Joanna in the guest quarters, and watched her for a moment. She was singing softly to herself as she shook down the heavy palliasse from her mistress’s bed. He stepped into the room to help her with it, looking around warily first in case the Lady Isabelle should also be there. Joanna saw him and smiled.

  ‘She’s not here. My lady said that she wanted some time to herself this morning, so she’s gone for a walk out in the grounds. She wanted me to turn this – it’s straw and not nearly as comfortable as the feather one in the great chamber which she’s used to. She’s having trouble sleeping.’

  That was an obvious opening for Martin to broach his subject, but he couldn’t find the words. Instead he held his tongue while he hefted the palliasse back into place, and stood silently by while Joanna arranged the covers to her satisfaction. Then she stepped back and smiled once more.

  ‘Now, what brings you here this morning? Were you looking for my lady?’

  Damn it, she was so pleased to see him! On a normal day nothing could have given him more pleasure, but today wasn’t a normal day. What was he going to say? How could he ask her what was on his mind?

  She noticed his consternation.

  ‘What is it, Martin?’ She paused, unsure. ‘Has something else happened? Have you found who killed the earl?’

  He could hold it in no longer. The words burst out.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  She looked puzzled. ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘About the night the earl died. You came over to us, you said you wanted to help us with our task, and then you lied to us. How could you do that?’ He was surprised by how hurt he felt. ‘I thought you wanted to be with m– … with us, but when we asked you the question, you said you knew of nobody who might have been abroad that night. And yet now we find that the Lady Isabelle was wandering round the castle throughout the night, as well as others. You’re her companion, you must have known, and yet you didn’t tell us!’ He was becoming more agitated, not sure if he wanted to hear her answer. His voice rose. ‘What are you hiding?’

  She looked at him and burst into tears.

  Immediately he was ashamed, feeling like the worst kind of bully. He helped her to sit down on the bed and awkwardly patted her shoulder. He had no experience of this sort of thing – it was not the same as when Simon had cried sometimes when he was little. What was he to do? He sat in silence.

  Eventually she looked up, sniffing. ‘I don’t know what to say, how to begin.’

  He spoke more gently. ‘Just begin at the beginning.’

  She shrugged, helplessly. ‘Where is the beginning? But to answer your question, I was sorry for her.’ He made as if to reply but she forestalled him with a wave. ‘Yes, I know, it’s foolish. How could I feel sorry for her? But she was so unhappy. She desperately wants to be married again, but my lord won’t arrange anything. And then she seemed so glad when Walter de Courteville came to stay, I thought that they might be lovers. She slipped out the other night, and I’m sure she went to meet him somewhere, although I don’t know – I stayed here in the chamber. I’m her companion – how could I possibly tell a group of men and boys that my mistress had been abroad in the night to meet a lover? It would be unthinkable. I had to be loyal. And yet … I was so keen to be a part of your group, to help you. I’ve never felt part of anything before and it felt good – I was happy. But now I’ve ruined everything, and I’m so lonely!’ She started crying again.

  Martin looked at her helplessly, wondering if there was something he should be doing. Tentatively he held out his hand, and she grasped it. She held it tightly as she continued speaking, breathing in great gulps. ‘You see, I’ve always been lonely. I’m only the unwanted cousin in my family. Nobody knew what to do with me, so they gave me to my lady as a companion when she married into our family. It was supposed to be something to be proud of, serving the sister of an earl, but I was so young, I didn’t know what to do sometimes, and she was always so impatient with me. I felt so alone.’

  ‘Don’t you have family of your own?’

  ‘No. My parents both died when I was young. I did have one brother, Giles, who loved me and looked after me. He said he would never let anything happen to me, that he would take care of everything.’

  Martin didn’t want to ask the question, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He went off to be a squire to another lord, of course. He used to come back and visit me when he could. Then one day he told me that he would have to go on a campaign with his lord, that he would be away for a while, but would try and write to me, and would come back to see me as soon as he could. Before he went, he gave me this.’ She pulled at the necklet which she wore. Hanging from it was a small coin, polished to brightness, which had a hole bored in it for the thong. ‘He said it was a good luck charm, that it would keep me safe until he returned. I chided him, saying that he sounded as though he was embracing the supernatural, but he said that God had given him the penny – he’d found it one day in a field – so God would watch over it. So I took it, and we said goodbye.’

  There was another silence. This time Martin didn’t ask.

  ‘He never came back. I knew that something had befallen him, but I didn’t know what it was for a long while. Then I received a message from his lord. And do you know what it was?’ Martin shook his head. ‘Giles had survived the battles and sieges of the campaign, and then he’d died taking part in a tournament in France. A tournament!’ Her voice became bitter. ‘Why do men do such things? I know of course that they must fight wars, for that’s why they’re on God’s earth, but why don’t they ever think about those left behind? Why must they then risk their lives in the pursuit of leisure? It’s so selfish. Although I loved him, and love him still, I find it hard to forgive him. An instant’s carelessness and he broke his neck as he fell from his horse in the melee, leaving me all alone, to be parcelled up and sold off by my relatives. So now I have nobody. Nobody wants me.’ She began to cry again, not the heaving sobs of her earlier emotion, but with a steady helpless rhythm of utter misery.

  Feeling powerless, Martin did the only thing he could think of, which was to regale her with the whole story he’d heard from the priest the previous evening. She listened to him in growing astonishment, her tears drying. When he’d finished, she stared at him in total disbelief, unwilling at first to give c
redence to something so outrageous. But why should he lie? And it certainly explained her mistress’s strange behaviour over the past few days. Amazing that such a thing could happen. The more she thought about it, though, the more she was convinced of one thing. She began to laugh quietly.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I was just thinking that I certainly wouldn’t want to be in Walter’s shoes when he’s confronted by either the earl or his sister this morning!’

  Robert stood flattened against the wall as the full force of the earl’s wrath raged before him. In some ways it was gratifying to see Walter de Courteville cowering, realising that he’d gone too far and raised the ire of a man who was not only one of the most powerful lords in the kingdom, but who was also a Plantagenet, a family legendary for their rage and said to descend from the devil. At this point he could well believe it. It was also truly awe-inspiring to watch. In all his years of service he didn’t think he’d ever seen his lord so angry, and a small part of him wondered how he would survive if such fury were ever to be directed at him.

  He’d summoned Walter from his bed, as ordered, as soon as it was light enough to see his way across the ward, and had given him no time to put on his finest clothes or prepare himself for the encounter, saying only that the earl wished to see him on a matter of the gravest import. Walter had at first seemed nervous, but had become more confident as they neared the keep, and he was almost jaunty by the time they reached the council chamber.