Give Up the Dead Read online

  Similar attentiveness was being displayed by the small figure in the place next along from him, and Edwin recognised him as he turned. ‘Peter?’

  The boy jumped at being addressed by name. But then he saw who it was, relaxed a little and nodded. ‘Edwin.’ He scooped up an armful of hay from the stack someone had placed nearby and put it in front of the animal he was tending. Then he reached into the bag he was carrying, rummaged around and dug out a brush. ‘Sir Roger trusts me to see to his horse every night now. On my own.’

  His pride was so evident that Edwin felt himself smiling despite his exhaustion. ‘You serve him very well.’ He looked more closely and saw that, in the few weeks since he had last seen the boy at midsummer, his cheeks had filled out and the tunic no longer looked quite so oversized. And he hadn’t fled when Edwin had spoken to him. He was a different child from the starving, terrified waif he’d known in Conisbrough.

  Once they had completed their tasks, they turned to walk back to the main camp, now with tents mushrooming everywhere and the smoke from cooking fires drifting into the evening sky. They threaded their way through groups of men, piles of baggage and webs of tent ropes until their ways parted.

  Peter squinted up at him. ‘Are you coming to see Sir Roger?’

  He certainly wouldn’t mind the calming presence of the young knight, so it was with some regret that Edwin shook his head. ‘I need to go and see if my lord the earl needs me for anything. But please, do give Sir Roger my greetings and say I will be glad to speak with him later if he has leisure.’

  Peter stared straight ahead of him for a moment, his brow furrowing, and Edwin knew that his message would be passed on word for word. He gave the boy an affectionate pat and turned away.

  The earl’s pavilion was easily recognisable among the smaller, plainer tents of the camp. Fortunately, Edwin had been at the picket long enough for it to have been set up in his absence, so nobody had asked him to help and then sworn at him for getting in the way. The earl was currently sitting just outside it on a folding chair, sipping wine while his servants hurried in and out with mats, hangings, wooden kists, furs, blankets and the pieces of the bed ready to assemble. They were being directed by Humphrey, and Edwin was struck once more by the quiet and efficient way in which he went about his business – so different from the shrill self-importance of his predecessor. May he rest in peace, he added to himself.

  Martin was attending the earl, as was Brother William, who was breaking the seal on a letter as he spoke. ‘From the Earl of Salisbury, my lord.’ Edwin took up an unobtrusive place nearby, hovering in case he was needed.

  The earl waved for his clerk to continue as he finished the wine and held the cup out to Martin for a refill.

  ‘The lord earl sends his greetings, et cetera,’ said Brother William, as he scanned down the parchment. ‘He has sent his messenger on ahead … prays you may give him credence … he expects to be with you here at or just after nightfall.’

  The earl grunted. ‘Good. That will give us some time to catch up tonight before we get any further around London.’

  Edwin tried to dredge up the correct earl from his memory, recalling his recent lessons with Sir Geoffrey; the Conisbrough castellan had been drilling him over the summer in the names, devices and relationships of the higher nobility. He was determined that Edwin should not make a fool of himself now that he was in the earl’s service, for if it became known that Edwin was from Conisbrough then any signs of stupidity or ignorance would reflect badly on him. No, that wasn’t quite fair, thought Edwin. It was part of it, to be sure, but Sir Geoffrey had been a lifelong friend of Father’s, and Edwin was sure that part of the old knight wanted Edwin to do well for his own sake too.

  Anyway, Salisbury. That was one of the easier ones: he was the young king’s uncle, an illegitimate brother of old King John. Edwin had never seen him but he knew him to be around fifty years of age, an experienced military campaigner and a long-time ally of the earl. Oh, and he was called William, of course; no surprise there, as half of the realm’s earls and lords shared the same name. And his device was … ah. Edwin tried to picture the colourful rolls Sir Geoffrey had shown him. Something to do with lions?

  Belatedly he became aware that the earl was summoning him. ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘Was Sir Hugh expected today?’

  ‘No, my lord – tomorrow.’

  The earl sighed. ‘Shame. Still …’ he drummed his fingers on the arm of the folding chair. ‘Roger is here, I know. Go and find him and bring him here.’

  ‘At once, my lord.’

  Edwin was halfway through his bow when Humphrey appeared at the earl’s side to tell him that all was ready within. The earl nodded, stood, and disappeared inside the brightly coloured walls of the pavilion as Edwin straightened.

  The smell of many cooking fires assailed Edwin’s nostrils as he made his way through the camp. He reached the point where he had left Peter and then followed in the direction he thought the boy had taken. Somewhere around here, surely? Yes, there he was. That halo of bright blond hair was unmissable, even at dusk.

  Sir Roger was sitting on a low stool outside a plain tent that had been patched more than once. His men – just ten archers, no sergeants – lounged around in a circle, while Peter sat cross-legged, polishing a sword that was already so bright he could see his face in it.

  ‘Edwin!’The knight stood, a welcoming hand outstretched. ‘Peter said you might stop by.’ He smiled down at the boy. ‘And as you see, I am “at leisure”. Please, sit.’ He indicated the one stool.

  Edwin took his hand with genuine pleasure. ‘Sir Roger. Thank you. But I’m afraid I haven’t come to talk – the lord earl wishes to see you.’

  ‘Very well. Will you show me the way?’

  Peter, alert to his lord’s every move, had already stowed the sword back in the tent and was now hovering a little uncertainly.

  Sir Roger looked down at him. ‘I think I can manage without you. There are plenty of other boys around the place – why don’t you go and play for a while?’

  Peter’s face lit up and he scampered off. Sir Roger caught the eye of one of his men and gestured with his head at the small departing back.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out for him, my lord, never fear.’

  Sir Roger nodded as he turned back to Edwin. ‘He gets nervous around too many people, and especially the lord earl.’

  As they made their way back through the maze of the camp, Edwin reflected that Peter wasn’t the only one.

  Martin sighed as he finally pushed the bowl away from him and then stretched his arms out until his shoulders cracked. ‘Ah, that’s better.’

  Adam, who had finished his meal long since, gave him a brief smile before returning his attention to the chessboard. His hand hesitated and hovered over several pieces before he prodded his queen forward a couple of spaces.

  Edwin, who was his opponent, looked up. ‘I’ve never seen anyone eat as much as you.’ He flicked a knight sideways and took one of Adam’s bishops almost absent-mindedly.

  ‘Well, there’s a lot of me to fill.’ Martin stood and then cursed as he knocked his head on one of the horizontal tent poles. He rubbed the sore spot and ducked as he moved over to them. ‘Who’s winning?’

  ‘Who do you think?’ replied Adam, as near to being irritable as he ever was.

  Martin clapped him on the back. ‘Never mind.’ He’d been taught the basics of chess once, but he was so hopeless at it that nobody had minded when he gave it up. But the earl was very keen, as was Sir Geoffrey, and it annoyed him when he couldn’t find a decent opponent away from Conisbrough. At his order Adam had been learning for several months, and he was now considered reasonably competent although nowhere near the earl’s standard. Edwin had taken up the game a week ago, on the first evening of their march. He’d lost to Adam the first two nights, drawn a stalemate the third, and won every game since, taking less and less time about it each evening. Martin chuckled at Adam’s frustration a
nd turned away to the task he’d been looking forward to all day.

  The bag was exactly where he’d left it; he hadn’t trusted anyone else to unpack it from the baggage cart. He untied the string and then reached inside to remove the contents, pulling it out and then unwrapping the protective linen with reverence. And there it was, in all its glory. His new great helm, a reward from the earl for his recent services and a surprise gift presented to him just as they had left Conisbrough. The very latest in style, with a round flat top and plate all round, not just a face mask at the front like Sir Geoffrey’s. Breathing holes, eye-slits, rivets … he knew every tiny facet and piece of it, and it was hardly less fine than the earl’s own. He took up the polishing cloth but sat with it idle in his hand as he gazed in wonderment at his prized possession.

  ‘You’ll stand out, you know.’

  Martin gathered his wits. ‘What?’

  ‘If you polish it any more. When the sun shines on it, every eye will be on you. Check, by the way.’

  There was a sound of annoyance from Adam, but Martin wasn’t going to let anything spoil his mood. ‘Well, maybe it’ll blind them all so they’re easy pickings.’ He hummed to himself as he started work.

  When he was happy that the helm couldn’t be in any better state than it was, he wrapped it carefully and stowed it back in the bag. Then he moved aside the hanging that separated their service area from the main part of the pavilion and the earl’s curtained-off private area at the far end, to see if he was needed.

  The earl and Sir Roger had been deep in conversation since their evening meal, continuing while the squires had been dismissed to eat theirs, and they were still going now. But the earl saw him and gave him a brief nod, so Martin took his usual position a few paces behind his lord and began to listen. They had now thankfully moved on from politics to possible battle tactics, and he wanted to learn all he could. But he’d barely heard the word ‘archers’ when there was a commotion outside.

  With a brief look at the earl for permission, he strode to the pavilion entrance, pushed aside the flap that functioned as a door, and addressed the duty guard. ‘What is it?’

  The guard nodded at several riders who were dismounting by the light of flaming torches and braziers. ‘Newcomers, sir.’

  Martin caught the flash of blue and gold on the surcoat and turned back. ‘The Earl of Salisbury has arrived, my lord.’

  The earl waved. ‘Good, good, bring him in.’

  Martin bowed to the leader of those outside. ‘My lord, if you would come this way?’

  Salisbury grunted. ‘Warenne in here, is he?’ He took off his gloves and thrust them at his waiting squire before pushing past Martin into the pavilion.

  Inside, the earls were greeting each other. Sir Roger was bowing and taking his leave. Humphrey had appeared and was already directing servants to lay food. Salisbury sat down with the earl, but there would be little immediate rest for his attendants – two squires and a page were hovering around him, still covered in dust from the dry summer road. The youngest boy looked exhausted, drooping as he placed a table by his lord’s elbow. As he turned to fetch a cup he tripped over his feet, regained his balance without damaging anything, and was rewarded by a sharp cuff on the ear from the eldest.

  Martin looked more closely. It had been a while since he’d seen them, but yes, that was definitely Philip. Martin’s heart sank, but he tried to remind himself that he was older and stronger now. The middle one, currently with his back to Martin as he filled a plate from the dishes on offer, might or might not have been a bigger version of the boy Martin vaguely remembered … yes, now that he turned to offer the plate to Salisbury, Martin could see that it was. What was his name again? Guy? No, Gregory, that was it. He had a fading bruise on the side of his face.

  The small boy spilled some wine as he lifted the jug. Martin stepped forward before Philip could hit him again, but Adam was quicker. ‘Here, let me help you with that.’ Martin couldn’t help noticing that the page’s initial reaction to being addressed was to flinch and duck. They themselves were going to get a new page as soon as the Earl of Arundel joined the host, and Martin promised himself he wouldn’t be too free with his fists.

  Once Salisbury was supplied with his meal, and candles had been placed to enable the two earls to see each other while they spoke, he flicked his fingers at the squires and page, and they took plates of their own and filled them. Martin pointed to the service end of the pavilion and they all made their way through. He was mildly amused to see that Edwin was still staring at the chessboard and did not even look up as they entered.

  Philip sat on the stool opposite him and banged his plate down. ‘There you are. I didn’t see you out …’ He stopped as Edwin looked up and he realised his mistake. Martin stepped forward to forestall anything Edwin might say. He didn’t know Philip.

  ‘I don’t think my lord will need you for the rest of the evening. Why don’t you …’ He rolled his eyes in what he hoped was an obvious manner and Edwin stood up.

  Now that Philip could see Edwin properly, in his nondescript clothes, he gaped in exaggerated surprise. ‘You let a servant sit with you?’

  Edwin opened his mouth, but Martin gave him a shove before he could say anything. ‘He isn’t a servant.’ Martin put his face close to Edwin’s ear. ‘Just go. I’ll tell you tomorrow.’ Edwin looked puzzled, but he did as he was told.

  Philip was still looking about him. ‘Changes in the household, eh? I wonder why that could be?’

  Martin had no idea whether the question was genuine or whether Philip knew the truth and was trying to make trouble. The chessboard caught his eye and he thought of something Edwin had said earlier; perhaps attack would be the best way to defend. ‘That’s none of your business, and I suggest you start eating that before your lord needs you again.’

  Philip’s eyes narrowed. ‘My, we have grown up, haven’t we?’ He looked down at his plate and smiled. ‘I haven’t got enough here. Matthew, give me some of yours.’

  The page, whose head had been drooping over his own meal, looked up. His eyes were huge in the shadowy candlelight, but he said nothing as he held out his plate for Philip to scrape most of the food off it. Martin caught Adam’s gaze over the boy’s head and saw his mouth set in a straight line. He sighed. There was going to be trouble, and he was going to have to be the one to deal with it. So much for a simple campaign and a good fight.

  It was not long before all of them were summoned back to the main central part of the pavilion. Salisbury had finished eating, so Gregory stacked the plates back on the side table ready for the servants to deal with in the morning. Salisbury told them all to be off to check that his own pavilion was now ready and said he would be along in a while. They all dutifully trooped out, little Matthew holding the tent flap open for his elders. As he was about to follow them into the night, Adam stopped him and pressed something into his hand – a piece of bread, if Martin was not mistaken.

  ‘You two can get to bed, too,’ said the earl. Martin gestured for Adam to head off to the curtained sleeping area. He himself checked that the jug of wine between the two earls was full and replaced a couple of candles that were burning low. He grimaced in irritation as hot wax splattered on to his hand, but it was nothing he hadn’t experienced a hundred times before. He waited until it was cool and then scraped it off before bowing and moving to the sleeping area.

  Adam had already unrolled both straw palliasses out on the ground next to the wooden bed and was stretched out on one of them. He couldn’t have been there more than a few moments but he was already fast asleep. Martin took off his belt and boots and lay on the other. He dozed.

  He was woken – had he even been asleep? – by the sound of voices.

  ‘I told you it was dangerous to come back to the lord regent’s side so soon.’

  ‘We had to! After Lincoln, and when it became clear that de Burgh was going to hold Dover …’

  ‘But now look where we are, cousin. Louis in London,
and a huge fleet of reinforcements on the way. If they get through —’

  ‘They won’t.’

  ‘But what if they do? We were in a good position with Louis, could have been in line for rewards once he was crowned. But we wavered and went back. If he wins now then we’ll lose everything. It might be time to reconsider.’

  ‘No. That would be the worst thing we could do. To keep changing allegiance smacks of weakness, and that won’t do us any good either way.’

  ‘What does Arundel say?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what Arundel says. He has lands but no blood. We’re the ones who are the young king’s relatives.’

  ‘It matters not who is related to whom. What matters, cousin, is who is going to be wearing the crown next year – or next week.’

  ‘We cannot go back, I tell you!’

  ‘Do you have a better idea?’

  ‘Let me think.’

  There was silence for a few moments.

  ‘We stay with the regent. If he wins, we’re his loyal men. If Louis wins, then we submit to him but say we were bound by honour to support our blood kin.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Know your enemy, man. Louis is absolutely wedded to his notions of “honour”, more fool him. He’ll fall for that.’

  ‘It’s too risky. He’s likely to win, so I say we go back to him now.’

  ‘I say not. I say we put all our efforts into making sure the young king keeps his throne, for that puts us in the best position.’

  ‘I’m not convinced.’

  ‘We’re in this together, remember? And all men know we’re allies. If you go down then you’ll drag me – and Arundel – down with you.’

  ‘I’ll have to think on it.’

  ‘You do that!’

  ‘I will!’

  Martin heard the sound of one them, presumably Salisbury, leaving. In his half-awake state, odd thoughts ran through his head. They did sound alike, didn’t they? You could hardly tell which was which when you couldn’t see them. But then they were cousins, weren’t they? He yawned.