The Sins of the Father Page 4

  Isabelle swept over to the fire and seated herself in the chair, indicating to Joanna that she should bring another for the earl, which she did before stationing herself behind her mistress. Perhaps if they were to converse about a visitor they might not argue so much. And perhaps the visitor would provide a welcome distraction for all of them.

  ‘This morning I received word from the earl of Sheffield that he will be arriving this very afternoon with his troops.’

  ‘The earl of Sheffield …’ Isabelle was almost purring; Joanna could already see the direction her mistress’s mind was taking, and she gave up hope of a peaceful afternoon.

  ‘Yes. Now, he wishes us to combine our forces and then ride to muster with the regent on Friday, but I suspect that he may have another motive.’ The earl saw his sister’s distraction. ‘Isabelle!’ Her eyes jerked back to his face. ‘This is important! Do you want me to have my estates confiscated?’

  That woke her up. ‘Why should you have your estates confiscated?’

  ‘Because Ralph de Courteville would happily add my lands to his if he could find the slightest pretext to suggest to the regent that I might not be fully committed to his cause – it’s already happened to a number of men. Castles razed, lands laid waste, families turned out … so that is why it is vital that we should all be on our guard against careless or frivolous talk. I fully intend to support the new king, but the Lord knows I had no love for my cousin his father, and that might count against me.’

  Joanna was taken aback by the vehemence of his tone.

  Isabelle also seemed stunned: perhaps the idea of being poor and homeless had bitten deep. ‘Of course, brother. We’ll be very careful in our speech.’ Joanna couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had agreed on anything so quickly.

  ‘Good.’ The earl spoke with some finality and Joanna expected him to leave, but he didn’t rise. Instead he stayed in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest. The two women stared at him.

  Finally he spoke again, less brusquely. ‘I also want you – both – to be additionally careful in the earl’s presence. He has something of an … unsavoury reputation.’ He looked hard at his sister and then at Joanna. At first she didn’t quite grasp what he was saying, but then she realised and her cheeks started to redden. She resolved to try and stay out of the visitor’s way as much as possible, not having rank to protect her against any kind of advance. So much for a welcome distraction.

  The earl seemed relieved not to have to go into further detail, saying merely, ‘Let us hope and pray that we can all get through this visit unscathed.’

  Finally he rose to go, but stopped and spoke again, the words coming out in a rush. ‘And, of course, as an honoured guest, he will have to be offered these chambers.’ He moved quickly towards the door.

  Surprisingly, no outburst came. Instead, Isabelle acquiesced in a syrupy voice: ‘Of course, brother. I shall be delighted to give up these chambers to the earl and move into other accommodation while he is here.’

  That seemed enough for the earl: he reached the door, bade them goodbye, and left.

  Joanna watched him go and considered the import of all the things which had just been said. Meanwhile, Isabelle rose from her chair and paced up and down the room. Then she stopped and smiled.

  Joanna, knowing what her mistress wanted to talk about, sighed inwardly and started the conversation – better to get it over and done with.

  ‘Perhaps, my lady, the visiting earl will bring his brother with him.’

  Isabelle’s face took on an expression of fatuous devotion, and she began to extol the virtues of Walter de Courteville. Joanna, who had encountered Walter when he had previously come to pay court to Isabelle and had her own personal opinions about his qualities, said nothing, waiting for the effusive eulogy to end. After Isabelle had exhausted her stock of superlatives, she sat down again and waved a peremptory hand.

  ‘But now we must think of moving out of these chambers before the earl arrives – pack what we’ll need into a trunk and summon a servant to carry it. I’ll move into one of the guest chambers nearer to the gatehouse. Find the best one and put my things in it.’

  Joanna moved obediently into the bedchamber and began to remove Isabelle’s toilet articles from the small table and lay out some of her gowns on the bed.

  Isabelle followed her in. ‘No, you stupid girl, not those ones. I shall want to wear the new crimson gown for tonight’s meal, to look my best for the earl.’

  Or for the earl’s brother, thought Joanna silently as Isabelle flounced out again. She found the new gown and folded it carefully so that it would not crease, or she would be on the receiving end of another verbal barrage. It was always like this, had been since she’d been given to Isabelle as a companion as a young girl, when Isabelle had married into the de Lacy family. After Isabelle had been widowed she had of course returned to her own family, but as nobody had much use for Joanna, she’d accompanied her mistress. Joanna hadn’t wanted to come, but although she bore the de Lacy name she was but a lowly cousin of the head of the family and must go where she was bidden. It wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that Isabelle seemed to have difficulty in distinguishing between ‘companion’ and ‘servant’, and often gave Joanna the most menial of tasks to do, tasks that should have been left to a common maid. Oh well, there were worse situations to be in, she was sure. Life was hard and unpleasant for most women, whatever their rank. At least she didn’t suffer starvation or regular beatings, and she could hold fast to the hope that one day her cousin would arrange a marriage for her with some vassal of his, so that she could be wed to some staid man or other and live out her life in obscurity and domestic tranquillity, and wouldn’t that be something to look forward to. In the meantime she might dream of handsome princes and noblemen as she packed up her mistress’s possessions and went to answer yet another summons as Isabelle petulantly called her name.

  Edwin sighed and rubbed his eyes. So much for sleeping well. And this just made it worse: he was contemplating the documents before him, which detailed the exact boundaries of each man’s territory within the earl’s estates. This was part of his new bailiff’s duties which he didn’t enjoy: petty disputes over a few yards of land which required hours of research to solve. As he stared at the pages of cramped writing, a peculiar lethargy came over him. This was something which he would have to tackle sometime, but maybe it could be put off until later? Did he have anything else to do which could be considered more important? Or if not more important, then perhaps more interesting? Anything which didn’t involve those property deeds would be fine, especially given that he’d spent much of the previous day hunched over the muster rolls. Mentally he made a list of his duties … ah, there was something. He needed to find the thief who had stolen a knife from the kitchen – Richard Cook was most particular about his equipment, and had counted his knives several times before reporting the theft. Edwin would have to ask him when he had last seen the implement and who might have been in the kitchen at the time, in order to try and find the culprit before the next manor court. The theft of a knife was important, and not just because it had occurred in the earl’s kitchen. Who knows why it might have been stolen? He would find out, would enjoy the logic of discovering where it had been taken and why. However, he suspected that just as dinner – the main meal of the day – was being prepared might not be the best time to disturb the cook, who was large, red-faced and in a permanent state of choleric high temper. This was likely to get worse as more and more of the earl’s knights arrived at the castle and wanted feeding, so Edwin considered that a prudent course of action would be to make a quick tour of the castle, have something to eat, and then come back to speak to the cook. Good. He felt cheered as he put the documents away again.

  Both the inner and the outer wards were busier than usual as he passed through, with new arrivals milling around before being told where to go. There was of course no possibility of housing everyone within the castle wal
ls, only the most important men such as the earl of wherever-it-was would be invited there; the others would have to set up their tents outside. One or two others might be afforded special treatment as well: Edwin could see Sir Geoffrey shaking hands with one of the arrivals, a knight at least as grey and grizzled as himself who was greeting him like an old friend. Edwin suspected that a place to sleep and maybe a cup or two of ale might be forthcoming for knights such as he, although obviously not for all his men: a dozen archers and a small boy were waiting patiently behind him, ready for their orders. Edwin glanced at them and passed on, but his sharp eye moved back abruptly; the men were neat and well-turned out, in their matching livery, but the boy was filthy and barefoot. Inspecting him more closely, Edwin recognised Peter, an orphan from the village who was a beggar and a pilferer and was suspected of being a pickpocket also, although nobody had ever caught him at it. He was watching the men closely, too closely for Edwin’s liking, and he made to saunter casually over to warn the lad off whatever action he was contemplating; but as he moved in Peter’s direction the boy caught sight of him and darted quickly away, hovering on the edge of the crowd. So he had been up to something, thought Edwin; there’s plenty of opportunity for crime with all these people around. But it was a shame about the boy: his parents had died several years ago when Peter was very small, but nobody would employ him as they suspected him of being dishonest, which of course meant that he was forced to beg or steal in order to stay alive, which further reduced the possibility of anyone taking him in. But what could be done? That was the way of the world.

  As he watched, one of the earl’s men noticed the boy and chased him away, adding a cuff to the back of his head for good measure, although there seemed little malice in it. Then Berold – for it was he – turned to Edwin.

  ‘Have you heard? We’re going to march to help the king!’

  Edwin thought he would have to have had his head stuck in the well not to have heard, but he said nothing, noting the evident enthusiasm in Berold’s eyes. Here was one who would be stepping out of the gates and broadening his horizons, unlike Edwin.

  Berold was continuing, waxing lyrical about his chance to be a real soldier on a real campaign, not just a guard at the castle, but Edwin paid him little mind. Since his youngest days Berold had had his heart set on joining the earl’s garrison, and Edwin had lost count of the number of times he’d been coerced into a game of soldiers when they had both been boys in the village. Not only had he been unenthusiastic for the military life, but Berold’s extra two years of age and greater strength had always told, and Edwin inevitably ended up nursing several bruises. But it was difficult to dislike Berold, for his hearty lust for life shone through his every deed. Edwin thought privately that Berold would make a very good footsoldier – strong and not too intelligent. But at least he would have the opportunity to go on the campaign, unlike those who would be stuck behind. Honour and glory and a chance to see the world. Huh.

  Perhaps disappointed by the lack of response from his companion, Berold drifted away, barely acknowledged.

  Edwin was so caught up in his thoughts that at first he didn’t hear the voice calling his name, but eventually Robert got through to him. He and Martin were coming out of the stables, looking hot and dishevelled, presumably having finished some kind of training, an activity which took up much of their time. Martin was rubbing one shoulder, so Edwin enquired after his health, but the tall squire was forestalled by his companion, who noted cheerfully that Martin might have the greater height and reach, but that he still had something to learn in the skills department.

  ‘What Robert is trying to say,’ interposed Martin in his deep voice, ‘is that he knocked me flat on my back and will therefore be mentioning it at every available opportunity until I gain my revenge.’

  There was a slight pause; Edwin was not used to hearing Martin utter so many words at once.

  Robert recovered first. ‘Would I do that?’ His voice was full of insincere incredulity.

  ‘Yes.’ Martin and Edwin answered together, and Robert admitted that well, all right then, he probably would.

  ‘But where is our young accomplice? Surely he isn’t still with Father Ignatius?’ Robert explained to Edwin that Simon had been forced to go to a reading lesson with the priest, and added an impression of the boy’s mournful attitude which made the others laugh.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ Simon had appeared beside them.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ said Robert smoothly, ‘Edwin and I were just recalling how much we used to enjoy our reading and writing lessons with Father Ignatius when we were younger. Oh look, someone else has just arrived.’

  He pointed and Edwin turned, half-expecting that Robert had merely been trying to distract their attention, but as he looked towards the gate he saw that an angel of the Lord had just ridden in.

  The young man sat straight-backed in his saddle, riding with an effortless grace. Garbed for war, the light glinted off the shimmering silver of his mail and made his green and gold surcoat glow like the sun. He wore no helmet, revealing a pale, unearthly face which carried a beatific expression and resolute blue eyes; some trick of the light made his wavy golden hair appear as a shining halo around his head. The world around him seemed to recede, and the four of them stood silently and watched as he approached, Simon frozen with his mouth open in wonder at such a vision.

  ‘Roger!’ Sir Geoffrey was striding over to greet the new arrival, and the spell was broken. ‘Or, I should say, Sir Roger. How are you, my boy?’

  ‘Roger?’ Robert shook his head, looked again at the vision and then seized Martin’s arm. ‘Do you see who it is?’

  The apparition dismounted and turned to greet Sir Geoffrey, and Edwin saw with shock that it was, indeed, Roger d’Abernon, former squire to the earl, whom he hadn’t seen since the latter’s knighting ceremony four years before. They hadn’t known each other well, the age difference between them meaning that Edwin hadn’t been on familiar terms with the erstwhile senior squire like he was with Robert. In fact he’d always been rather in awe of the solemn young man, who approached his service to the earl with the utmost seriousness and was absolutely dedicated to his calling as a knight. It was rumoured that his ambition was to go on crusade to the Holy Land to help free it from the infidel, and Edwin could well imagine him smiting the heathen with the shining light of righteousness in his face.

  Solemn he might be, but he was also well mannered and, after he’d finished greeting Sir Geoffrey, he nodded gravely at Edwin before turning to the squires beside him.

  ‘Robert. How are you?’

  ‘I am very well, thank you, Sir Roger.’ Robert would never forget the courtesy due to a knight, even one with whom he had shared squirely duties for a number of years.

  The knight then turned to Martin, and as he looked up at the young man his face creased into a smile for the first time.

  ‘What on earth have you been eating, boy? The last time I saw you you were no taller than this lad here.’ Martin nodded his greeting as Sir Roger crouched so that his face was on a level with Simon’s. The boy was still awestruck and stared in wonder at the shining knight, who spoke to him softly. ‘And you must be the earl’s page.’ Simon nodded, still unable to speak as Sir Roger reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘Well …’ he looked at Robert who obligingly mouthed the boy’s name, ‘Well, Simon, I am very pleased to meet you, and I hope you serve the earl well.’ Simon nodded again as Sir Roger straightened and addressed Sir Geoffrey. ‘I had best go and offer my respects to the earl straight away. Perhaps I may speak with you later?’

  Sir Geoffrey assented and the younger knight paced up towards the inner ward. He even walks gracefully, thought Edwin, as they stood to watch him go. Robert could not take his eyes off the retreating figure, and Edwin guessed what he was thinking.

  ‘You’ll be a knight one day, just like him.’

  Robert watched as Sir Roger disappeared through the gate.

  ‘No,’ he said,
wistfully, ‘I might be a knight, but I’ll never be like him.’

  It was just as dinner was finishing that the greatest commotion yet started in the outer ward. A guard rushed into the hall and whispered something into the earl’s ear and he rose immediately. He turned to those around him, his glance encompassing Sir Geoffrey, Isabelle, Joanna and his squires and page as he bade them all follow him outside. From his place at one of the lower tables Edwin saw them sweep out of the hall, and guessed that the visiting earl must have arrived – Lord William wouldn’t interrupt his meal for anyone less. Along with a number of other people he wandered curiously outside to see if he could catch a glimpse of the man who had caused such concern, and found himself next to Sir Roger, now divested of his armour, in the crowd. Edwin craned his neck – oh, to be as tall as Martin – and saw the earl standing ready with the members of his household behind him as a richly dressed man with a retinue of his own was escorted through the inner gate.

  Edwin didn’t know the earl well, but to his unfamiliar eye he didn’t seem composed. But that was ridiculous. He was a nobleman, one of the most powerful in the kingdom, he couldn’t possibly be scared of anything, not like a mere mortal. His face was expressionless, although he twitched slightly when he saw the visitor’s closest companion, a small weasel-like man who resembled him facially. Some relative? Edwin didn’t know. The small man was ignoring the earl and looking directly at the Lady Isabelle, who was staring at him in turn.

  The visiting earl, or de Courteville as Edwin had heard him called by some men in the crowd who were better-informed than he, was also accompanied by two squires and a couple of household knights who stood close behind him and looked about them suspiciously, as if ready to defend their master at the slightest provocation. The earl didn’t look too pleased by that either, judging by the look of thunder on his face. Edwin overheard mutterings in the crowd behind him about the insult to the earl, and indeed the man did seem to be implying that he needed a bodyguard here inside the very walls of the earl’s stronghold.