A Pale Horse E-Book

C.B. Hanley

• Herausgeber: The Mystery Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A Mediaeval Mystery
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 398

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

June 1221: a tragic death at Conisbrough sends Edwin Weaver and his friend Sir Martin on an unexpected journey. But a baffling letter follows them, one which plunges them into danger as they travel to the manor of Martin's estranged father, deep inside Sherwood Forest, to find a dying man who can only gasp out a few cryptic phrases. Edwin has his work cut out to solve the mystery – the people with the most compelling reasons to commit the murder could not possibly have done so, while those with the opportunity have seemingly no motive. Martin, meanwhile, must try to reconcile himself with his family even as he remains convinced that he is destined to bring ill luck and death wherever he goes. When another murder attempt is made, Edwin realises he must work quickly to stop more death being visited on the innocent.

Leseprobe

First published by The Mystery Press, 2025

The Mystery Press, an imprint of The History Press

97 St George’s Place

Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, GL50 3QB

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

© C.B. Hanley, 2025

The right of C.B. Hanley to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 1 80399 667 7

Typesetting and origination by The History Press

Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ Books Limited, Padstow, Cornwall.

eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

For K.C.

Friend and librarian

par excellence

And I looked, and beheld a pale horse:And his name that sat upon him was Death.

Revelation, Ch. 6, v. 8

Prologue

Sherwood Forest

June 1221

It wasn’t particularly comfortable, standing in this ditch, but the wait wouldn’t be for much longer. The target would be coming along soon, and then it would all be over.

Evening was approaching, and the shadows were lengthening. Was the level of light going to make a difference? Perhaps. But it wouldn’t have any effect on the angle of aim, which had already been checked several times: the road was above this hollow, but not much, and it was close enough that the arrow could be loosed on a flat trajectory, not needing to fly up into the air in a high arc in order to gain distance. That meant it would travel faster, with more power, and it would thump all the harder into the target.

The intention was to shoot as the rider approached, aiming at the broad torso that was the clearest target, because there would be no second chance. There was only one arrow, because that had been easier to conceal than a whole quiver, so the shot needed to be true enough to kill.

Cramp was going to be a problem soon, if the wait were much longer. But stay – what was that? The sound of hoofbeats? Yes, it was.

Best to check first, just in case the approaching rider was someone else. You’ve only got one arrow.

There he was. Riding at a slow walk, which was all to the good, and on such a familiar road that he wasn’t really paying much attention to where he was going. The horse ambled with its head down, knowing its own way, and the reins were slack. Even better.

The arrow was nocked. The setting sun was casting dazzling spears of light through the trees, but at least they were coming from the side rather than straight ahead and into the eyes. Begin the draw, now. Silently.

Stop! A sudden cawing of crows had made the horse raise its head at exactly the wrong moment, blocking the line of sight to the rider as it flicked its ears in the direction of the noise. If the arrow had been loosed it would have hit the animal, causing disaster, but fortunately there was just time to react, and the arrow was still safely on the string.

The horse, which was merely curious rather than frightened, hadn’t stopped and was now almost level with the hollow. Come on, put your head down again so I can see him properly. Yes, that’s it. A reassuring pat, and you can relax. Think of the stable waiting for you.

Thankfully the horse’s head had dropped once more, but by this time the rider was nearly past. It was time to shoot lest the chance be lost. His flank presented a much smaller target than his front – was it too risky? But everything was a risk, a gamble; that was how life advanced. You have to shoot now, or you’ll lose your chance.

There was a clear line of sight to his exposed right side, and no time to waste. Draw – calmly, now – and then loose.

The arrow flew smooth and true, the spinning broadhead tearing into the target’s body exactly as it was supposed to. He cried out, just once, in pain and surprise, and his steed reared.

The rider toppled, crashed to the ground and lay still.

The horse bolted.

Had the shot been successful? Surely it had. The arrow was visible even in the waning light, still embedded in the bleeding body. The target wasn’t moving, and there had been an audible thump when his head hit the ground.

Don’t go near the road. Not yet, at least, just in case anyone else might be coming. But there was no need: he really was dead, wasn’t he? The intoxication of the thought was almost too much.

Think, though. The frightened horse would run straight home. That wasn’t far, so men would soon be here, searching for the lost rider. It was time to go. Time to run, although with exhilaration rather than fear. Success! The gamble had paid off.

The plan was nearly complete. After all this time, it wouldn’t be long now.

Chapter One

Conisbrough Castle, South Yorkshire

June 1221

‘Requiescat in pace.’

Edwin uttered the time-honoured words along with everyone else in the castle chapel, his head bowed and his eyes closed as he asked God’s mercy for the dead man.

It was strange to be attending a funeral where there was no body to bury. But then it wasn’t really a funeral, was it? More of a memorial service, because although they’d only heard the news yesterday, Sir Roger had been dead for many months. He’d perished in a place unimaginably far away and exotic, a city called Damietta, in Egypt, a land Edwin had only ever heard of in Bible stories and couldn’t even begin to visualise. And there, under the scorching sun of Outremer, he would lie at rest until Judgement Day.

Edwin called Sir Roger’s face to mind as he prayed. The knight had been a good friend and a fine and honourable man and, having met his death while on crusade, he was sure of the mercy they were all praying for. Edwin was confident that Sir Roger would soon be in heaven where he belonged, if he wasn’t there already, meeting up with the old friends and comrades who had reached it before him.

Edwin concluded his prayers and opened his eyes to find that he was the last to do so, the others already crossing themselves and getting to their feet. He was at the back, nearest the door, so he jumped up and made way for everyone else to leave: the lord earl, followed by his clerk Brother William and Conisbrough’s castellan Sir Geoffrey, then Sir Martin, having to duck under the lintel, and finally the squires Adam and Hugh and the little page, Wil.

That just left Father Ignatius, and Edwin moved to assist the priest in putting away the vessels and folding up the altar cloth. As he did so, he noticed the strain on the other’s face. ‘Courage, Father. I know we’re all sorry that Sir Roger’s gone – and I’ll certainly miss him – but he died doing what he wanted, and the Lord’s work too, on crusade, so we should be glad for him and his soul.’

‘Oh, I am,’ replied the priest, in a tone that sounded anything but, while he looked around to check that everything was safely stowed. ‘And although he was only a young man, he’d already achieved a great deal and he was much loved. How many others can say the same, when their time comes?’ He sighed. ‘No, I’m afraid the weight on my shoulders is that I’m going straight to another funeral, down in the church.’

Edwin recollected. ‘Oh yes, of course…’

‘Burying children is part of my lot as a parish priest, but it never gets any easier, no matter how many times you do it.’ Father Ignatius gestured for Edwin to leave the chapel first, and then genuflected before turning to follow him through the empty council chamber and into the cool stone stairwell.

‘A drowning, I heard.’ The words echoed.

‘Yes. Fire and water, Edwin, that’s how the Lord chooses to bring children home to Him when they aren’t suffering from any illness. They drown, or they stray too near the hearth. It’s His will, of course, but I confess I don’t always understand it.’

Edwin remembered what he’d already seen of the parents’ grief, although his mind shied away from the question of how he would ever survive if anything happened to one of his own beautiful children. The pain… it was just unimaginable. A village boy of seven or eight years old, full of life and splashing in the river with his friends, was within an hour pale, lifeless and gone forever. Edwin shivered.

‘At least with water,’ continued Father Ignatius, puffing a little, ‘you can sometimes bring them back. If they haven’t been under too long, the Lord shows His mercy and you can pump it out of them so they can breathe once more.’ They reached the keep’s outer door. ‘But with fire, all you can do is pray for a swift death so as not to prolong the agony.’

Both of them had to close their eyes for a moment as they stepped out from the dark stairwell into the full glare of the late-morning midsummer sun. Then, shading his face, Father Ignatius moved off towards the gate, while Edwin drifted in the direction of where the earl and most of his attendants were standing.

‘… and so, it would hardly be worth him having, wouldn’t support him properly even if there wasn’t this cousin with a claim,’ the earl was saying to Sir Geoffrey. ‘But we’ll find him something else, never fear. One or two other estates will no doubt be falling vacant before too long, and back into my hands to bestow as I see fit, which will give him something at least until he gets his own inheritance. His father remains in robust health, I gather?’

‘Yes, my lord, or he was the last time I heard.’

‘Good, good. Haven’t seen him for years, but he’s a fine man, always has been.’ The earl nodded and clapped. ‘Now, as to – ah, there you are.’ He’d spotted Edwin.

‘Sorry, my lord, I was just helping Father Ignatius.’

‘Never mind that.’ The earl waved his hand, seemingly in a good mood despite the mournful event they’d just marked in the chapel. ‘I won’t need you for the next few hours. We’re going to ride out, and Brother William says no new correspondence has arrived today as yet. So, go about whatever other business you have, and report back here a couple of hours before sunset.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ It was the feast of St John the Baptist, the first day of the season for hunting hart, the great stags of the red deer, and the talk in the earl’s senior household had been of little else for days.

Edwin made his way through the outer ward, spotting Sir Martin outside the stable, giving brusque orders while men rushed to obey, and then he strolled down the hill towards the village. He’d just reached it when he was overtaken by the mounted party, swelled by the presence of a dozen garrison members and huntsmen accompanying the earl and his attendants.

Sir Martin nodded to Edwin as they passed, standing out from the others not only by his stature but also by the startling white colour of his magnificent new horse, Blanchart. Sir Martin always called it ‘grey’, for some reason, but it was definitely white, and Edwin had joked that he might as well put a target on himself if he ever had to ride into battle.

‘Wouldn’t need one,’ had been the knight’s terse reply, and he was right. He’d always been unusually tall, but now, at twenty-one, he’d grown into his full strength as well, and a punishing daily training regime with armour and weapons had given him the muscles and solidity to match. Mounted on the gigantic horse, the only one in the castle stable that would carry him, he could hardly be missed even if it wasn’t for the colour.

But ownership of such a beast made Sir Martin a little happier, and the Lord knew he had some need to be after all he’d endured in the last few years. When he was with his beloved steed, or with Edwin and his family, he could unwind and become more like the real Martin, but with most others he was short-tempered. Edwin noted now that the garrison men in the party were keeping their own mounts well away from him. Occasionally, Sir Martin really needed to work out his frustrations, and although Edwin couldn’t exactly approve of his method of doing so, he did at least understand it: young men living in the area who were violent bullies or who were credibly accused of assaulting girls often returned from the woods covered in blood and bruises at times when Sir Martin was known to have been out riding. At least it saved his sparring partners in the garrison from further injury.

The group rode through the village and out the other side, eventually becoming no more than a cloud of dust, and Edwin turned towards the church. He took off his hat as he entered, and bowed his head at the piteous sound of a mother’s anguish.

After the sad service was over, he was sorely in need of the comfort he’d find at home, so he made his way there, attempting to fix a more cheerful expression on his face as he went.

It was busy at the cottage, as it always was. Several of the girls who worked for Alys were outside, taking advantage of the sunshine as they spun the wool she needed for her weaving, their hands busy as they chattered and as the clouds of fleece were expertly turned into thread. Edwin greeted them but had no need to ask where Alys was, as he could already hear the steady beat and thump of the loom.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of his home, his smile was genuine. How blessed he was in his family: there was his loving and beautiful wife, frowning in concentration at the intricate pattern she was halfway through; next to her was the cradle containing their healthy eight-week-old son; and over in the far corner were the two giggling little girls. Edwin was glad to note, remembering Father Ignatius’s words, that they were well away from the hearth. Even in this warm weather a fire needed to be kept burning all day so that the grain in the pottage had ample time to simmer and soften before it went into those little mouths.

It was Edith and Matilda who spotted him first, and they toddled over to clutch at his legs and beg to be picked up. As they were not much past two years old, he could still sweep them both up at the same time, and they shrieked in joy and covered his face in wet kisses. Strangers often took them for surviving twins – a rare occurrence and one that merited comment – and indeed they had been born within days of each other, but Edwin never tired of explaining that he had received the different but no less miraculous blessing of a daughter and a sister in the same week.

The sound of the loom ceased, and Edwin caught the scent of flowers as Alys came to embrace him. ‘Come and sit down, my love. The service in the castle must have finished some while ago, and if you’ve been to the church as well, then…’ she tailed off and ushered him to a seat by the open window. ‘I did hear the bell, but I was feeding Robert at the time, and I didn’t think it would be right to appear like that, in case it upset them even further.’ She crossed herself. ‘Anyway, I’ll get you something to drink, and you can take your ease for a little while.’

She always knew, thought Edwin, as Edith and Matilda slipped off his lap and ran back to their game. It was like she could see into his thoughts. And the way she cared for him? Truly, he was the most fortunate man in the world.

Edwin was just taking a first refreshing sip of home-brewed ale when, to his surprise, he saw Sir Geoffrey approaching the cottage on foot. He experienced a moment of alarm at such an early return from the hunt, but the knight was smiling and easy, nodding to the girls outside, so surely there was nothing wrong. Edwin moved to the door, which was standing open in the fine weather.

‘My horse pulled up lame,’ were the knight’s first words. ‘The lord earl is perfectly well attended with the others there, so he bade me return. I’ve already been up at the stable, so I thought I’d make the most of my unexpected free time.’ A wide smile creased his lined face as he looked past Edwin at the children, and Edwin happily moved aside to let him enter.

‘Are you coming to Papa, then?’ Sir Geoffrey swung Matilda up into the air, and they both laughed.

Edwin sat down again, thinking to himself how odd this would all look to anyone who didn’t know the circumstances, who weren’t aware that his widowed mother had married Sir Geoffrey not long after he himself had married Alys, and that both women had given birth at the same time. Mother’s death in childbirth had hit all of them very hard indeed, and it had taken Sir Geoffrey a long time to get over his guilt, but he loved his daughter to distraction, and hearing her call him ‘Papa’ was the greatest joy in his life.

It was a pleasant interlude for a couple of hours – all the more precious for being unforeseen – and Edwin and Sir Geoffrey managed to squeeze in a game of chess, with Edwin’s makeshift scratched-out board and home-made pieces, while they also kept enough of an eye on the children to enable Alys to concentrate properly on the difficult part of her pattern. But all such joys were fleeting, and when the sound of horses’ hooves became gradually audible, the two men exchanged a glance and got up to leave.

‘A sad business about Roger,’ began Sir Geoffrey, as he shut the garden gate. ‘I didn’t want to speak of it while we were in your home, didn’t want to cast a cloud on Alys or the children.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Edwin, a little of the earlier weight returning to his shoulders.

‘You know, I suppose, that the lord earl was going to make him the next castellan here?’

‘I didn’t,’ replied Edwin, ‘but, all things considered, it doesn’t come as a surprise. He did have that practice here while you were away that time.’

Sir Geoffrey snorted. ‘The less said about that the better. Still, give him his due – he did learn from the experience, and we were sure that this crusade would give him a new perspective on matters. I thought he’d make a very good castellan, in time.’

There was silence for a moment while Edwin wondered how to bring the subject up tactfully, but Sir Geoffrey forestalled him. ‘And when I say “in time”, I should add that I’m not yet so ancient that I’m considering retiring and taking to my bed.’

Edwin didn’t know exactly how old Sir Geoffrey was, though he must be more than halfway between sixty and seventy. However, in some respects he was ageless; he merely became tougher and harder as the years passed, like a good oak beam. He was perhaps a mite slower on the stairs than he’d been in his younger days, but he still stood as straight as an arrow and had sinews of rope and fists of iron.

‘There’s plenty of time for the lord earl to choose someone else, then,’ Edwin said. ‘I wonder if…’

The knight shook his head. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but Sir Martin is too young for that just at the moment, and his temperament… well, he’s a fine knight and one of the most fearsome combatants you could hope to see, but being a castellan is a very different thing. Staying in one place, men to command, to know, to understand. The patience required. I’d like to say that if I kept him in hand for a few years he’d come round to it, but even then I’m not sure. I think his path will lie in another direction.’

Edwin made no reply. It was complicated, probably much more complicated than Sir Geoffrey realised, but now wasn’t the time to delve into it too deeply.

They arrived in the outer ward just as the earl’s party were dismounting. The boys were set to unsaddling and assisting the grooms, and the earl gave his horse a final pat before calling Sir Geoffrey over as they made their way up to the inner ward.

Edwin fell into step with Sir Martin. ‘Good hunting?’

‘No kills today,’ came the rumbling voice from a foot above Edwin’s head. ‘But we caught enough scent to know where to look next time, and Blanchart got himself some good practice.’

‘You’re getting to know each other better?’ Edwin had little interest in horses except insofar as riding them was sometimes preferable to walking, but Sir Martin lived for them. ‘And he’s getting more used to…?’ he indicated the artificial hand, made from metal, that took the place of Sir Martin’s missing left hand.

‘Yes, he’s got used to the way I hold the reins, and…’ The enthusing continued until they reached the keep, and Edwin tried to look interested.

The earl still took his evening meal in the great hall, in the old-fashioned manner: other noblemen had apparently started to withdraw to a private space with their families, but there was none of that here, and the earl preferred to remain visible to his men in the way his father had done. Besides, he had no family, and neither did any of his close household, so with whom could he withdraw in any case?

There was not one woman living in the castle. Sir Geoffrey was a widower, of course, as was the earl himself – his wife had died almost as long ago as Edwin could remember, leaving no children, and he’d never married again. Sir Martin was not yet established enough to support a wife, and besides, he’d had his heart broken a few years back when the girl he loved was sent away to marry someone else. Brother William was a celibate monk, and the officers of lower ranks, Humphrey the marshal and John the steward, were single.

The only other household member apart from Edwin who had a family was Matthew, the bailiff, who oversaw law and order in Conisbrough and on several of the lord earl’s other estates, but he (sensibly, in Edwin’s opinion) chose to reside with his wife and children in the village. Down there, among the wattle and daub and thatch, there was colour and warmth and life and family; up here, the surroundings might be richer, but everything was grey and cold, except for the occasional heated outburst of the earl’s famed temper.

Edwin tried to shrug off the feeling of gloom as he sat next to Brother William at one of the lower tables and tucked into his stew. There was some chat around him, and he made an effort to join in, noting that the banter was in stark contrast to the high table, where the earl sat flanked by Sir Geoffrey and Sir Martin, served by the three boys, and all in a silence that was as stony as the walls.

After the meal there were a few bits of business and correspondence to deal with, and then Edwin was released once more. It was still light as he made his way down the hill, a balmy summer evening with the aroma of wildflowers mingling with woodsmoke, and the setting sun illuminating the fields bursting with crops. Edwin gave thanks that they were growing well, and that the village would enjoy a year of plenty. All was, in fact, right with the world, and he knew that he should be more grateful and more at ease. But the very serenity of life at the moment was making him worry that it couldn’t last, that something was bound to go tragically wrong sooner rather than later. He quickened his step, anxious to get home and hoping that he would be able to shake off this dark sense of foreboding when he got there.

It was early the next morning when a hammering sounded at the door, but Edwin and Alys were already up, baby Robert having woken on several occasions during the night. Each time he heard the crying Edwin was caught between groaning and relief, because at least it meant that the child was alive. The nightmare of every parent in the village, and one that came true far too often, was to awake to a cold, still silence from the cradle.

It was Sir Martin, and Edwin’s dark thoughts immediately returned, but his friend was smiling broadly. ‘Sorry to call at this hour, but I’m due to drill some of the men this morning, and I wanted to come down and give you this first.’ He held out a sack and then looked over Edwin’s shoulder. ‘Morning, Alys. How are you, and how’s my godson getting on?’

At their invitation he stepped inside. As ever, he seemed to fill the whole space – and, as ever, Edwin felt that he had to tone down how happy his family life was. Sir Martin had long got over the jealousy that had caused him to act rashly a couple of times, but Edwin still felt obscurely guilty that he had so much while his friend had so little. Which was a very odd thing, given that he was a commoner and Sir Martin a knight, but given the choice of status or family, Edwin knew which one he valued more highly.

‘I should’ve brought this yesterday,’ began Sir Martin, thumping his burden down on the table. ‘But I didn’t get time, sorry.’

‘Well, it was the first day of the hart-hunting season,’ said Edwin, eyeing the sack warily in case it contained a deer’s head or something. But no, it was the wrong shape, didn’t stink, and besides, they hadn’t killed anything.

‘Yes, the feast of St John the Baptist,’ continued Sir Martin, with a knowing glance at Alys. Mysteriously, she seemed to catch on to whatever he meant, and she gave a little gasp before smiling.

Edwin looked from one to the other in some puzzlement.

‘Tsk, are you losing all that famed cleverness?’ asked Sir Martin, giving Edwin a clap on the shoulder that nearly sent him flying. ‘The feast of your birth, as well as the saint. It’s an easy day to remember. I know that you don’t pay it much heed since your mother – well, anyway. I’ve got you something.’

By now Edith and Matilda were clamouring round the knight’s legs, and he bent to pay them some attention. ‘Open it, do – I haven’t got long before I have to get back.’

Intrigued, Edwin reached in and pulled out a magnificent chessboard, the polished squares inlaid in dark and light wood and surrounded by a carved border.

There was silence, as he was so overcome that he could do nothing but stare at it for several moments. Then, with shaking hands, he extracted a bundle of cloth and unwrapped it to find two sets of playing pieces, exquisitely fashioned from black and white materials that he couldn’t immediately identify.

‘That’s ivory,’ explained Sir Martin, trying to point while also holding both girls. ‘The merchant said so. And the black ones are made of jet.’ He paused, before asking in a rather hesitant tone, ‘You do like it?’

Edwin was, quite literally, speechless. He opened his mouth to say something, and no words came out. He just stared and stared at the most wonderful items he’d ever owned, or ever would.

‘Shall I take that as a compliment?’

Alys laughed in joy. ‘Yes, you should. Look at him!’

‘Martin,’ croaked Edwin. ‘I mean, Sir M– but where did you get them from?’

‘It was when I was with my lord in London, last autumn. You can get anything there, you know – it’s amazing. Food and goods from all over the world.’

‘But how could you possibly afford… I mean, sorry, that’s none of my business, but I hope you didn’t–’

Sir Martin shrugged. ‘My lord pays me a daily allowance now I’m a knight, and what else do I have to spend it on? I don’t have to pay for lodgings or buy my own food.’

‘But your own family–’ began Edwin.

‘Never mind that,’ was the swift and curt reply, and Edwin shut his mouth.

‘I knew we were going to London,’ continued Sir Martin, ‘so I asked Alys if a new chess set might be something you’d like, and she said yes, so I went looking for one. And I’ve kept it safe ever since, because it was to be a surprise.’ He grinned and, just for a moment, the boyish old Martin appeared.

‘It’s wonderful,’ said Edwin, still overwhelmed. ‘And never to say a word all this time? Why–’ He stopped himself just in time, before he could add ‘normally, your every thought is written right across your face’ and made a quick recovery into ‘why, that just adds to the value of the gift. I’ll think of you every time I use it.’

‘Good. Just don’t ask me to play against you! When I next see Sir Geoffrey I’ll tell him, and say that he’ll have to come down and christen it with you. I might just catch him before he goes out – he’s taking part of the garrison out on patrol, and I’m to drill the rest while he’s gone.’ Sir Martin put the girls down. ‘Which reminds me, I need to go.’

‘Please do come back later, when you have the time,’ said Alys. ‘Edwin and Sir Geoffrey have no attention to spare for anyone when they get going, so you can sit and tell me all about your new horse.’

Sir Martin grinned and ducked out of the door, leaving Edwin to contemplate, once again, how lucky he was.

‘I wonder if I might speak with you about something?’

Edwin had spent much of the morning at the castle, helping Brother William with the earl’s correspondence and then going through some old parchments relating to various local estates with Matthew the bailiff. Surprised at Matthew’s hesitant tone, Edwin turned to face him. ‘Of course. Is there something I can help you with?’ He gestured to the documents.

‘Oh, not all this. It’s just… well, I might as well come out with it.’ Matthew took a deep breath. ‘Your father was the lord earl’s bailiff for many years.’

This was an unexpected beginning. ‘Yes?’

‘And, when you were younger, you probably expected to take over from him.’

Edwin understood. ‘Ah. Yes, I did, when I was a boy, and for a while when he was in his last illness I did take over some of his duties. But you know that my position in the household changed long before you arrived here, and if you’re worried that I might resent–’

‘I know you don’t. You’re a generous man.’ Matthew paused. ‘But… now you have a son of your own.’

Edwin was taken aback. He hadn’t thought of this before. Having a son was still so new a situation that he hadn’t even begun to consider the fact that Robert would need a career planned out for him. And now Matthew’s diffidence made more sense. ‘I see. And you’re worried that I might want the position to come back to my son in due course.’

‘Yes.’

‘While you have two of your own.’

‘Yes. And Thomas is eight now, so I need to start planning for his future. I always knew that young Matty would have to find his own way, as a second son – as I am myself, of course, which is why I need this position as my lord’s bailiff – but I always thought that Thomas could follow in my footsteps. Father Ignatius tells me he’s made good progress learning his letters and his Latin, and it would be time to start him on some early work, but… I wasn’t sure what your intentions were, and it wouldn’t really be fair to the lad to begin training him and give him expectations of a position if it’s never going to be his.’

Edwin was silent.

Matthew nodded, and then sighed. ‘Very well, I’ll–’

‘No, wait! Sorry, I didn’t mean to say – you just took me by surprise, that’s all.’

‘So you don’t…?’

‘To be honest, I haven’t given the matter one moment’s consideration, not yet. He’s still so young, and we need to make sure he’s going to surv–’ Edwin pulled himself away from that line of thought. ‘What I mean is, the position of bailiff is yours, and it’s right and proper that your own son should be brought up to it. I have no idea what the lord earl has in store for me in years to come, and there’s plenty of time yet to worry about what Robert will do when he’s older.’

Matthew’s face creased into a smile, and he shook Edwin’s hand with warmth. ‘And any other sons you might have.’

Edwin held on to that pleasant thought all through dinner, and when he was able to slip away for a short while in the early afternoon he decided to make a quick dash home to see how they were all getting on.

He’d hardly made it into the village when he heard screams. There was also a distinct smell of burning, much more than would be expected from the hearth fires, and then he saw a belch of black smoke appearing above one of the houses.

He started to run, shouting and hearing other cries of ‘Fire!’ in return.

One of the cottages that bordered the village green was ablaze – the one where the reeve lived with his wife and two children, a tot and a baby. The hearth fire must have spilled or cast sparks, and in this hot, dry weather the thatch had caught and now the whole place was rapidly turning into an inferno.

‘Who’s in there?’ was the first question Edwin yelled as he got there.

‘Nobody,’ came a reply. ‘Reeve’s out in the fields, and she’s gone to the mill – she’ll have taken the young ’uns with her.’

That was some relief, but the danger to property and possibly also to life was still extreme. The house was almost certain to be destroyed, and it would only take a few more sparks being blown on the breeze for the fire to spread and the whole village to go up in flames. But how was he to manage? All the able-bodied men were out at work, and it would probably take some while before any of the garrison noticed the additional smoke. Edwin might hurry that along, at least: he grabbed the nearest two boys and told them to run to the fields and the castle to raise the alarm. In the meantime, he did his best by starting to organise the women and children into a bucket chain from the well, but it was going to be slow.

Then there came shouts and the drumming of hooves. Edwin looked up from throwing a first and totally ineffective bucket of water at the raging fire to see, with huge relief, that Sir Geoffrey and a dozen garrison men were speeding up as they came towards the village and saw what was happening.

Sir Geoffrey threw himself down from the saddle and took immediate charge. He asked the same question as Edwin and then commanded two men to take all the horses away, frightened as they were by the flames, and to raise the rest of the garrison as soon as they got to the castle. The other soldiers he set to fetching water, though he ordered it cast at the neighbouring houses. ‘This one is already lost,’ he called to Edwin, shielding his face from the furnace and shouting to be heard over the roaring. ‘Best to leave it if there’s nobody inside, and work on saving the others.’

By now the heat was intense, the flames roaring up through the gaping hole in the centre of the thatch. Sir Geoffrey was wearing his mail armour, which must have been getting unbearably hot, and Edwin was about to suggest that the knight should step back when several things happened so fast that he could barely take it all in.

The first was a piercing scream from the other end of the street, as the reeve’s wife broke into a run, dropping the bag of flour she was carrying. It was difficult going because she had a baby strapped to her, but she made incredible, desperate speed.

She had the baby with her.

One child.

One.

As if in response to the shriek, a wail came from inside the burning cottage. At first it was indistinct, but then Edwin and Sir Geoffrey, who were nearest, heard it coalesce into ‘Mama, help me!’, followed by a long, despairing ‘Pa-paaaa!’

Before Edwin could even think about moving, Sir Geoffrey plunged through the flames that were by now licking the doorway and into the heart of the burning room.

Edwin caught hold of the frantic reeve’s wife, who seemed about to do the same, and managed to fend her off into the arms of several women and the horrified priest, who pulled her away even as she continued to struggle and shriek.

A moving shadow inside the cottage caught Edwin’s eye, and he was just in time to react and dive to catch the child, tightly wrapped in a blanket, who came sailing out through the flames that now filled the doorway. As he did so he fell and rolled, trying to keep her safe and put his own body between her and the fire. And it was a good thing he did, for it was at the same moment that the entire roof, with its heavy, burning timbers, collapsed into the inferno, sending the biggest flames yet roiling up into the blue summer sky.

Chapter Two

With fire, all you can do is pray for a swift death so as not to prolong the agony.

Edwin recalled Father Ignatius’s words as the last embers were finally extinguished and they were able to retrieve what was left of the body. It certainly had been swift, that was the one mercy: Sir Geoffrey must have seen that the roof was about to collapse, realised he had no time to run back to the door himself, and flung the child out of danger as his last act before he was crushed by the flaming timbers. It would all have been over in moments, the heavy beams enough to kill him even without the intense heat that had fused his mail hauberk into a solid, charred lump.

The reeve and his wife were both there now, looking at the ashes of their home and shaking and gulping with the shock as they embraced their two unharmed children. Yes, unharmed: Sir Geoffrey had not only saved the little girl’s life, but had done so in time to prevent her suffering from agonising or scarring burns.

Father Ignatius was on his knees praying for all of them, and through his own tears Edwin thought that Sir Geoffrey was another man who would go swiftly to heaven, thanks to his good deeds. What was that Bible verse? He’d heard it many times over the years when the reading came round in the cycle of Masses: Greater love than this hath no man, that he lay down his life for his friends. And if the sacrifice had been for an innocent child, so much the better, surely.

Edwin himself was little more than singed, his face and arms red and sore, but no worse, and his tunic covered in soot. Alys stood by him, having arrived while the fire was still blazing, after telling the girls who worked for her to run out of the village in the opposite direction, taking the children with them and as many others as they could collect on the way. They grasped each other’s hands, silently, too overcome by the horror for speech.

It had taken several hours to put out the fire and wait for it to cool sufficiently for anyone to pick their way over the ashes, and longer still to free the body from the debris. By that time, the entire population of the village and castle was standing around the ruined house in a subdued circle. Even the lord earl looked shocked as he surveyed the scene. Later he would no doubt demand explanations, but for now he simply shook his head in disbelief and murmured prayers along with everyone else.

‘Don’t look,’ Sir Martin had cautioned Hugh and Wil, as the first call came that the men had found what they were looking for. Edwin wished with all his heart that he could turn away too, but he owed it to Sir Geoffrey to be braver than that, so he stepped forward along with Sir Martin and Adam to join the garrison men in taking the knight on his last journey.

Gingerly they manoeuvred the blackened corpse on to a stretcher, and Edwin wondered if he was the only one who was trying not to be sick. A cloth was produced from somewhere, and they covered it – him – decently, so as not to expose the women and children to the horror of the sight as they passed. Then they lifted the stretcher and took pains to match their strides so they could convey it the short distance to the church with as much dignity as possible.

It was cool inside the stone building. Gently, the six men laid their burden on the floor and stepped back to pay their last respects, then parted as the earl came to stand with them and gaze down at the covered form.

He cleared his throat. ‘We will have more to say in his honour later,’ he began, ‘but for now let us all remember that he was a good man, a brave knight and a loyal retainer.’ He crossed himself, and Edwin and the others did likewise. ‘Sir Geoffrey has lived at Conisbrough for many years,’ continued the earl, with the hint of a shake in his voice, ‘but he had a home of his own, and I have heard him express a wish to be buried there when his time came, alongside his parents.’

Edwin nodded. After Mother had died, Sir Geoffrey had ordered her buried here at Conisbrough, next to Father, her first husband, and he’d told Edwin that he wouldn’t disturb their peace by seeking to join them whenever his own time came.

‘Have a coffin made,’ said the earl, to nobody in particular. ‘One that can be properly sealed, and we’ll have him transported back to his manor.’ He took a last, long look at the covered form, then turned on his heel and left.

Edwin watched everyone else file out, so that eventually there remained only Father Ignatius and himself, just as it had been in the chapel yesterday – Lord, had it only been yesterday? How much more death was to be visited on one small community?

The priest glanced at him, tactfully stepped back and busied himself with other matters, leaving Edwin alone with the man who had been both his stepfather and his own father’s best friend. I will look after Matilda for you, he said, in the silence of his mind. I will love her, protect her and watch her grow up into the woman that you and Mother would want her to be. I swear it.

Then he went home. Alys was already there, having fetched all the children; she was trying to speak cheerfully to them as she cradled the baby and watched the girls eat, but she wasn’t succeeding very well, and they all sensed that something was wrong. Every so often Edith or Matilda would pause to pat Alys’s hand, and Robert grizzled, unable to settle.

It was all too much. Edwin couldn’t help them, couldn’t speak the words of comfort that he knew they needed. For what comfort was there to be had after such a dreadful loss? He sat down, heavily, and gazed at Matilda’s worried little face and then at the beautiful new chessboard, the pieces already set out in preparation for his first game with Sir Geoffrey. And then he put his face in his reddened, soot-covered hands and wept until he could weep no more.

It was the earl, unsurprisingly, who recovered himself first. The following day, he gathered an extended household group in the council chamber: Sir Martin, Adam, Hugh, Wil, Edwin and Brother William, as usual, but also Matthew the bailiff, John the steward, Humphrey the marshal and Tom, an experienced garrison man who had been promoted to the position of castle sergeant-at-arms the previous year.

There was an empty space where Sir Geoffrey normally stood.

Brother William was giving Edwin the sort of significant look that implied he wanted to communicate something, a warning, but there was no time to speak as the earl’s gaze swept them all from where he sat in his high-backed chair. ‘I have made a number of decisions,’ he began, without preamble. ‘They concern some of you personally, and the rest are here to bear witness – Brother William will write your names, and you’ll all make your mark.’

There was a silence as everyone looked at each other, and at the empty place by the wall.

‘First, the castellanship.’ There was a slight pause before the earl continued, speaking a little faster and in a manner that made Edwin prick his ears up. ‘I have not yet decided who will take over, but you–’ looking at Tom ‘–will continue with your duties and also take temporary charge until a new knight is in place.’ He paused. ‘Which will no doubt be soon.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Tom looked thunderstruck and overawed, barely able to get the words out; but he was a reliable man, and the kingdom and region were currently at peace, so Edwin hoped he’d be able to manage his enormous promotion for the short time it would last.

Sir Martin was looking at the earl with a crestfallen expression. He didn’t expect to be named permanent castellan, Edwin knew that, but surely as the only other knight in the castle he might have expected temporary command? Edwin felt his friend’s disappointment and wondered at the snub.