Brother's Blood E-Book

C.B. Hanley

• Herausgeber: The Mystery Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 441

Beschreibung

1217: The war for the throne of England is far from over but as commoner-turned-earl's-man Edwin Weaver waits to see where his lord's loyalties lie, a messenger arrives from Roche Abbey: one of the monks has been murdered. The abbot needs help to find the killer and Edwin soon finds himself within the unfamiliar and claustrophobic confines of the abbey, where faces are hidden and a killer stalks unnoticed. Drawn ever deeper into a web of lies and deceit, Edwin not only has to discover the identity of the murderer, but must also decide where his real duty lies. The fourth book in C.B. Hanley's popular Mediaeval Mystery series, following Whited Sepulchres.

Leseprobe

Praise for C.B. Hanley'sMediaeval Mystery Series

‘The Bloody City is a great read, full of intrigue and murder.Great for readers of Ellis Peters and Lindsey Davis. Hanley weaves a convincing, rich tapestry of life and death in the early 13th century, in all its grandeur and filth. I enjoyed this book immensely!’

Ben Kane, bestselling novelist of the Forgotten Legion trilogy

‘Blatantly heroic and wonderfully readable.’

The Bloody City received a STARRED review in Library Journal

‘The characters are real, the interactions and conversations natural, the tension inbuilt, and it all builds to a genuinely satisfying conclusion both fictionally and historically.’

Review for The Bloody City in www.crimereview.co.uk

‘Whited Sepulchres … struck me as a wonderfully vivid recreation of the early thirteenth century … The solid historical basis lends authenticity to a lively, well-structured story. I enjoyed the plight of amiable and peace-loving Edwin, trapped by his creator in such a warlike time and place.’

Andrew Taylor, winner of the 2009 CWA Diamond Dagger and three-times winner of the CWA Historical Dagger

‘It’s clever. It’s well written. It’s believable. It’s historically accurate. It’s a first class medieval mystery.’

Review for Whited Sepulchres in www.crimereview.co.uk

For my sisters

The voice of thy brother’s bloodcrieth unto me from the ground.

Genesis, ch. 4, v. 10

Roche Abbey, 1217

Acknowledgements

Once again it is a pleasure to thank Matilda Richards and the rest of the team at The Mystery Press for their help, support and encouragement during the writing of what I can now justifiably call a series of books. I’ve lost count of how many chocolate cakes I owe you now …

The research for this book was made considerably easier thanks to the amazingly in-depth work carried out by the ‘Cistercians in Yorkshire’ project which was based at the University of Sheffield from 2001 to 2003; further information is available on the project website, listed on the Further Reading page. Many thanks also to Dr Andrew Buck for supplying references on Daniel of Morley, and to Dr Joy Hawkins for pointing out that saying the paternoster was a method of timing used in mediaeval medicine.

Stephanie Tickle, Susan Brock and Maddy McGlynn all read drafts of Brother’s Blood and offered much valuable insight and constructive criticism. Stephanie and Susan are both old friends of Edwin, while Maddy is a new one: their very differing points of view as readers were of enormous help in the redrafting process.

I am extremely fortunate to have a collection of friends who keep me going with support, pep talks, research references, tea, speaking and review opportunities, and all the other necessities of life: thanks in particular this time round to Sean McGlynn, Julian Humphrys and Sarah Preston.

Astonishingly my family continue to put up with me with good grace: James and our children deserve some kind of medal. And on the subject of family, thanks and love to Helen and Steph, who have been there longer than almost anyone else. It’s fitting that this book about brothers should be dedicated to them, my sisters.

Contents

Praise

Title

Dedication

Quote

Roche Abbey, 1217

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Historical Note

Further Reading

About the Author

Copyright

Prologue

Dover, June 1186

The ship had docked after its long journey, and those on board gave thanks for their safe arrival after many days at sea. At the command of their captain, men began to unload the cargo and soon the sharp, salt-flavoured air was full of shouts and calls as barrels and bales were loaded on to wagons, while gulls circled and shrieked in the cloudless blue sky above.

Three passengers made their way down the gangplank; three men each encumbered by a large pack. Their faces were tanned, and although it was a warm day they shivered and pulled their cloaks closer around them. They reached the shore and moved away from the ship, their legs a little unsteady on the cobbled surface of the harbour as they sought to accustom themselves to the solid ground. They found a corner which was away from the main bustle and lowered their burdens as they stopped to say their farewells.

The eldest of them was a man just approaching middle age, thickset, a few grey hairs standing out from an otherwise dark head. He reached out and placed a hand on the shoulders of the other two. ‘So, here we part.’ He turned to the youngest, who was not much more than a fresh-faced youth. ‘Still determined to take the cowl?’

The young man nodded. ‘Yes. In the short time I’ve been with you I’ve realised how much I need to read, to reflect, to study. It’s the only way.’

The older man squeezed his shoulder and smiled. ‘Well then, “Brother”, may God go with you.’

The third man, tall, blond, and somewhere between the others in age, made the sign of the cross in the air. ‘Yes, Brother, the Lord be with you. And if He wills, may our paths cross again in the future.’

The young man looked a little uncertain for the first time as he squinted up into his companion’s face. ‘And you?’

‘I’m not sure. To start with it’s back to St Albans, to see if they’ll let me teach at the school there. After all, I have to earn my keep from now on. After that – who knows? It’s in the Lord’s hands, though I hope His plans involve me being able to read and write after learning so much.’

The youngest nodded in silence, a hint of sadness on his face, while the eldest picked up his baggage. ‘And have you got it stowed away safely?’

The third man tapped the canvas of his pack, his fingers making a drumming noise on the wooden box inside. ‘Oh yes. It will never leave my side, and I’ll guard it with my life if I have to.’

After a final handshake, the three men went their separate ways.

Chapter One

Conisbrough, late July 1217

Edwin hadn’t thought that he’d ever be comfortable enough in the earl’s presence to be bored, but apparently he’d been wrong. Currently his lord was droning – there was simply no other word for it – about fishing rights to his rivers, or something, and Edwin was trying not to doze off as he leaned back against the cool stone wall of the council chamber. He didn’t care about fishing rights. Since he’d heard the devastating news that Alys was already married, he’d had no interest in anything. All his previous worries and fears had been about survival, about summoning up the courage to ask the earl for permission to get married, about Alys having endured and lived through the rebuilding of the city after its sacking … the one thing he’d never considered was that she would have married someone else before he could contact her. It had only been what, two months since he’d walked out of the remains of Lincoln. Clearly she hadn’t felt the same way about him. In his kinder moments he tried to persuade himself that she’d probably had no choice: a young woman – a girl – orphaned, with three younger siblings to look after, would have needed to find a protector as soon as she could. It was only sensible. Of course it was.

But in his black moments, those times when he awoke sweating in the night, when he looked into his own soul, he knew the truth: that it was because he wasn’t good enough. Why would the most beautiful, most courageous girl in all the land want to marry him? He’d been foolish even to think he could have something that he wanted so desperately. He should just accept that his life was meant to be miserable. Maybe the earl would send him on another dangerous mission – and there seemed to be plenty of those about with the war against the French invaders still going on – and he wouldn’t have to come back. In the meantime he just waited for each day to be over so he could lie down in the dark. Even then he rarely slept but lay awake watching the dawn unfold to herald another pointless day.

He opened his eyes to look across the chamber. There was one window cut into the keep’s thick walls, and the sunlight streamed in, illuminating the dancing dust and the fleas jumping up from the floor rushes, to fall upon the desk at which sat Brother William, the earl’s clerk. He held a quill in one huge, un-monk-like fist, and he was writing on a piece of parchment as quickly as he could while the earl dictated. In the shadows behind him stood Martin and Adam, the squires: Adam trying his hardest to remain interested in the subject at hand, and Martin looking as woeful as Edwin felt. The earl himself was pacing up and down as he spoke, his movements impatient as ever, the gold on his rings flashing whenever the sunlight caught them. He’d never had a proper clerk before, and he was evidently trying to catch up on several years’ worth of correspondence at once. All of them had been cooped up in this room for the last couple of weeks, and if Edwin thought that his lord was trying to keep busy in order to take his mind off the traumatic events of midsummer then he kept that thought to himself.

The voice stopped and Edwin snapped back to attention in case he was about to be asked a question. Since he had gained the earl’s confidence he now found that his opinion was asked on some matters, and he had no intention of being caught out. Uninterested he might be, but he wasn’t stupid enough to risk the earl’s wrath. But his lord was merely taking a sip of wine before continuing.

‘That pile of letters there. Pick one and tell me what it contains.’ He sat down and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Brother William pulled out one of the heaped parchments and examined the seal. ‘From the Earl of Arundel, my lord.’

The earl grunted and raised the goblet to his lips again as the clerk broke the seal and scanned the contents of the letter. ‘In essence, my lord, his younger son is nearly seven, old enough to be sent away, and he asks that you take him into your household as page.’

Edwin glanced across to see that Martin had perked up at this. Someone else in the close household. And there was an opening since …

The earl considered. ‘Hmm. I could do with a new boy who isn’t a curse. But is there anyone better? Geoffrey?’

Edwin had almost forgotten that Sir Geoffrey, the castellan, was also in the room. He had been standing like stone away to one side so Edwin couldn’t look at him without turning round, which the earl might notice.

‘My lord of Arundel is now back in the regent’s full confidence, my lord.’

The earl’s fingers tapped again. ‘What about Marshal’s youngest?’

Edwin couldn’t see, but from the tone he imagined Sir Geoffrey shaking his head. ‘Ten, my lord, and already with the Earl of Chester.’

Edwin had once met William Marshal, the legendary regent, and he was surprised to think that a man so elderly should have a son so young. He must be an even older father than Edwin’s own had been. But then, he had rather a lot of children, didn’t he? He tried to remember his recent conversations with Sir Geoffrey. He was supposed to be learning all these things, but the maze of relationships among the realm’s nobility was still bewildering.

The earl was continuing. ‘And Chester himself has no sons. What about Marshal’s grandsons? By his eldest daughter and Norfolk?’

Sir Geoffrey sounded negative again. ‘The eldest is with his uncle, my lord, and the younger ones are, what, five and three?’

‘That’s no good, then. Maybe in a couple of years – I can always take another one. Very well. Arundel’s boy it is then.’ He waved to Brother William. ‘See to it, and tell Arundel to send him to me at Lewes before St Bartholomew’s Day.’

Brother William made some notes, his pen scratching. The earl stood and stretched, one shoulder making a cracking noise. ‘I need some air.’

Edwin was mildly amused to see Martin and Adam tensing like hounds who had caught a scent.

The earl laughed. ‘Yes, you too. Saddle my destrier and your own mounts. We should be able to cover a few miles before evening, and he needs a run.’

The squires shot out of the room like arrows. The earl turned to Edwin and looked him up and down. ‘You will need some riding practice before we set off for Lewes in a couple of weeks, but not today – you wouldn’t keep up. For now you can help Brother William get through the rest of those letters. Report to me after the evening meal with anything you think needs my urgent attention.’

Edwin was shocked out of his apathy. Deal with the earl’s own correspondence? What if his ignorance led him to miss something? What if …? Belatedly he bowed and said, ‘Yes, my lord,’ but the earl was already sweeping out of the room, followed by Sir Geoffrey.

A sigh came from the desk, and Edwin turned to see Brother William gazing a little wistfully after the departed men. He caught the other’s eye and the monk shrugged. ‘I know what you’re thinking. But that part of my life is over.’ He looked at the piles of parchment and expelled a long breath. ‘Still, at least the light is good. Pull up that stool over there and we’ll get started.’

Edwin sat, hoping that the worry of this task would push the other concerns from his mind. As he sifted through the letters he wondered about the little boy who would soon be joining the household. A noble, the son of an earl, but still a pawn of the great men to be moved around at will regardless of his own inclination. Edwin chose a random letter and broke the seal, reflecting that nobody had even bothered to ask the child’s name.

Martin enjoyed galloping almost as much as he enjoyed weapons training. To be out of the council chamber, out of the castle, unconfined and away from all the people was bliss. He felt the wind in his hair as he urged his mount forward to yet greater speed, although he had no hope of catching up with the earl, who had let his destrier, his fierce and very expensive warhorse, have its head. Martin didn’t have a horse of his own but he was riding the roan courser which was the tallest mount the castle stable afforded. He revelled in the long strides and the freedom of movement as he strove to reach his lord, although his feet were still too far down for comfort. Maybe one day, when he was a knight and had some money of his own, he’d find a horse that was large enough … but he was still only seventeen, so that day was a long way in the future; he’d have to make the best of things for now.

The earl had paused and was waiting for them to catch up. Martin slowed to a canter and then a trot before reining in, sweating now that the air around him was hot and still. He turned to look for Adam, who was way behind on the ancient pony he’d been using since his arrival at Conisbrough a few months before. Martin watched as the animal puffed its way up to them, the earl shifting impatiently in his saddle.

‘When we get back, tell Geoffrey to allocate that boy a better mount, or he’ll never keep up when we head to Lewes. That old thing will serve for the new lad if it survives long enough.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Adam would be glad, and Martin was pleased on his behalf. He was a good lad who did as he was told and didn’t talk too much, and anyway he was surely due a growth spurt which would make the pony even more unsuitable. Martin wondered what the new page would be like and whether he’d be as much trouble as the last one. He would have responsibility for the boy and he was determined to be stricter this time around. Concentrating on that would help to take his mind off …

The earl’s voice cut across his thoughts. ‘We’ll race across that pasture, round those two trees, and back to this point. Adam, we’ll give you a start. Go!’

Adam put his heels to the pony’s flanks and was off. Martin thought to himself that his lord was right, as ever: the beast was already labouring despite Adam’s best efforts. Indeed, the earl let him get nearly all the way to the trees before he told Martin to be off. Martin surged forward, moving from a canter to a flat-out gallop across the stubble of the hayfield as he chased Adam, already rounding the trees. He had no idea how much of a start his lord had given him, but he could hear hoofbeats drumming behind him. He approached the turning point and slowed, knowing that his mount wouldn’t take the sharp turn at speed, and succeeded in passing close to the trees. From the corner of his eye he spotted with some satisfaction that the earl’s destrier, excited by the chase, had overshot and that the earl would have more ground to make up. Then it was on to the flat for the race back to the start. Martin whooped, feeling the smile spread across his face, the movement of his muscles at one with the courser and the wind in his hair as he increased his pace and overtook Adam before he was halfway back. But the earl was gaining on him and the great warhorse flew past, clods of earth spurting up from under its hooves just as he reached the end point.

The earl reined in, laughing, looking younger than he had done for some while. ‘Good, good! I think we’ll call that a draw for now.’ He nosed his mount nearer so he could clap Martin on the shoulder. ‘Excellent horsemanship. Good man.’

They returned to the castle at a trot and then a walk to cool the horses, Martin hearing his lord’s words ringing in his ears all the while. As they neared the gate Martin looked around hopefully, as he always did out of habit, before the realisation thumped into him that it was no good. She wasn’t there, and she never would be again. Joanna had gone away with the earl’s sister to their new home, following the Lady Isabelle’s fateful wedding, and now the whole length of the realm separated them. Despite the sun reflecting off the bright white keep and into his eyes, the castle appeared grey and joyless.

His elated mood gone, Martin dismounted and took the reins of the earl’s destrier as well as his own courser. He sniffed the air and realised it was nearly time for the evening meal, so he took Adam’s reins as well and sent him to the hall to check everything was ready. Then he led all three horses into the stable and concentrated on brushing, currying and feeding, growling at the groom who offered to help. He needed the time to himself, and the earl wouldn’t mind if he was late to the meal. Adam was perfectly capable, and the high table was an empty place these days anyway.

When he emerged from the stable he was surprised to see Brother William’s back, as he stood uncertainly in the outer ward. What was he doing here? He tapped him on the shoulder. The monk turned, and Martin apologised, for it wasn’t Brother William at all, but another Cistercian in a similar white robe.

‘I beg your pardon, Brother. I thought you were someone else.’

The monk made the sign of the cross in the air. ‘Benedicte, my son. Yes, Brother William is here at the castle, is he not? But I have come with a message for the lord earl. Could you take me to him?’

Martin considered briefly the consequences of interrupting the earl’s meal. ‘He’s eating at the moment, Brother, but I can bring you to him afterwards. Can I offer you something while you wait? Would you like to come to the hall?’

The monk shook his head. ‘Thank you, but I have no desire to eat.’ He seemed agitated. ‘However,’ he looked towards the western horizon, ‘I believe it’s nearly the hour of vespers. Is there a chapel where I may say the office?’

Martin nodded and led him into the inner ward, up the stairs to the keep and then up to the chapel. The monk immediately knelt before the altar and Martin hovered uncertainly. He was hungry, and the meal would soon be over. ‘Er, I’ll just leave you here …’

The monk was already deep in prayer, eyes closed and hands clasped, oblivious to his presence, so Martin loped down the stairs and over to the hall.

Edwin’s eyes were bleary after looking at all the earl’s correspondence, so he was glad of the opportunity to sit quietly at the bottom end of the hall and eat his meal of vegetable pottage and maslin bread. He closed his eyes for a moment, not sure if they were watering due to tiredness, the acrid reek of the smoking tallow light on the table, or something else. Thank the Lord the letters had been fairly straightforward, no urgent summons to re-join the war – a couple of weeks ago he’d heard the earl say there had been rumours that Prince Louis was assembling another invasion fleet – or bad news about losses of life or lands. They had mainly been updates from the castellans of the earl’s other castles, or requests from his vassals for permission to marry. Marry. He pushed the bread too hard into the pottage and slopped it over the table.

Once he had finished his meal he nudged Brother William, who was sitting next to him on the bench and still shovelling in huge spoonfuls of pottage and the Friday eel stew which Edwin hadn’t liked the look of. ‘We’d better get back so we’re ready before my lord gets there.’ He looked up to the almost-empty top table, where the earl sat with only Sir Geoffrey for company. Normally the meal up there took much longer, but that was when the Lady Isabelle was there, and Mistress Joanna, and often other guests as well. Neither the earl nor Sir Geoffrey were great or fussy eaters, so although it looked as though they had some fine dishes there, they were nearly finished.

Brother William nodded and took a few last mouthfuls of the stew as he stood; he reached back for another piece of bread and rammed it in his mouth as he walked. Then they made their way over to the keep and up the stairs, deep in conversation until they reached the council chamber and re-checked the correspondence which they had already sorted for the earl’s attention. A small fire was burning in the great fireplace, for the stone keep was chilly in the evenings, even in the summer. Edwin took a spill and lit the candles around the room – fine wax ones in here which didn’t smoke nearly so much as the rushes at home or in the hall.

He had just thrown the remains of the spill back into the fire when the door opened and the earl entered with Sir Geoffrey – no Martin or Adam, of course, as they would be eating after spending the official mealtime waiting at the high table.

The earl saw Brother William and frowned. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’

Brother William looked confused, as well he might. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord – I just walked over from the hall with Edwin a short while ago.’

The earl looked between him and the door. ‘But weren’t you just …?’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. What have you there?’ He sat down.

Edwin took a deep breath and listed, as he had been rehearsing in his head all through the meal, the matters which needed the earl’s attention. He was relieved when his lord nodded approvingly.

‘Very clear. Right – yes to the marriage of Richard of Hooten but no to Simon of Lyndon making a match with the Bolbec girl. He’ll have too great a parcel of land all in one place and I don’t altogether trust him. Tell him he may marry but he’ll have to choose someone whose lands don’t adjoin his own.’

As Brother William was nodding and making notes, Edwin wondered about the lives of the people in the letter. He’d never heard of Simon of Lyndon, but was his intended bride someone he cared about? Had the earl just ripped apart two lovers without even thinking about it? Or was the marriage all about the land? These nobles did things differently.

Sir Geoffrey cleared his throat and everyone looked at him. ‘This may be as good a time as any to broach the subject, my lord, concerning the question of your own marriage?’

There was a brief silence and Edwin prepared to flinch, but the earl merely waved the remark away as though it were a fly. ‘There’s nobody suitable available at the moment. I need to ally myself with good blood – my father might have been old King Henry’s half-brother, but he was a bastard and there are some who will not let me forget it.’ Edwin had only a vague recollection of the old earl, who had died when Edwin was five, as a bright figure on a tall horse who sometimes rode through the village. The earl was now scowling, but he got over it and enumerated on his fingers. ‘Blood, Geoffrey, blood. The young king’s aunts are all dead. His sisters are but tots, and besides, that might be aiming too high.’ And surely they’d be his cousins, thought Edwin, or doesn’t that matter? ‘So realistically it has to be one of Marshal’s daughters, currently all taken, or Chester’s sisters, taken also. As soon as one of them comes on the market I’ll put in a bid.’

And that was that, thought Edwin. He watched as Sir Geoffrey opened his mouth, but the earl cut him off. ‘Yes, yes, an heir, I know. But Gilbert will do for now, and he and Isabelle will no doubt produce a few sons in due course. And besides, I’m good for many years yet. I can wait for the right move.’ He clapped his hands together, signalling that the discussion was at an end. ‘Back to where we were. Just the question of the fishing rights, was it?’

Edwin nodded. ‘Yes, my lord. You were going to give over a tithe of your fish from some of your manors to the abbey at Roche.’

‘Yes. Right, Brother William, take this down.’ He began to dictate in a toneless voice, speaking slightly too fast for the clerk to keep up. ‘William, Earl of Warenne, to his fishermen of Brademer, health. Know that I, moved by charity, have given to God and the church of St Mary of Roche, and to the monks, servants of God in that place, the tithe of the whole of the residue of all my eels from all my fisheries that are in the parish of Hatfield, Fishlake and Thorne …’

Edwin watched Brother William scribbling furiously, glad that it wasn’t his job, as his own penmanship was rather scratchy, and then noticed out of the corner of his eye that the chamber door was opening. It was just Adam, so he returned his attention to the earl. ‘… Wherefore I command you that you ensure they have the aforementioned tithe without any difficulty or delay, and in testimony of this I send you these my letters patent. Farewell.’

There was silence while the sound of Brother William’s quill continued for a few moments, along with his heavy breathing. Then Adam spoke. ‘Excuse me, my lord, but Martin is outside with a messenger from the abbey at Roche.’

Edwin saw his own surprise reflected in the faces of the others, and the earl crossed himself, muttering that he didn’t believe in coincidences.

Martin entered together with a monk wearing a robe of Cistercian white. It wasn’t all that warm now, but he was sweating – perhaps being in the earl’s presence was making him nervous. Brother William, on the opposite side of the room, stood and peered in the candlelight. ‘Brother Waldef? Is that you?’

The monk acknowledged him with a nod before turning to the earl and bowing. ‘Brother Godfrey, my lord, sent to bear you a message from Abbot Reginald.’

The earl, looking a little pale, had recovered himself. ‘It must have been you I passed in the chapel earlier. Speak your message.’

The monk folded his hands inside his sleeves, but not before Edwin had noticed that they were shaking. ‘Father Abbot has sent me to beg your help, my lord, in his hour of need. One of our brothers has been murdered.’

Chapter Two

Edwin felt hot and a little faint as he heard the words. This was it. This was another mission the earl was going to send him on. What would he do? Would he come out of it alive this time?

The earl looked confused. ‘But surely the abbot must know that I have no jurisdiction within the walls of his abbey? Shouldn’t he be applying to someone in the Church?’

The monk nodded. ‘Under normal circumstances, my lord, that would be the case. But Abbot Reginald is about to travel to the annual conclave in France, which all abbots of our Order must attend each year. He will need to leave two weeks from today, so he fears there will be no time to get a message to our mother house at Newminster which is many days’ journey to the north. He has heard that you have a man in your household who is experienced in these matters’ – he looked hopefully at Sir Geoffrey – ‘and that you might, as an act of charity, send him to Roche for some while to see what he can discover.’ He bowed his head and fell silent.

The earl beckoned Sir Geoffrey to one side, so that they were standing nearer to Edwin. ‘We don’t need to leave for Lewes for another two weeks. The abbey is what, six or seven miles away? We can summon him back any time if we need to.’

Sir Geoffrey nodded and glanced at Edwin, who looked away and pretended he wasn’t watching.

The earl continued, though Edwin didn’t catch all of it. ‘And it’s about time … some new responsibilities …’ He moved back into the centre of the room to face the monk. ‘Very well. I send my man Weaver to your abbey for one week, to render what assistance he may.’ He gestured for Edwin to step forward, which Edwin did, trying not to notice the surprise and disappointment on the monk’s face.

But the earl hadn’t finished. ‘I also send Martin with him as guard and escort.’ Taken aback, Edwin glanced at Martin, who looked as surprised as Edwin felt, and then back at the earl, realising for the first time that he liked catching people off guard in this way. Perhaps he felt he was better served by keeping them all off balance, which Sir Geoffrey certainly was.

‘My lord …’

The earl clapped, once. ‘Now, Brother … Godfrey, was it? It’s almost dark, so you will stay here and set off tomorrow morning. You may make use of my chapel for your offices if you so wish, and Sir Geoffrey will have a man show you the hall where you can sleep.’

The monk looked startled. ‘Stay the night? But Abbot Reginald will be expecting me back tonight, and —’

The earl gave him a single look, and he faltered into silence, bowing his head. His shoulders were shaking.

As Sir Geoffrey ushered the monk out of the room, the earl turned to the shocked faces around him and laughed. ‘This diversion will do us all some good.’ He addressed Edwin first. ‘Do what you can. It’s Saturday tomorrow – return here once you’ve sorted it out, or on the following Saturday regardless. If the culprit is a layman we’ll turn him over to the sheriff; if he’s another monk then the Church will decide what to do with him.’

Edwin had no time to reply before the earl turned to Martin. ‘I’m relying on you to keep Edwin safe. A man has been killed, and if there’s to be another I don’t want it to be him. Take a sword with you and guard him. I place Edwin in your sole care.’ His eyes bored into Martin’s, and Edwin saw his friend turn pale and clench his jaw, but he didn’t drop his gaze. ‘I swear it, my lord.’

Adam had been standing silently, as he usually did, and now the earl looked down at him. ‘And as for you – temporarily you are my senior squire. See that you do it well.’ Well, at least one of us is happy, thought Edwin, as he watched the slow smile spreading across Adam’s face.

‘Now. Martin, go and look out what you’ll need to bring, and then get some sleep. Adam, get the chess set out – Geoffrey and I will have a game. Edwin, go home now, and meet Martin by the stables at dawn.’ The matter seemed to be over, and the earl was already moving to sit at the table. Edwin bowed, left the room, and made his way down and out into the evening air.

The following morning at dawn Edwin stood outside the stable in the outer ward, waiting. He wore his best tunic and hose and his new cloak, even though it was a bit warm for this weather. He carried a scrip containing a spare shirt, a bowl, a spoon, a rosary, a small aleskin and some bread wrapped in a piece of linen. On his belt were his eating knife and a purse containing twelve pennies – he had no idea whether he’d need any money, but he could afford to bring some now, so why not? A second belt, a brand new and very sturdy one which had been a gift from the earl, held the dagger in its ornate scabbard which he now carried everywhere.

He was nervous.

Just as he thought he might need to head round behind the stable for a moment, Martin appeared, accompanied by Sir Geoffrey, the visiting monk, and Brother William. Martin was dressed for travelling, and he carried a heavy-looking sack which made the tell-tale clinking sound of mail. He had both a sword and a dagger belted around him.

Sir Geoffrey didn’t look pleased. He greeted Edwin briefly and then took him to one side.

‘Brother Godfrey is being difficult. He says his abbot will have been expecting someone … older and may not take you seriously. Therefore Brother William will travel with you, introduce you and vouch for you – Abbot Reginald knows him and will trust his word, though it is an insult to the lord earl that it must be so. Brother William will then return here – he’ll be back before nightfall and can inform my lord that you have arrived safely.’

There didn’t seem much to say, so Edwin nodded and stared at his feet at the thought of the reception which would no doubt await him. Not old enough. Not rich enough, not noble enough. Not good enough.

Sir Geoffrey broke into a half smile. ‘Still, you couldn’t be much safer on the road.’

Edwin looked from the warlike Brother William, who had been a knight of some renown before he took the cowl, to the towering figure of Martin, armed and with his long legs now astride a tall horse, and nodded. But before Sir Geoffrey could move away he plucked at his arm and made the knight pause. ‘Sir Geoffrey. If anything … happens to me, will you see that my mother is looked after?’

A look which Edwin couldn’t quite fathom came over the knight’s face and he patted Edwin on the shoulder. ‘Yes. Yes, that I will surely do. Have no fear on her account.’

Satisfied, but with a vague uneasiness which he couldn’t put his finger on, Edwin turned to the horse which a groom was now holding for him. Fortunately, it looked fairly docile. He managed to mount in a manner which was not elegant but which was at least not embarrassing, and took the reins. There was some altercation behind him, and he managed to turn around to see that Brother Godfrey was making a fuss about mounting the mule which had been provided for him. Monks and priests always seemed to ride mules rather than horses, and in his own discomfort as he tried to face his horse the right way Edwin wondered why. Maybe there was a rule – the clergy seemed to have a lot of rules that made little sense to other people.

‘It is not fitting that I should ride, Brother, you know that. I walked here and I can walk back.’

Edwin looked from Martin to Sir Geoffrey and back again, but Brother William, who was already mounted on another mule, was brooking no nonsense. ‘It’s your duty to get these men back to Father Abbot as quickly as possible. It’ll take twice as long if they have to keep pace with you walking, so swallow your humility for now and mount, Brother. You can always confess later if you enjoy it too much.’

Sir Geoffrey, who was talking quietly to Martin – no doubt giving him some last-minute advice – coughed and covered his mouth with the back of his hand to disguise a smirk. Brother Godfrey looked daggers at Brother William and then heaved himself on to the mule’s back, looking uncomfortable as he sat like a sack of beans and muttered a prayer. Brother William slapped him on the back, saying, ‘And no doubt you’ll be glad to return all the sooner. You look odd out here on your own.’ Edwin had no idea what he meant, but when he looked at Brother Godfrey he could see that something was wrong. It wasn’t just his discomfort at being on the mule – it was deeper, somehow. He almost looked in physical pain.

There was no time to think further on the subject. A groom finished tying the reins of the packhorse that carried Martin’s armour to the saddle of the horse Martin would ride, and they were ready to go.

Despite himself, Edwin couldn’t help feeling just a little excited as he went through the village high on a horse’s back and on the earl’s business. Most of the villagers were already out in the fields, but a few women, children and old folk remained, and they came out to stare as the company rode past. Edwin’s mother stood in the doorway of their home and gave a little wave, holding back tears, and Edwin was proud of her. He allowed himself a nod to her as he passed, before the lump in his throat forced him to look straight ahead and concentrate. He had lived in Conisbrough all his life; every stone and blade of grass was familiar to him, but now he found himself staring at it all as though he’d never seen it before. He realised he was seeking to imprint it all on his mind in case he never came back.

Martin was trying hard not to ride with one hand on his sword. Sir Geoffrey had wished him luck with his first command. Command! Him! Oh dear Lord, what was he going to do if anything happened to Edwin? He needed to think, to plan in advance, that was what leaders did. He should try to remember the lessons Sir Geoffrey had tried to drill into him. A good commander is always two steps ahead. Fine, if anyone jumped out at them he knew how to fight, but now he was in charge he would need to think about whether anyone was going to ambush them, and where the likely danger spots might be. He scanned the road ahead.

After they had gone a mile or so without meeting any disasters he began to relax a little. The outlaws who had caused violent havoc in the area a couple of months ago were dead, and there had been no trouble since. Martin had ridden past the execution site on a number of occasions, trying not to look at or smell the remains of the still-hanging, rotting bodies. If he was going to be a knight he needed to cultivate an attitude more like that of Sir Geoffrey, who had calmly surveyed the carnage and noted that local respect for the earl and his laws was demonstrated by the fact that nobody had stolen six dozen or so feet of good rope which was there unattended. Martin remembered the words one of the outlaws had cried out before his death: The war isn’t over yet.

Some other travellers came into sight along the road, heading towards them, and Martin was immediately on the alert, glancing to make sure Edwin was still to one side of him with the monks behind. He let go of the reins with his right hand and allowed it to hover near his sword hilt, but it looked as if all would be well. First they passed a lone pedlar, tramping along steadily with a large pack; an early arrival heading for the summer market at Conisbrough, no doubt. He stood aside respectfully to let them pass, and Martin rode on, hearing Brother William call out a brief blessing. Next was a covered ox-drawn cart, driven by a solid-looking man and moving very slowly. Really a commoner like that should move out of the way of mounted nobles, but as Martin had neither Sir Geoffrey nor the earl with him, he didn’t insist. Besides, those carts were very difficult to turn, and it was so heavily laden that if he made it move aside or stop, it might never get going again. So he led his party into single file to pass the cart by, receiving a touch of the hat and grateful thanks from the driver, which he acknowledged with a nod. Hearing the man speak, a middle-aged woman opened the cover from inside and poked her head out, revealing a glimpse of an interior packed with bales; seeing the mounted group of men she hastily bobbed her head, crossing herself as the monks passed.

At the Crookhill crossroads they met a messenger riding for the nearby manor of Tickhill, who greeted them and said he’d seen no trouble on the roads that day; then a cart carrying barrels of wine to Conisbrough. They passed through the tiny hamlet of Braithwell without incident and followed the road through fields of ripening wheat. If the weather stayed fair for the next few weeks there would be a good harvest, God be praised.

It was when they reached the village of Maltby that a small child, no more than a tot, ran into the road in front of them. Martin’s horse shied but he controlled it immediately, ensuring that the packhorse behind was also calmed. Edwin, who hadn’t been riding since before he could walk, failed to control his mount and it reared up, throwing him backwards. He immediately panicked, flinging himself forwards and overcompensating just as the horse’s front hooves came down again, and falling forwards over the nearside of his horse. Martin shot out a hand and managed to get a handful of his cloak before he toppled off completely, and held him there, straining not to let him drop but unable to lift him with one hand while mounted. He felt the heat rising to his head, but then Brother William appeared on foot and calmly took the weight, heaving Edwin back into his saddle. He was red-faced, but fine.

Martin’s head was racing so much that he could barely hear himself bellowing at the child, who shrieked in fear and hid behind the skirts of its mother. He shouted at her as well and she cowered before him.

‘Martin. Martin!’

‘What?’ He turned and realised he was now shouting at Edwin.

‘Martin, what are you doing? You’re terrifying everyone.’

He looked around to see that a group of villagers had gathered and were looking at him fearfully. He was big, armed and wearing a tunic which bore the earl’s badge, and they were frightened. Violence could come their way and they would have no defence against him. But that was not what a true knight would do, and certainly not on his lord’s own lands. With a huge effort he tried to calm himself, ordered the woman tersely to take more care, and rode on, forcing the villagers to get out of the way of his horse. They formed in a knot in the road behind the party, and Martin could feel the glares boring into his back as he urged his mount into a trot. The courser was skittish, probably because his hands were shaking.

‘Do you want to stop?’ Edwin was now beside him.

‘No.’ And after a few moments, ‘Are you all right?’

Edwin shrugged. ‘I’m fine. I know I need more practice. Nothing is broken, although I nearly choked when you grabbed my cloak like that.’

Martin noticed for the first time that Edwin had a red welt on his neck where either the edge of the cloak or its clasp had been forced against the skin. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s all right. My pride would have been hurt a lot more if you hadn’t caught me. But are you all right? It’s not like you to frighten a woman and child like that.’

Martin didn’t want to answer that, didn’t want to admit even to himself that he’d been scared of the situation he’d created. Sir Geoffrey wouldn’t have done that. He hunched forward in his saddle. ‘Come on. We’re nearly there now and then you can get off that horse. Make the most of such a short journey,’ he added, ‘when we go to Lewes you’ll be riding all day every day for at least two weeks.’

Edwin winced at the thought and allowed himself to fall a few paces behind. Martin increased his speed and forced them all to keep up as they rode on.

Edwin had been concentrating on riding, which had helped take his mind off other things, but as they drew nearer to the abbey his nerves returned. He hadn’t had much of a chance to question Brother Godfrey on the way as Martin had insisted on riding next to him while the brothers were behind. In fact, he had no idea of what he was walking into, other than that a monk at Roche had been murdered. He didn’t even know the monk’s name. Who was he? How had he been killed? Why might anyone want to kill him? And he knew absolutely nothing about monasteries. Why couldn’t he ever be asked to solve something he knew something about?

He was about to ask Martin if he might ride behind with Brother Godfrey when the squire announced, ‘We’re here.’

Edwin had thought they were still in the middle of nowhere, but as they came round a slight bend in the road he saw the abbey. It was something of a shock – a huge, soaring church, great stone buildings all round it, and an encircling wall with a tall gatehouse which wouldn’t have looked out of place on a castle, all standing there in the peaceful countryside. The stone was very white, and as the sun shone on it he was almost blinded. He shaded his eyes. ‘That’s odd – it looks a bit like the keep.’

Martin gave him a look. ‘Where do you think they got the stone from for the castle? There’s a great limestone quarry round behind there.’

How foolish not to have thought of that. And Roche Abbey – roche meaning rock. Edwin thought he’d better sharpen his wits a bit before he asked any more questions. But Martin was slapping him on the shoulder, looking a little more like himself than he had since that strange incident earlier. ‘Come on. It must be nearly dinner time. And I’ve got you here in one piece – at least that’s something.’

As they approached the gatehouse, Edwin could see that one of the two great wooden gates had a smaller door cut into it. It opened and an aged monk tottered out. He squinted at them until they came right up to him and dismounted. ‘Benedicte, my sons, and welcome. Have you come to pray, or to seek lodging?’

Before either of them could answer, Brother Godfrey stepped round from behind them and spoke very loudly and slowly. ‘Greetings, Brother Thurstan. I have returned from visiting the earl and I have brought his men with me.’

The ancient monk peered at him. ‘You’ve been out? Which one are you?’

Edwin heard his companion give a long-suffering sigh. ‘It’s Brother GODFREY, Brother. Please admit us so I can take these men to Father Abbot.’

‘Oh, it’s you, is it? Well, you’d better come in. You’ll want to take these men to Father Abbot.’

Brother Godfrey made another exasperated noise, and both he and Brother William, who had remained silent all the while, stepped through the little door. Edwin heard the sound of a bar being lifted, and then the large gates opened wide enough to admit them. He took the reins of the two mules as well as his own horse, leaving the others to Martin, and entered the abbey. Then with a heave the great gates were shut again, the bar thudding back into place with a disturbing finality.

Edwin looked around him. He was in a place which looked like a cross between the castle and a working farm. The area in front of him was full of buildings like the ones in the outer ward at Conisbrough: a stable block, workshops, offices, a stone building which looked like it might be a kitchen. Beyond that he could see the abbey itself, the huge white tower of the church soaring into the sky. To his right was a stream crossed by a footbridge, which led out to an open space where he could see gardens, orchards, fishponds and a mill. To his left the whole area was bordered by a tall limestone cliff. Apart from the cliff, it wasn’t so different to home.

Except that it was. Edwin stood for a moment before he worked out what it was, and then he realised it was the sound. Or rather, the lack of it: back at Conisbrough both the village and the castle wards were full of bustling, jostling, shouting noise, but here there was an eerie quiet. White-robed monks and some other men in brown were walking around and carrying out business, but they were doing it in utter silence.

A bearded man in a brown tunic came to take their mounts, and Edwin handed him the reins. ‘A lay brother,’ whispered a voice in his ear. Edwin had no idea what that was, but he was glad he’d have Brother William by his side for a few hours at least. As they walked through the precinct the monk kept up a low-voiced commentary in his ear about what he could see, and Edwin picked up a rough idea of what was going on. It really was a bit like the castle, with the area they were passing through being like the more open and public outer ward, an area for work, while the abbey building itself, completely walled but for a few entrances, presented a closed face to the world like the inner ward, a place where only the privileged were granted admittance. The silence was already becoming oppressive, even for Edwin; he cast a glance at Martin and guessed that he would soon be itching to escape from it.

Brother Godfrey did not lead them into the abbey but instead around the outside of it, over another footbridge and towards a separate two-storey building standing in its own small garden. Edwin gathered from Brother William that this was the abbot’s house; they entered and ascended the stairs before knocking on the door of the upper room.